#Campy Challenges

[felixwylde]

Mmm Saucy

What have you been working on? I’ve been tinkering with this thing called “bumboles,” a jolly good new bowling game, a bit like English lawn bowls, but with a dash of dogging thrown in for fun. What do you reckon, is it quirky enough for your fancy?

[total-drama-brainrot]

total drama horror au where after the "contestants" were chosen, chris kidnapped them and dumped them on an island to compete in death games against each other whilst broadcasting it to the masses livestream style. they're forced to comply with their "host" or else their food/living accommodations are stripped away and they're left to fend for themselves in the forest, but participating in the challenges is arguably more dangerous.

each elimination ceremony is taken to it's literal extreme, as the voted out player is just straight up executed on the spot.

the audience think it's some sort of ARG type deal at first, with the campers being actors, but eventually- probably by the first on-screen death- people catch on to it being Very Real.

(chris funds this little 'project' himself mr beast style using his vast amount of tv star wealth, so there's no network/producers that he has to answer to.)

[whetstonefires]

the difficult thing about predicting the wrap-up of Glass Onion with no external hints is that the true facts are almost as stupid as the fake facts.

that is not how IP law works. that is not really how hydrogen works. that's not quite how allergies work. that's not at all how becoming spectacularly wealthy works. this also incidentally isn't how hiring private investigators generally works.

no film attempting to be seen as realistic and grounded would do the bullet-blocking notebook bit. like, technically it can happen, in the sense that it has. but it probably won't.

so the things that aren't true because they're stupid don't stand out too clearly to the audience until the characters single them out, because we have to go in willing to accept a certain amount of bullshit for the sake of the narrative if we're going to have fun. we can't calibrate our bullshit detectors reliably early enough to get ahead of the plot.

it's fine though because the point is the characters and vibes and allegories and so forth. it's internally consistent and doesn't try to abuse this power over the viewer, so there's no issue.

[psychoticwillgraham]

legit doing an outline for that hannigram/repo the genetic opera crossover I was thinking about doing, and god this is gonna be so fun to write

[holdharmonysacred]

Also just saw a post having a giggle about Pearl and Vriska discourse and I think that like. If you want to try to seriously figure out why the hell that particular genre of discourse gets so bad - and hell, I’ll throw The Egg Guard in as the same genre of disk horse - then the big thing to look at is that all these characters tend to be Creator’s Pets. “Character did bad things” is almost never the actual problem, if the arguing goes in that direction it’ll be because the people making the arguments don’t know how to articulate things from a Doylist angle, the actual problem is pretty much always that Character is blatantly the creator’s favorite and the creator(s) cannot stop themselves from being self-indulgent. And that constant self-indulgence means they can’t bring themselves to Kill Their Darlings or approach the Shenanigans that Character is doing appropriately.

So you get this weird genre of character who constantly does really horrible shit to the rest of the work’s cast - horrible shit that frequently crosses the “this is too real and hits too close to home” boundary - and basically gets away with it and excused for their actions literally all the time and always hogs the spotlight and is just plain annoying if you don’t like that character. And a big part of this genre of creator favoritism is that the creators just can’t bring themselves to actually treat the more villainous characters in this genre like campy villains, so you don’t even get the fun kind of evil girlbossing. And it sucks, if you’re a writer, don’t do this shit. This is the exact kind of thing that the classic “kill your darlings” advice is meant to warn against, nothing good comes from writing like this.

[demilypyro]

There's always some amount of Clown Girl energy happening on my stream but I think this depends on the kind of game I'm playing. If the game is campy and easy to make fun of, clown levels will rise. But if the game is challenging and kinetic, it's like the clown girl pulls out an anime sword and starts doing iaijutsus all over the place

[lesbiansforboromir]

Inspired by the Hunt for Gollum 2 day fiasco (I suppose it wasn't really a fiasco, genuinely happy they came to such a quick resolution, I will give it to them), I noticed a bunch of people said they'd never heard of the Hunt for Gollum fanfilm and was surprised! So here are some more tolkien fan films on youtube that you can watch right now! A friend of mine coalated all of these for our server and we binged them all, which was a really great time and I would heartily recommend.

