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fbfh · 7 months

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makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him.

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that.

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.”

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband.

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle.

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly. Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face.

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle.

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?”

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet.

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful.

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.”

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face.

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life.

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself.

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting.

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?”

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little.

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick #rodrick x reader #rodrick x hyperfeminine reader #hyperfeminine reader #diary of a wimpy kid #diary of a wimpy kid x reader #doawk #doawk x reader #yeah no idea where the book thing came from #i literally wasn't even a horse/unicorn kid growing up #i was more into faries #like i liked the horse girl aesthetic ig but i never really got into it #but it's fun #i almost accidentally named a character after a member of paramore so im glad i caught that lol #stay tuned

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luveline · 1 year

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Hi hi could we please get shy!reader with Sirius where she’s just absolutely exhausted and wants him to brush her hair for her after she gets out of the shower? Love u xx

thank you for your request! sirius x shy!fem!reader | 1k

You can barely get dressed after your shower, the heat of the bathroom having lulled you into a near comatose state. You drag your soft cotton trousers up the length of your tacky legs, fighting to pull the waistband over your stomach. You almost fall, body listing naturally to the side, but save yourself with a tired arm.

"You're taking ages."

You smile at the sound of Sirius' light teasing.

"I'm almost done."

"Good. My lap is feeling much too empty today."

He's delusional if he thinks you're going to sit in his lap. You rub at the ends of your hair with your towel and breathe in the creamy smell of your conditioner, tilting your head to the side to peek at your boyfriend where he sits near the open bedroom window. He's smoking.

He snuffs out the cigarette in his little ashtray and covers it with a clinking lid to hide the smell. He looks up, and you know from the settled, unsurprised laxness of his eyes and lips that he'd known you were there the whole time. He'd let you watch him, and now he watches you.

"I gotta tell you something," he says, wiping at the tip of his fingers, his only tell. Whatever it is he's going to say, it's gonna fluster you. Sure enough, he continues, "Every time you get out of the shower with wet hair I feel like it's the first time I'm seeing you."

"Do I look alien?" you ask, secretly worried.

"You look stunning, but that's not the point."

Charmed, you move to the end of the bed and climb over the sheets on knees, pyjama trousers riding up your calves. Sirius meets you where you're sitting, angling himself adjacent, and tugs them down absentmindedly.

"I don't know. I just love the way you look when you have wet hair, and," —he inclines his head like you're telling secrets— "when you're tired."

"I'm not tired," you fib.

"I believe you."

He obviously doesn't. You're both liars smiling at one another, waiting for the other to break. You look away first, dropping the damp towel from your hair into your lap. Your shoulders rise unbidden, your reluctance clear even when you haven't spoken it aloud. You don't want to finish getting ready for bed.

Sirius hasn't touched you yet, but he will. His hand closes around your ankle, climbing up under the trousers he'd only just corrected. You melt veritably.

"Will you brush my hair?" you ask, closing your eyes.

"Yeah," he says. "Course."

The nightstand drawer opens, wheels running over tracks. You listen to him fish out your hairbrush and some softener, and your skin practically burns as he settles behind you. He pulls you toward him with gentle but undeniably strong hands, his forearm lingering where it presses against your ribcage.

"I knew you'd end up in my lap," he says.

You smile despite yourself and cover his hand with your own. His fingers are long and deft beneath yours.

After a quiet moment of this he pulls away and starts to brush your hair. He makes it a long process with how softly he goes, never once tugging at tangles. He rubs product in your hair, wipes his hands quickly on the towel, and then brushes it through. He perseveres until every strand of hair is brushed, soft and still damp. You meant to talk to him as he went, ask him how his day was, but the feeling of his hands on your neck, your shoulders, the bristles of the brush against your scalp, and the heat and steadiness of him behind you — Sirius is a quiet safety.

"How's that?" he asks in a murmur.

"Thank you."

"You haven't looked yet."

"Do I need to look?" you ask, turning into him just a smidge.

Sirius takes the hint, setting the brush aside so he can accommodate your weight. He drops his face into your shoulder with a groan.

"Yeah," he says. He kisses your shoulder gently. "I've made a right mess of it. But a bird's nest is with the times. I mean, look at James."