Obviously, first; The Hunt for Gollum, a 40min shortfilm pretty much entirely about Aragorn, you guessed it, hunting gollum. But there's also a few neat interactions with other characters too and the production is of an extremely good quality for what it is.

Then you have Born of Hope, from the same company as hunt for gollum, this one focuses more on Arathorn and Gilraen's relationship and Aragorn's tumultuous birth. It's very depressing but I also really liked the casting of Arathorn and is worth a watch.

Horn of Gondor is a short 20min fanfilm with a pretty inventive premise, focusing on Borondir's in-universe fabled ride to deliver Steward Cirion's request for an alliance with the ancestral rohirrim to Eorl their king, thereby saving Gondor from defeat. I find it a little lacklustre and it doesnt really measure up to it's concept but the attempt is still admirable and there is some real and clear passion behind it so still worth a watch.

Wings Over Arda is, gonna be honest, my favourite one of the lot. It is an hour long and extremely ambitiously attempts to feature events from Tuor's meeting with Ulmo, to the attack of the Sons of Feanor upon Doriath. It essentially fails to live up to the auspicousness of any of these things, but it is EXTREMELY earnest and the casting for Dior in particular is now just burned into my brain. It feels kind of like it was made in the 1980s too which I just love for a film that came out 2 years ago. It's really fun, give it a go.

One of the Seven is more of a hobbit movie fanfilm, referencing PJ's Thranduil backstory of losing his wife and the hunt for her jewels, but also involving dwarves and elves bickering over unspecified rings. It has the brightest colour pallette of all the films which is a visual relief and all the costumes are really detailed, mainly because I suspect this was made my cosplayers who just had some time on their hands. It's fun and campy and only 25mins so fully digestable, even if it's a little dwarf-ist.

Lastly there's The Peril to the Shire, even though cards on the table I have not watched this one. It is three hours long and was made by a bunch of homeschooled children somewhere, featuring entirely child actors and about Rosie Cotten defending the Shire pre-scouring. From what I've seen, the kids are having a great time doing it, but the audio is also really hard to hear clearly so this is more of a challenge than a suggestion.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

The reason I think OFMD feels like fanfiction (affectionate) is that it's so incredibly earnest, in a way we're just not used to really seeing. It never feels the need to point and laugh at the earnest whimsy of it all, it never makes a joke of queerness, and it never gets annoyingly self-referential in the way media that's too worried about its own image will be (you all know how Marvel movies have characters be like "ooh wasn't that weird? we have to point out how a weird thing is happening so the audience knows we're cool and above that." that thing never happens).

They want Stede to write the man he loves little love letters every day? He kisses the bottles before he throws them into the ocean. He lays awake thinking about a moment where he almost kissed Ed under the moonlight. He has dreams of running to Ed across a beach.

They have a character who wants to feel like he deserves to get married so bad, and who also wants to feel safe to explore more feminine gender expression? They have him paint a bride cake topper to look like himself.

They want a character to make the decision to live because he hears the voice of the man he loves, challenging his belief that no one cares if he lives or dies? They have his lover appear to him as a beautiful mermaid and give him a huge, lovesick smile, and it's sweet and campy and 100% genuine.

I'm used to seeing so many of the things in OFMD in media as just jokes. A fat, Black man being seen as extremely desirable. Women of color in positions of authority. Queer love and desire. Drag shows! But OFMD never, ever punches down, and it's always so earnest, and it cares so much.

Just...damn. I feel lucky every time I think about it. We've got a special show here.