You laugh. You're in a skewed position; you don't want to climb completely into his lap, so you twist as much as you can and hug him until he hugs you back.

"You're not nice to James considering how much you love him. I hate to think of what you say about me when I'm not around."

"I say worse."

"I knew it."

"Much worse." He pets your hair.

You know he's joking. James had texted you once to ask if your ears were burning, because Sirius had been 'waxing lyrical about the shade of your eyes for the last five minutes', and no offence or anything but James already has a sensitive stomach.

Sirius is lovely. He sings your praises and he brushes your hair and he holds you as he holds you now, like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do.

"Thanks for brushing my hair," you murmur.

He pulls away from you enough to see your face, tucking a silken strand behind your ear.

"You're welcome. I knew you were tired. You had a long day, sweetheart."

"I did, but… it feels worth it."

"Yeah?" Sirius asks, a familiar smugness creeping into his tone.

You shrink at the sound. Not because you don't like it, the opposite, and you both know it. He can get you exactly where he wants you with one word.

He laughs as you slide your face back into his neck.

"Be nice," you say.

"I'll try. No promises."

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n

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byoldervine · 15 days

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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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model!steve and voice actor!eddie

part 2 here | ao3 link here

Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.

Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit.

… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.

But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.

“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”

Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.

“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”

The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?

He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.

Fucking yay.

Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.

“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.

Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”

“Right.”

“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.

The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.

“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”

Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.

But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.

Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.

Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”

Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ‘Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.

The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.

“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.

Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.

“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”

“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back.

... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.

“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.

‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.”

Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.

Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”

“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.

Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.

They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur.

It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.

“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.

Steve nods. “It is.”

“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”

“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”

Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”

“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”

Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.

While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.

Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.

There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.

The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne.

Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.

Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.

Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence.

It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.

Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.

Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…

His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.

The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”

And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.

Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.

God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.

The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.

“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.

Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.

Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”

Oh. So he’s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.

Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”

“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”

“Not like that one though.”

“No?”

Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”

They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.

And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.

Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.

It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.

But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.

This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #so there will be two more parts - fairly short like this one #not sure if I should put this on ao3... we shall see #anyways thanks for listening xx

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txttletale · 4 months

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Hey, I'm not here to say ai art isn't art. The whole "you need to be paid for it to be real art!" is goofy. But if I put a prompt into the tool and it makes something based on that prompt then I didn't make it. I didn't put the effort in, and in that sense it isn't mine. What I'm more upset about than whether or not it has soul or whatever (that's up for debate for a lot of human-made art too) is the taking of credit for something you simply did not do. I'm not sure if I've seen you talk about this particular thing cuz there's a lotta silly asks getting dunked on, but I'm curious abt this one.

you can absolutely make art without being the one physically producing it, by "telling someone what to do". directors are artists. choreographers are artists. graphic novel writers who write panel descriptions for artists are artists and indisputably have some share of the authorship of the resulting panels. the same goes for mangakas with apprentices, or for that matter renaissance masters with apprentices, and for art directors. removing the other people involved in such an arrangement gives you a greater share of authorship, not a lesser one.

& the idea that art requires "effort" is reactionary. it's a protestant-work-ethic-esque valorisation of effort for its own sake. art can be easy. many many technological innovations have created easier ways to do things -- did you know that graphic designers used to have to manually place every written character and image on a spread through a time-consuming and arduous process called paste-up? now the exact same work can be done in minutes with a few clicks because of digital typefaces. digital art also saw the exact same arguments being made against it fifteen odd years ago -- 'digital artists have stabilizers and shape tools and layers and filters and brushes and an undo button, they're not real artists because they're not putting in the effort'.

i think it's interesting how anti AI art crusaders have this curious contradiction in their arguments -- they (correctly) identify that a computer program has no agency, intentionality, or creativity, but when a human and a computer both contribute to a finished product they ascribe the computer full authorship. it just doesn't add up! mi-24 attack helicopter blushing demurely

#ask #ai art

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mercurygguk · 8 months

Text

head over skates · jjk ; part iii.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can’t stand it.

so what happens when you’re suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,255

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing, a teeny tiny little tension but also, jk is being very sweet :(

a/n; part 3!!! i love doing this little series bc it's so easy to write when the chapters aren't so long <3 i hope all of you enjoy it too despite the fact that it's not a very long read! lmk what you think! ty for reading xx

You didn’t text Jungkook back.