[ohcjvjhoj]

the thing that makes challengers so good to me is its earnestness! I love an earnest piece of media!!! I love that it’s full of campy, maybe even tropey moments that are brimming with genuine feeling. I love that you go in thinking it’ll either take itself too seriously or be overly steeped in its own self-awareness (as so many movies these days fall into one or the other), but it manages to pierce through all that because it’s neither?! the churros, the sauna, the three of them in a hotel room, the competitive love triangle—it IS dramatic and tense but the drama isn’t just to be dark or serious. it IS really fucking funny but it’s not just played for laughs/self awareness! it manages to have both at once with complete sincerity. It’s full of earnestness and passion, and then when you get to the end you realize: that was the point. That was the point.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Oh, Peaceful Property!!! I was prepared for a campy horror comedy, and we definitely get that (Thailand specializes in serving high camp!), but I wasn't ready for...

1.The show to play such explicit homage with its multilingual script and subtitles to Los Espookys, a fantastic queer horror comedy show (that not enough people watched) about a low-budget team of paranormal special-effects creators, led and written by gay SNL alum Julio Torres. If you haven't seen it and you want some weird tumblr-style humor, I highly recommend a watch.

2. What will probably end up being the only show I enjoy watching about the current global housing crisis and how it impacts people, especially young adults, so differently across class divides (both financial and national)

3. The ghosts to be so gruesome and haunting. Someone jokes about 'ghosts in the daylight' early on, but that burnt hand reaching in the morning light for the fried rice was so chilling and beautiful. For me, the first episode did such a fantastic job balancing the comedy tone and the ghost story tone--challenging and impressive! The sound really helps a lot, but the whole production team seems to know what's needed to put these two elements together. It's all so distinctly Thai.

4. A heartfelt allegory about feelings of emptiness, purposelessness, and suicidality but finding meaning for your life, despite those feelings, through perseverance, kindness, connection, and gratitude.

5. The cast so clearly LIVING for their characters and the tone of the show. And I love each character so deeply already. Each of them are distinct and comedic but are giving an important depth beneath the jokes. And the writing has set up all the characters so well to deliver home the themes.

6. A BL. It's gonna be a BL. It has to be a BL, right??? Home (New's character) showed up in Peach's bed (Tay's character), and has been told he needs to find the meaning of home by his deceased grandfather (whose is painted in his official stately portrait holding a watergun lol). Peach has a mood board for his own "home." We know where their home will be (inside each other's mouths). If it's not a BL that'll be hilarious. But I'm pretty damn sure it's a BL, y'all.

[spitblaze]

best types of star trek episodes

Stories about how even across time and space, in cultures and places that have nothing to do with one another, we still experience the same problems. War doesn't change, neither does trauma, neither does love, or challenged beliefs, or familial strife, or grief, or death, or life. It may seem as if we could not be more different on the outside, but we are ultimately more alike than not.

Stupid campy bullshit

[blueiscoool]

Archaeologists Discover Ancient Roman Mosaic in Sea off Italy

Researchers studying an underwater city in Italy say they have found an ancient mosaic floor that was once the base of a Roman villa, a discovery that the local mayor called "stupendous."

The discovery was made in Bay Sommersa, a marine-protected area and UNESCO World Heritage Site off the northern coast of the Gulf of Naples. The area was once the Roman city of Baia, but it has become submerged over the centuries thanks to volcanic activity in the area. The underwater structures remain somewhat intact, allowing researchers to make discoveries like the mosaic floor

The Campi Flegrei Archaeological Park announced the latest discovery, which includes "thousands of marble slabs" in "hundreds of different shapes," on social media.

"This marble floor has been at the center of the largest underwater restoration work," the park said, calling the research "a new challenge" and made "very complicated due to the extreme fragment of the remains and their large expansion."

The marble floor is made of recovered, second-hand marble that had previously been used to decorate other floors or walls, the park said. Each piece of marble was sharpened into a square and inscribed with circles. The floor is likely from the third century A.D., the park said in another post, citing the style of the room and the repurposing of the materials as practices that were common during that time.

Researchers are working carefully to extract the marble pieces from the site, the park said. The recovery work will require careful digging around collapsed walls and other fragmented slabs, but researchers hope to "be able to save some of the geometries."