No matter how tempted you were when he tried to bribe you with iced americano – your favorite (which he remembered).

Instead you took it upon yourself and started working on the project without him. Your gut is telling you that he won’t be adding much to the group work nor will he invest the time and energy in it. There’s no reason to wait around for him to actually care about the project when you know that ‘caring’ isn’t one of his primary traits. It used to be but not anymore – if he still cared, he wouldn’t have abandoned your friendship the way he did.

Besides, it’s not like you mind.

You’ll gladly put his name on the finished product if it means you’ll be rid of him and his flirty, cocky behavior. It’ll only make the process easier and you’ll be able to do it just the way you want. If anything, Jungkook should be grateful that you’re willing to do this on your own and just add his name. Normally you wouldn’t do something like this but you just can’t stand being stuck doing group work with him for three weeks.

Jihyo is right though – it is time to move past it but you can’t. Not yet.

You haven’t spoken to Jungkook in 5 years – that’s sixty months of spite and aggravation that has affected you way more than you would’ve liked. Like you said, you’re not one to hold grudges against people but this particular grudge has been sitting in the back of your mind for half a decade and while you’d love to be able to just let it go, you can’t.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your phone buzzes due to an incoming text. You reach for it to take a look, your face instantly twisting in annoyance when you realize who’s texting you.

[11:07 AM] Jeon🤬👊🏼: whatcha doing? ;)

You swipe it, removing it from your lock screen before returning your focus to your laptop and the project at hand. You let out a soft sigh and rest your chin in your palm as you play around with the font of the text – Times New Roman suddenly has a whole other meaning after Jungkook’s name was written next to yours the other day.

"It’s good to know your phone works.”

“Oh my god!”

Startled by the low and deep voice right next to your ear, you jump in your seat and turn around with widened eyes. Dark brown eyes with a mischievous glint in them are staring back at you, an amused grin on pink lips as well. You take notice of the two iced americanos in his hand before you’re scowling at your former friend turned stranger.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to do the project,” Jungkook tells you and holds up the beverages. “I brought drinks.”

“How did you know I was here?” You can’t help but ask, wondering how he managed to locate you. The library isn’t exactly one of the places on campus Jeon Jungkook frequents the most. You’d know since you spent a lot of time here.

He shrugs, “I saw you when I walked by, went and got these,” he places the iced americanos onto the table, “and came back to join you.”

You gape at him for a moment as he pulls a chair out and takes a seat next to you, not a word of protest leaving you because you’re simply speechless once again. He actually got you iced americano and he genuinely wants to do the project.

Something doesn’t seem right.

Jungkook glances at you with a smirk when he’s met by silence, “what? Surprised that I actually do my school work?”

You shake yourself off your speechlessness and shrug as nonchalantly as possible, “something like that.”

“I see you took a head start,” he nods to your laptop with a chuckle as he pulls his own out of his backpack. That fucking chunky, black backpack he’s had since high school. Back then you wondered what he carried around in it and every time you asked him, he would only shrug and grin.

Teen boys and their mysterious behavior.

And just for a brief moment, you see your best friend from high school in front of you, sitting here next to you like back in the day – boyish grin and that same glint in his eye. He looks the same and it’s messing with your head because back then you were crushing hard on him. Jungkook has always dominated that casual, boyish charm and look and today is no different. He’s wearing an oversized white Nike t-shirt and black track pants from the same brand. There’s a yellow beanie on top of his head to tame his messy hair. For all you know, he could’ve gotten straight out of bed and gone to campus after throwing on the first outfit he could find – simple, casual, flattering.

The only difference is the two lip rings and the full sleeve of tattoos.

“Yeah, about that,” you start, shooting him a fake, over-friendly smile. “Don't worry about it – I’ll do the project and just add your name before handing it in.”

Jungkook blinks at you for a moment before recovering, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “why? You're scared I’ll fuck it up or some shit?”

You shake your head, “no, I just prefer working alone.”

“You always do projects with Jihyo though,” he points out, squinting his eyes at you.

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Or are you just saying that because I’m your partner?” He challenges.