Once recovered, the slabs are being brought to land and cleaned in freshwater tanks. The marble pieces are then being studied "slab by slab" to try to recreate the former mosaic, the park said.

"The work is still long and complex, but we are sure that it will offer many prompts and great satisfactions," the park said.

By Kerry Breen

[artbyblastweave]

Something I find interesting about the Lizard League is that these guys are supervillain supervillains, costumed in the classic mold- Salamander with the impossibly-skintight patterned-cloth costume, Iguana with the tight-tights-and-animal-headpiece combo, Komodo with that 70s-style strongman cowl-and-jersey, King Lizard with the Baron Strucker-style double-breasted greatcoat. These guys are unrepentant in their design. And in the comics, where the Sequid arc didn't happen till around issue 40, these guys were part of this established stable of villains who'd show up as fodder for montages and one-off fights where they needed to have a hero beating up someone who's clearly a supervillain, never mind who. That meant that their eventual escalation to nuclear terrorism after 30+ issues of low-rent stuff, and the ensuing clusterfuck, actually parsed as a meaningful escalation from the established status quo. These guys are breaking the rules. Supervillains do stuff like this sometimes, sure, but not this kind of supervillain- these guys are doing MCU-style unmarked-Kevlar terroristic supervillainy when they should be doing lizard-themed gimmick crimes or Super-friends stuff!

Well, no, that's not quite true. It feels true, but honestly there are plenty of examples of campy big-two villains doing flat-out nuclear terrorism pretty early on, actually. Just to pick some examples from X-Men, Magento did it in his first appearance, and the ANAD lineup's first real outing was to stop Count Nefaria from hijacking NORAD. Screwing around with the military's world-ending shit is downright commonplace for supervillains, once you start tallying it up. But between the goofy kid-gloves approach of a lot of early silver-age comics and the sheer volume of Stuff that's happened in the Marvel and DC continuities, the impact of attempted nuclear terrorism inevitably gets sanded down, it just becomes one more data point in the endless ebb and flow- hell, it can result in actual nuclear detonations, and eventually it's going to get sanded over. In the nineties, Vandal Savage actually nuked Montevideo using depreciated USSR stock. Is that salient, these days? This event that would have reshaped geopolitics had it happened in our world? So yeah, supervillains make a run on the nukes all the time- but it doesn't count if you do it in a onesie with your initials stenciled on it.

But Invincible, as a self-contained continuity, actually has the ability to maintain perspective and appropriately weigh a grab at the nuclear arsenal - it's very much not business as usual, it's not part of the typical cops-and-robbers runaround. It's not stealing a priceless diamond, it's not a bank job, it's not even rampaging through the city center with a giant robot. It's a credible attempt to end the world, it's a challenge to government power that they won't let stand, costumes or no. It's the government sponsored super team coming in guns blazing trying their damnedest to kill you from the word go, and its you trying to kill them equally hard because there's really no coming back from this if you lose. And it ends up that treating this situation with a commonsense level of gravity acts as a deconstructive backhand against every similar situation in the comics that ends with the villain shaking their fist and escaping at the last minute.

[yourobedientserpent]

Athelind Long's Superhero Chronology

Cross-Published from my Blogspot blog, Kirby Dots & Ditko Ribbons. INTRODUCTION  There's a tendency to divide the different eras of comic book superheroes into "Golden," "Silver", and "Modern," with occasional, tentative attempts to parcel off the Bronze Age, as well.

Let's just say that this lacks nuance. The Superhero Genre has gone through a lot of trends and phases and distinctive cultures over the years, and lumping almost half of its history into some concept of "The Modern Age" is just phoning it in. 

Some notes: 

This is not quite the same as the ages of COMICS, though there's similar nomenclature, largely because comics history tends to focus on the superhero genre even when it tries not to. This is about SUPERHEROES, in more than just a single medium; the "Ages" only indirectly impact other genres. 

All dates are approximate. 

There's plenty of overlap between Silver/Bronze, Bronze/Iron, and Iron/Aluminum, but when I started looking a keystone events, I was astonished by how neatly everything fell into 15-year chunks! 

THE CHRONOLOGY

Prelude (1830s-1938): The dawn of mass-produced popular culture: penny dreadfuls, dime novels, pulp magazines, newspaper comic strips. Folk heroes and detectives start sharing the pages with costumed adventurers, some with peak-human or superhuman abilities. Professor Challenger, Sherlock Holmes, The Nyctalope, The Shadow, Doc Savage. 

Golden Age (1938-1953): Begins with Superman, of course; ends with Post-War Superhero Implosion and Frederic Wertham's anti-comics crusade. The JSA stopped appearing in All-Star Comics in 1951. Fawcett stopped publishing Captain Marvel in 1953. 

Interregnum (1950ish-1960ish): A lot of historians make much of the gap between the Golden and Silver Ages, but, in retrospect, it's surprisingly brief. Superheroes never really go away, but they are de-emphasized in favor of other genres in comics, including horror, romance, and science fiction. Even at DC, other than Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, superheroes are relegated to back-up stories in anthology titles. Still, The Adventures of Superman with George Reeves remained popular throughout this period. 

Silver Age (1954-1970): The Reign of the Comics Code Authority (est. 1954). Really starts to roll with the demise of EC Comics and the reboot of The Flash; peaks with the "camp" craze popularized by the 1966 Batman TV series; ends when Kirby Moves to DC and Marvel publishes the Spider-Man Drug Stories without the Code Stamp. Early on, formerly-anonymous creators start getting openly credited on the title pages of their stories; this starts at Marvel, but DC eventually follows suit. 

Bronze Age (1971-1985): Begins with O'Neil and Adams revamping Batman and Green Lantern; Ends with the Crisis on Infinite Earths. Both DC and Marvel start paying closer attention to continuity and "relevance", and the most successful titles are the ones that most fully embrace an ongoing serial storyline (Legion of Super-Heroes, X-Men, The New Teen Titans). The specialty comic book shop starts becoming more common at the beginning of the era, and the closing years of the era herald a growing Creator's Rights movement, the birth of the Direct Market -- and the dawn of the independent publishers. 

Iron Age (1986-2000): Begins with Deconstruction: Elementals, The Dark Knight Returns, Watchmen, and the Wild Cards "mosaic novel" series. Ends with Reconstruction: Morrison's JLA, among others. Dominated by a determined effort to Take Superhero Comics Seriously. The Big Two kill off or "reinvent" goofy, campy Silver Age characters. DC tries very hard to bring coherency and consistency to its new, Post-Crisis timeline. Several independent publishers try cold-starting superhero "universes" of their own; most of them fail, but a lucky few manage to sell their characters to the Big Two (Ultraverse, Wildstorm). 

Aluminum Age (2000-2015): When Everything is Recycled. Marvel starts the Ultimate Universe. DC resurrects Silver Age characters who got killed off in the Bronze and Iron Age. The Comics Code finally dies in 2011. DC does a succession of "sequels" to Crisis on Infinite Earths: Identity Crisis (2004), Infinite Crisis (2005-2006), and the deceptively-named Final Crisis (2008), culminating in another Hard Reboot with the New 52 in 2011. Marvel does its own version of Crisis with the Multiverse Incursion story arc in New Avengers from 2013-2015. "Decompression" and "writing for the trade" become common as trade-paperback collections become more economically important than the traditional monthly comic magazines ("floppies"). 

Digital Age (2015-Current): Superhero not only become mainstream, but actually dominate movies and TV for several years -- this starts in the Aluminum Age, with the MCU in 2008, but is solidly codified by the debut of Arrow in 2015 and an explosion of weekly prime-time superhero shows that lasts almost a decade.

Comments are welcome, but be civil! This is intended to provoke conversations, not fights.