How do you tell a guy who’s so used to getting his way and having people go out of their way to make sure he’s happy that you don’t want him as your project partner? That you’d rather do an important project that’s meant to be done in pairs by yourself and risk the possibility of getting stressed out just because you got paired up with him?

“If I’m being honest, yes,” you tell him, not taking a moment to rethink your choice to confront him but just blurting it out instead. “I would rather work myself into the ground than do group work with you. So if you don’t mind…”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow as you do a gesture with your hands as if to shoo him away. He looks rather unbothered though, not moving an inch either. He stares at you for a second and if you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume he’s silently challenging you to try again, to tell him off and ‘shoo’ him away like a fucking bird.

You don’t.

You stare back at him, your face not showing an ounce of anything as you patiently wait for him to get up and leave.

He doesn’t.

Instead the corners of his mouth curls into a faint smirk as he reaches for one of the iced americanos and slides it towards you. He then grabs the other one and turns to his laptop, silently sipping on his beverage while getting to work on the project.

You feel your blood starting to boil a little but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you pointedly snatch up the iced americano, once again turning your focus to the project at hand. You feel his eyes on you but you keep your eyes on your laptop screen, acting as if his presence isn’t affecting you or bothering you in any way.

You then give in and take a sip of the coffee.

Damn it…

It’s a really good iced americano.

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cameronspecial · 2 months

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Zach x reader, she has natural curly hair and he just can’t get enough of it. He tugs gently on the curls to make them bounce back and he thinks she’s so pretty.

Curly Hair Beauty

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Masterlist

Y/N walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her chest and her wet hair dripping a little bit around the floor. She walks over to Zach’s bed, plugging in her hair diffuser as she sits on the edge. Her boyfriend watches this happen from his lying position on the bed. She runs a few hair products into her hair before her neck jerks to the side and she turns on the device so warm air starts to blow from the device. She uses the head of the diffuser to scrunch her curls up and repeats the motion with warm and cool air until her whole hair is dry. She finishes off her routine with her hair products that go in after. Through this process, Zach’s eyes remain on the figure of his girlfriend. He is fascinated by the scene in front of him and he scoots closer to her so his front side is pressed against her butt. She feels his shift, turning to look at him with a smile. “Hi, Babe,” she greets, which grows a massive grin on his face. His head snuggles against her bare arm and he kisses just above her elbow.

“Hey, Baby.” His hand reaches up to one of her curly strands and he grips the bottom of a curl. He gently pulls the hair down and lets go. The wavy hair bounces back to a curl. He lets out a satisfied sigh against her skin. “Your hair is so pretty, Baby,” he compliments, repeating his action. She smiles at him, “Thank you.” “What’s your curl pattern?” he questions. She gives him raised eyebrows and an oval-shaped mouth, “3A. How do you know curl patterns?” He gives her a lazy shrug with wide lips. “I was doing research about your hair. I wanted to know if I need to buy you something for your hair while you stay over at my place,” he informs, not looking up from her hair.

“That’s really sweet, Babe. I’m honoured that you did research for me, but I don’t need anything,” she thanks. He presses another kiss to her skin, “No problem. It’s what you do for the people you love and I’m not going to lie, I am obsessed with your hair.” “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice dropping off a little in sadness. “Truthfully, I considered permanently straightening it. When I was in the fifth grade, I was the only girl in my class with curly hair when I was younger and I felt like it made me ugly. I begged my mom to straighten it every time I washed it.” Zach’s hand goes to the opposite arm and starts rubbing up and down her bicep. “I’m sorry you felt that way, Baby. I’m glad you decided not to because I love your curls. You are beautiful, but your curls help bring out more of your beauty. They make you stand out to me,” he says. Her left-hand finds his right one on her bicep, “I’m glad too. And having you as a constant reminder as to why my curls make me who I am is an added bonus that makes all the hard work worth it.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

#the other zoey #zach maclaren #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren fluff #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey oneshot

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rxdidz · 1 year

Text

★ — bnha characters doing you’re makeup !!

ft. izuku, bakugou, shoto, denki, momo, ashido

izuku

vv exited when you ask him to do your makeup!!!

nervous af at the same time 😭

knows of some products like mascara, blush, lip gloss.