[insult-2-injury]

Scream Queen - Part 1/2

Gojo Satoru/FemReader

When it comes to horror films, Gojo considers himself a connoisseur. He knows a good chase when he sees one, and he's had his sights set on you for a long time.

AO3 Link

NSFW, 6.3k wc, porn with plot, dirty talk, fingering, pussy eating, masturbation, mild predator/prey

Part 1

Gojo had picked the horror flick that night. Had insisted it was critically acclaimed. But it was just some campy thing where the heroine was running all too slow down a flickering hallway, her screams serving only to alert the pursuing monster of her exact location. The woman’s hair was as beautifully curled as when she’d arrived, her skirt hiked up to her upper thighs, tank top torn in a way that left little to the imagination. 

“‘Amazing cinematography’ my ass,” you mumbled. You lay sleepily on Gojo’s couch, head in his lap, his fingers carding through your hair.

“You don’t like?” 

“She’s tripped over six times.”

“Yeahhh she’s a little clumsy,” he agreed. “But try and think about it this way: every time she stumbles, her tits go bananas. I mean talk about breaking the fourth wall.”

The woman ran into a room, barricading the door with just a weak press of her shoulder, weeping hysterically. You pointed at the screen, livid. “I can literally see a cameraman standing in the corner! Critically acclaimed? Really?”

“Yeah. Critically acclaimed by my penis.” He frowned. “Did I not say that?”

“No, actually, you failed to mention that, deviant.”

The tug of sleep was beginning to draw your eyes closed, the warmth of his thigh and the drone of shitty TV lulling you into a dreamlike trance. It was a rare occasion that you didn’t like the movies Gojo picked out; in fact this was a first. He actually had a surprising eye for pretty things and a knack for picking out quality flicks you’d never even heard of. But this was… decidedly un-epic.

The sound of wood splintering through indicated the start of yet another chase sequence that you couldn't care less about witnessing.

“Couldn’t be me,” you mumbled, melting further into his lap with a deep sigh, eyes finally closing. “I’m fast as fuck.”

“Yeah?” His voice held more than a touch of amusement. “You’re alright.”

With a cursed technique that granted you a speed on par with the all famous Gojo Satoru, you’d fare more than alright in a horror film.

“You could never catch me.”

The fingers in your hair paused for a good minute before he responded.

“You think?” he said.

Your only response was a sleepy hum.

“Hm.” The fingers continued. “Alright.”

You were too tired to think much of it, honestly, or the fact that you had inadvertently issued a challenge to the most insufferably competitive man you’d ever met. 

As your breathing slowed, his touch switched almost absentmindedly to the shell of your exposed ear, sweeping softly along the curve of it. Back and forth. Goosebumps tracked down your arms and you shivered, pulling your legs so tight to your chest that they knocked into his. You opted to ignore the puff of amusement from above – not like you could help that his couch was so comfortable.

Not to mention his apartment was bafflingly huge compared to your 400 square foot rabbit cage – with one of those open plan living spaces boasting enough area to plant a giant sectional couch right smack in the middle of it. But for how filthy rich he was, the place wasn’t ostentatious at all. It was cozy. Blessedly quiet, too, in comparison, even with the constant murmur of background noise that you were convinced Gojo would drop dead without. 

His apartment had become somewhat of a home base in recent months for you to decompress after tough missions. It hadn’t been easy finding friends since your move to Tokyo. Not that Gojo had started out as anything close to one. You’d hated his guts at first, actually. Still did sometimes - your first meeting ending with you fuming and him grinning down at you like you were the funniest little creature. He had a habit of that, making people feel small, what with his 6 '3 string bean stature and a perma-smirk that did little to fight off the asshole allegations.

You weren’t sure if you could deign to call whatever this was a friendship, either, with the two of you pushing each other’s buttons like it was your sworn duty to do so. But the bickering was a strange sort of constant in your life, and jujutsu sorcerers didn’t get many of those. So you showed up here time and time again for what? Normalcy? Comfort? Something like that. You just took it for what it was, and Gojo was certainly never one to complain about company.