giggling before you even start because aklfjdk you’re so pretty and he’s so scared

he’s so clueless at what to start with. he asked you for hints LMAO

eventually figured it out and was struggling at blending.

accidentally poked you in the eye with the mascara wand.

he’s so sorry forgive him

“i feel so bad, it doesn’t hurt anymore?“

“it’s been 10 minutes izu.”

he’s shaking and crying over doing your eyeliner like help

very good at lipstick, probably blushing the whole time though

the whole look was kinda good, it was just the brows and uneven eyeliner 😣

katsuki

you have to BEG him.

he says yes but for the first 5 mins he’s just wasting your eyeliner and playing with your palettes 🙄

doesn’t know any of the product names. literally only eyeliner because he’s used it before.

“gimmie the sponge and bottle.”

“the beauty blender and foundation?”

“tsk, yeah.😒”

honestly not bad at it like you just sat in silence as he did it

kept grumbling to himself when doing your lashes 😒

not terrible at eyeliner + he looked good when doing it 😓🙏

opens every product you own and and also smells some of them???

starts messing with the highlighter like it doesn’t cost $7.99

mumbling under his breath when doing your lipstick because you look so kissable rn

gives you his phone camera as a mirror and it wasn’t bad.. like it could’ve used some work but it was good for a beginner!!🧎🏽‍♀️

shoto

knows a little bit about it from watching his sister.

kinda hesitant at first i love him

“are you sure? i might mess it up.”

good at putting the foundation n concealer but was scared to dab the beauty blender too hard

so gentle when doing your mascara so he doesn’t poke you <3

smudges your eyeliner 😭 (i don’t blame him it’s so hard for me too)

he has a cute concentrated face

confused on why lip gloss, lip stick and lip liner are all different but it’s okay

takes a min to just look at you, his hands holding your face and you giggle because of how quiet he was.

he smiles, a bit embarrassed and continues to finish it.

asks if he can do eyeshadow because the colours are so pretty!!

chooses dark blue and is so gentle with it ajldjsajdkj

in the end it was really good, he had everything down except the eyeliner 😨

kaminari

he suggested it!!

he’s so exited likes he’s grinning and everything

very good at the base he likes the beauty blender

ends up not doing eyeliner because he’s horrible at it. he’s tried on himself already.

mascara was okay but he kept scaring himself that he was gonna poke you 🙁

starts playing around with it and putting eyeshadow on you.

you knew it was going south when he was putting the brush in the green and then onto your eyebrow.

“just let me finish it, it looks good!” he lied, holding in his laugh.

kisses you when applying your lipstick, n then kisses you on your cheek so he has to redo your lipstick AND put concealer over the lips mark. 😒😒

like bae stop kissing me in the process of my makeup being done.

loves highlighter, puts in on your nose.

covers your eyes with his hands and leads you to the bathroom to reveal his “masterpiece”.

it wasn’t horrible, the lashes, the eyeshadow and the lips looked very good 🤭 it was just your brows and the amount of highlighter..

congratulate him!!!!😓🙏

momo

her face lit up when you asked her to do it <3

her makeup always looks flawless in class, not that she even needs it.

probably has the best products too because she’s so rich 🤭

so good at eyeliner

she’s so steady and focused with it and you’re just trying not to move or she’ll cry internally

also very carefully does your mascara because she does not wanna poke u

she’s so sweet too

“tell me if i poke you, kay?”

when doing your lipstick she gives you a peck before aksjjsk

needs a moment to admire her work before she gives you the hand mirror

overall look was so beautiful fr you looked like a model 10/10 😓🙏

she was on a roll so she decided to do your nails 🧎🏽‍♀️

ashido

her makeup is so fun

she pleaded for you to let her at a sleepover and you caved

literally giggling and swinging her feet she’s so exited

practically on top of you when doing it 😭

calling you pretty the entire time

makes a cute concentrated face when doing your eyeliner

she’s so good at eyeshadow and making the colours n stuff blend

chooses pink 🤭

holds your face in her hands for like 10 seconds while examining it

realizes she needs to add more

your face is her canvas and she’s the artist ‼️

squeals when she’s finished and makes you close your eyes till your at the mirror

it looked so good especially the eyeshadow 10/10 😻

now kiss her on the cheek n tell her it’s beautiful

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #bakugou x reader #denki x reader #mina ashido x reader #momo yaoyorozu x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari x reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #izuku x reader #midoryia x reader

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deepdreamnights · 28 days

Text

Hey, you know how I said there was nothing ethical about Adobe's approach to AI? Well whaddya know?

Adobe wants your team lead to contact their customer service to not have your private documents scraped!

This isn't the first of Adobe's always-online subscription-based products (which should not have been allowed in the first place) to have sneaky little scraping permissions auto-set to on and hidden away, but this is the first one (I'm aware of) where you have to contact customer service to turn it off for a whole team.

Now, I'm on record for saying I see scraping as fair use, and it is. But there's an aspect of that that is very essential to it being fair use: The material must be A) public facing and B) fixed published work.

All public facing published work is subject to transformative work and academic study, the use of mechanical apparatus to improve/accelerate that process does not change that principle. Its the difference between looking through someone's public instagram posts and reading through their drafts folder and DMs.

But that's not the kind of work that Adobe's interested in. See, they already have access to that work just like everyone else. But the in-progress work that Creative Cloud gives them access to, and the private work that's never published that's stored there isn't in LIAON. They want that advantage.

And that's valuable data. For an example: having a ton of snapshots of images in the process of being completed would be very handy for making an AI that takes incomplete work/sketches and 'finishes' it. That's on top of just being general dataset grist.

But that work is, definitionally, not published. There's no avenue to a fair use argument for scraping it, so they have to ask. And because they know it will be an unpopular ask, they make it a quiet op-out.

This was sinister enough when it was Photoshop, but PDF is mainly used for official documents and forms. That's tax documents, medical records, college applications, insurance documents, business records, legal documents. And because this is a server-side scrape, even if you opt-out, you have no guarantee that anyone you're sending those documents to has done so.

So, in case you weren't keeping score, corps like Adobe, Disney, Universal, Nintendo, etc all have the resources to make generative AI systems entirely with work they 'own' or can otherwise claim rights to, and no copyright argument can stop them because they own the copyrights.

They just don't want you to have access to it as a small creator to compete with them, and if they can expand copyright to cover styles and destroy fanworks they will. Here's a pic Adobe trying to do just that:

If you want to know more about fair use and why it applies in this circumstance, I recommend the Electronic Frontier Foundation over the Copyright Alliance.

#AI discourse #long post #copyright #copyleft #fair use #AI art #adobe #PDF

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soracities · 8 months

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how do you know when you're getting good at poetry? everybody dunks on halsey and rupi kaur's poetry, and i never really got why and idk if that's what i sound like

Honestly, I don't think there's ever a point at which you "know" you're getting good at poetry--I think "good" and "bad" are kind of vague and amorphous (and distracting) categories that don't do much in helping us understand the feel and impact of certain writing, chiefly because they can also be deeply subjective. How a poet views a particular work and how a reader views it will be very, very different because their relationship to the work is different. I also think "good" is a sort of external category that does not (or should not) carry into the act of writing itself--when you make "is this good?" the chief consideration as you write, you're not actually present in the writing: you're focused on the finished product, not the process, but the process is the most important thing: that's where the poem actually meets you. I think growth, in writing, is less about knowing if you're "good" in this regard, and more about being able to have confidence, or simply just trust, in the writing as it happens.

There's a famous saying somewhere that a work of literature is never "finished"--it just stops. I think skill, when it comes to writing, lies in recognising where this point is, in learning and developing how you navigate what it is you want to say, and how you say it. Some poems, eventually, reach a point where you can take them no further and you know there is nothing more to be said in them or through them. Some poems reach a point where you can take them no further, but there is still something left to be said in them. Those poems get revisited, worked, and reworked again, until they (maybe) get close to the first category: this may mean you work on them for a few weeks, or for years--but either way you are prioritizing the process of making the poem, not how it will be received. "Is this a good poem?" in my view at least, is not really the relevant question--what's relevant is "is this true to what I wanted to say?" Leonard Cohen famously wrote over 100 drafts of "Hallelujah"--I don't know if the central question for him here was just a matter of his skills as a songwriter.