You dozed off to the thought of how surprisingly cushy his thigh was, even if he was built like a string bean.

A sharp pinch on your earlobe jolted you awake. In an instant, you’d snatched the offending wrist and pulled yourself up. “Ow! The hell was that about?!” 

“Whoopsie! Sorry ‘bout that.” Gojo shrunk back from you, his sheepish apology so comically phony he reminded you of a kitten caught testing its boundaries. “Got scared. Hand slipped.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Sheesh. Careful, no second chances with this one.” 

He was being extra annoying tonight, and you said as much. Grumpily, you released your hold of him and he made a real show of it: inspecting for bruises, rubbing at his wrist and shaking his hand out like he’d been in iron shackles. Worst of all, the movie seemed like it was only a little past the halfway point, which means he hadn’t let you sleep through much of it at all. 

“Well.” You clapped your hands together. “you’ve just got to fill me in on what I missed.”

He inhaled.

“Sarcasm.”

His bottom lip stuck out in a pout, his head falling against his shoulder as he regarded you.

“You’re so mean to me.”

With a dramatic huff, you turned and collapsed back into the couch beside him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the heels of your palms. With senses so finely attuned to Gojo’s impulsive tendencies by now, you blindly knocked his hand away with your forearm before he could reach out to aggressively ruffle your hair in retaliation.

Just as smug as he could be, you crossed your arms and smirked. You’d found he often liked to justify inciting violence by lecturing how a good sorcerer was always on their guard. Well, guess what.

“Who’s the strongest now, bitch? That’s twice now I’ve blocked your ass.”

You caught the tail end of his quiet, mournful suffering – “could’ve seriously been injured…” 

“You have a weak constitution.”

He pointed at himself, looking around the room as if to say ‘me?!’  You nodded solemnly.

“Uh oh, I smell jealousyyy,” he sang, fingers drumming a scattered beat on the leather behind your head.

“Yeah? What of?”

He raised his chin with a dazzling smile. “My dainty, effeminate wrists, of course!”

Despite your best attempt, you snorted a laugh. Damn if he didn’t look pleased as punch about it, too.

“Strongest,” you scoffed. “You can’t even stand up from the couch without groaning. Let’s get you home, grandpa…reduced to bone dust if someone tightened your watch band a little too hard–”

You let out an angry squeal when the fingers behind you finally seized the chance to reach up and tousle your hair– not in the cute little gesture of affection kind of way. More in the pure violence for violence sake kind of way. You threw your arms over your head, forehead tucking into your folded knees, shouting over his witchy cackle.

“Strongest guy at the bingo table more like! Stop. Stop!” You smacked at his accosting hand blindly but it was like swatting at a relentless swarm of bees. “THAT’S ENOUGH.”

With one final ruffle, he let you go. You threw him your fiercest scowl.

“I hate you.”

His fiendish laughter trailed into the low, drawn out sound of your name, hummed with a purring appreciation that had your stomach flipping oddly, twisting in knots. You froze. Dear lord, when had you gravitated so close to him? If you tipped your head back, you’d be lying on the crook of his elbow. 

Quickly, you averted your gaze and got to work on your hair, smoothing down the devastation he had wreaked upon it. But strangely, his touch never quite left you, knuckles stroking gently at the base of your neck in an unfamiliar act of intimacy. You waited for him to launch an attack again, but he didn’t. Just quietly kneaded his fingers into your spine. The whole thing left you feeling a little stranded by what seemed like an unnerving insinuation of closeness, gaining an invisible weight to it the longer it went uncontested by you.

You blinked and spouted the first lie you could conjure up.

“You make for a terrible pillow, by the way.”

He made a throaty noise of disappointment, studying you a moment longer before turning his attention back to the movie, touch abandoning your neck. “Come into my home…” 

“And I’ll walk right back out of it if you’re not careful.”

“Ooh, consider me scared!”

“You should be scared.”