Regarding Halsey and Rupi Kaur, I've only been able to read Halsey's poems through previews on Google Books so I don't know what other people's critiques are--based on what I saw, though, I don't know if it makes sense to criticize their quality as "poems" when she is primarily a songwriter and a lot of those poems wound up as songs. I'm more familiar with Rupi Kaur's writing, though, and others like her (Atticus, Michael Faudet etc), and while I have a personal policy of not getting into Kaur online (there's an ask here which is about as much as I'm willing to say regarding my feelings on her writing)--I can get into this trend or poetry "style" as a whole. And to be honest I think the chief issue here with poetry like this is that poetry, by definition, involves a deep and intimate relationship with language: this holds true regardless of whether the poem is simple, or complex, whether it's 5 lines long or goes on for 50 pages. As I said in that previous ask, it's not something you can reduce to a formula, nor is it a matter of mere reportage or a collection of statements: what makes a poem has nothing to do with line breaks (prose poems exist), but everything to do with how the language moves, how the language of a poem engages with its own content, with itself, and, as a result, with the reader.

The kind of work that proliferates on Instagram does not have that kind of engagement with language--they are, to me, pieces of information more than anything else. They reduce language to a series of stock phrases that act, not as actual words, but as images (and I don't mean this in a visually evocative way). It tries to evoke something that requires a thoughtful and sustained examination in order to be expressed, by surpassing the reality of what that examination actually requires. It tries to ape the effect of a powerful poem without the work that goes into actually being able to make that kind of a poem in the first place: and that work is a sustained encounter and confrontation with the language used and its relationship to what it tries to convey, in understanding that words are not interchangeable blocks you move around willy-nilly but that they have weight and intention, that they interact with each other to build up an idea or a feeling or a landscape in the most accessible way (insofar as language can make anything accessible, at least). But this is rarely, if ever, felt in IG poetry because it refuses to recognize or respect the demands and requirements of the medium it uses.

And because it is lacking in this engagement and recognition, these poems are also, for the most part, lacking sincerity--and this, to me, is one of the most crucial things when it comes to writing. I recall one IG poet whose work was in the same class as someone like Atticus, but I also recall one of his poems which genuinely moved me--and it moved me because, unlike everything else on his account, that poem felt sincere: the structure and the language wasn't any different to anything else he wrote, but in reading it, it was not a question for me of whether it was "bad" or "good"--what made the impact was that it was honest: and the difference showed. You can't come into a poem with ulterior motives. You can't come into it without an understanding, or respect, for the language you use. I'm absolutely not policing what people should or shouldn't read, and I'm not saying people are wrong for liking these poems, either, or that Halsey, Kaur, Atticus et al., are wrong for writing them. Expression is expression, and what speaks to you speaks to you. And to be honest, it is a different kettle of fish when you are writing something purely for yourself (and I think allowing yourself to partake in any kind of artform, without worrying about needing to be good at it, is deeply important for the human spirit)--but because they are putting their work out publicly, if we are going to be evaluating what they write and how they write it, that evaluation has to be rooted in an understanding of the art form they intend their work to be a part of.

For me, these are the main issues I have with these writers and their work and why I just do not like them. But I also want to stress that, ultimately, what you sound like in your own poems, anon, does not matter as much as being sincere to yourself does. As I said, I don' like using terms like "good" and "bad" and I think that often they're fairly reductive (and sometimes outright pointless) categories to use when we talk about and assess poetry--more than anything else, the key to building a robust and informed discernment when it comes to poems is to simply just read--read a lot of it and read widely. The broader and richer your repository of poetry (and literature in general) is, the more informed you are when it comes to all the different ways language can move through a poem, and all the different impacts it can have as a result. It deepens and enriches your understanding of all the different ways of looking at something, questioning something, expressing something. Your vocabularly grows and deepens; your net of associations--visual, linguistic etc--strengthens. And when this understanding grows you are able to place the things you read into a much wider and far more informed context. And this in turn allows you to grow as a reader and a writer. I hope this helps you a little, anon 💕

#ask #anonymous #book talks

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hyperactively-me · 7 months

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I KEEP SENDING THINGS IM SO SORRY 😞 😔 but you're writing is so good I'm addicted!!! I remember in one of your previous chapters about king ghost he says he loves princess' hair. Can you imagine he walks in while she doing her hair care routine, like oils and the like and she says let me do your hair too and he just feels so loved and appreciated 😭😭😭😭 and he's super interested in what all the products are for and he's like no wonder you look gorgeous everyday 😭😭😭😩😩😩😩

i got 2 requests that were pretty similar, so i'm just gonna combine the two in this one post! i love this idea! so cute! i'm gonna try and keep the description of hair as vague as possible btw. for my reader inserts i always try my best to not describe specific appearances.

One sunny morning, while Simon is still lazing around in bed, you get up to do your hair routine. The warm rays of the sun sneak through the curtains, casting a gentle glow in the room. You stretch and yawn, feeling the soft sheets beneath you as you rise. Simon makes an attempt to grab you before you slip out of bed, but you jump away, giggling quietly at his grumbling.

You pad over to your vanity, where an array of products awaited. Bottles of sprays, tubes of creams, and the fragrant allure of hair oils beckoned you. Simon, still in a state of semi-slumber, observed your morning dance with the products from his place in bed. Your reflection in the mirror smiles back at you, anticipating the ritual ahead.

As you began to work the elixirs into your hair, your hands moving with a practiced grace, Simon's eyes followed your every move. There was something captivating about the way you devoted attention to your locks, a mesmerizing movement of hands and hair. He couldn't help but admire the effortless beauty that unfolded before him.

You finished off your hair with a perfumed ribbon, the fragrance adding a final touch of elegance to your carefully styled locks.

Caught in the act of staring, Simon's gaze met yours, and you giggled playfully. The room was filled with a light, carefree energy as you asked him, “Want to give it a try?”

Simon, initially a bit shy, nodded with a sheepish look. Intrigued, he joined you, shifting from the bed to stand beside you next to your vanity. You stand up from your seat, beckoning him to sit down.

“Okay, try not to move,” you instructed. With a bottle in hand, you began the process, your fingers deftly working through Simon’s hair. The scent of the hair oil filled the air as you massage into his scalp.

Simon, initially unsure of himself, gradually surrendered to the sensation. Your hands, moving with the same practiced grace he had admired moments ago, massaged the oil into his scalp. Simon closed his eyes, allowing himself to be fully present in the moment.

“You're quiet this morning,” you observe, your voice a gentle whisper, rubbing a different lotion into his hair.

Simon, enveloped in the soothing touch of your hands, took a moment before responding. “It's just nice,” he admitted, his voice carrying a sense of calm. “I didn't realize how relaxing this could be.”

You chuckled softly, continuing your ministrations. “It's the little things, isn't it?”

“Mhm,” he hums, leaning back into your touch.

After a while, you shifted gears, picking up another bottle. “Let's add a bit of this for extra care,” you suggested, your hands now working a different lotion into your palms. The subtle fragrance mingled with the hair oil, the scent reminding him of you. Simon, still with his eyes closed, nodded in agreement.

As the final touches were added, you stepped back, admiring your work with a satisfied nod. Simon, now with his eyes open, met your gaze.

“Finished,” you smile. “Do you like it?”

Simon, running his fingers through his freshly pampered hair, couldn’t help but smile in contentment. The subtle fragrance that lingered in the air swallowed him whole. “Love it.”

“No wonder you look gorgeous everyday,” he adds on, spinning around his seat, pulling you in between his legs.

You smile, moving a single stray lock away from his forehead.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you teased, your fingers playfully tousling his hair.

Simon, still holding you close, gazed into your eyes with a soft intensity. “You're truly something special,” he said, his words carrying a sincerity that resonated deep within.

Simon, ever playful, spun you around to face the mirror. “Now, it's my turn to admire your masterpiece,” he declared, his arms wrapped around you.

You chuckled as you both stared into the reflection before you. His hand reaches up to your ribbon, playing with the edges gingerly.

“You like it?”

“Looks s’ pretty,” he nods, letting it drop from his grasp. He'll take it for himself later.

Simon turns you around to face him, his hands cupping your face. “You know, I love these quiet moments with you,” he confesses, his eyes searching yours.

You lean into his touch. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the embrace, a gentle knock on the door interrupted the moment. You shared a playful smile, knowing that the day awaited.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#so fluffy so soft #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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