“Don’t I know it.” His long form slouched impossibly further down into his seat, his fingers lacing over his chest before he barked out one startlingly loud laugh, as if he’d just remembered you’d said the funniest thing. “Careful,” he said, a self-satisfied grin beginning to creep across his lips. “You would hate careful.”

You frowned. “What–”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he waved you off. “You can do whatever you want.”

Your jaw clenched at the pet name. But still it took a moment for your brain to kick back into gear. It was just… the way he’d said it that gave you pause, like he knew something you didn’t.

“Shit movie,” was all you could think to say.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’, sitting there still with a far-too-pleased grin.

Hit with a sudden bout of nerves, you turned to the coffee table, which was littered with a variety of sweet snacks he’d fished out of his cupboard. Stomach already full and strongly protesting to anything more, you panic-swiped two kit kats and jammed them into your mouth, taking the opportunity to scooch yourself away from him.

For a guy whose cursed technique allowed him to control space, Gojo was awfully oblivious to the concept of it. He was a taker; give him room to spread and he would take it unapologetically. It was no different now, his long form stretching immediately into your space again. His knee chased yours almost mindlessly, leg knocking into yours, bouncing there with a fervor.

“Stop.”

He looked at you with a raised brow. “Heh?”

“You’re encroaching.” 

His gaze flicked down, noticing the personal space violation for the first time, blinking, making a small hum of decision. He leaned in close, murmuring into your ear. “Well here’s an idea, yeah?” He grabbed your knee with an outstretched palm. “Go on and walk right out of here, then.”

You could only pray the movie was loud enough that he didn’t hear your breath catch. God, his hands were huge, his long, spidery grip bleeding warmth across your lower thigh and knee.

The feel of Gojo’s breath swept across your cheek as he observed your reactions closely. And you couldn’t help but gulp as a different, more alarming heat burned its way slowly up your thigh like a lit wick.

A thumb brushed featherlight across your bare skin, the pads of his fingers beginning to crawl gently inward to tickle the sensitive skin at the inside of your knee. You quickly jerked your leg away.

“Here’s an idea,” you sputtered, fumbling to find anything clever to say and failing miserably, “stop… being the way that you are.”

“Uh. Alright.” Gojo scratched his head, pulling back to give you the space you thought you wanted. “Don’t know what you want me to do about that, really. Sheesh. What’s a guy to do? Not like I can stop being hot or a genius or whatever. You want me to just ‘say goodbye’ to my baby blues?” He cupped his palm over his mouth in hushed confidentiality. “My giant horse cock?”

You made a horrible retching sound.

He shrugged away your disgust. “Just sayin’, you’ve gotta see it to believe it.”

“Cut it out.”

It was like you’d told him there was strawberry cake on the ceiling the way his eyes lit up, rolled back in his skull, jaw dropping as he threw his head back in fake ecstasy. And you just knew what he was about to do.

Your fist pulled back to prepare what should’ve been a non-punch to his infinity. 

“Stop or I will punch all the way through you.”

In an outrageously high-pitched, shrill voice, Gojo moaned.

“Make me, daddy–!”

The words were cut short by a choked grunt as he allowed your fist to connect to the soft of his stomach. Hard. His head lolled backward, a long, appreciative groan slipping from between an open-mouthed grin. The slender column of his throat bobbed as the raunchy noise dissolved into giggles. And you might as well have been struck in the gut yourself with how violently you yanked yourself back from him.

Because Gojo Satoru was beautiful like this. In that stupid, unfair way that made you want to run your tongue up and down his neck just once to see if he was made of real flesh and blood. You shook the thought from your head.

“You’re so weird.”

“You think so?” he asked, voice just a touch raspy.

‘Yeah. I do.”

His eyes rolled coyly to the side to meet yours.

“Brat.”

“Pervert.”

Gojo lifted his head lazily, perfect tufts of snow white falling across his forehead, a dangerous grin stretching slow and wide across his face. “Babe, you have no idea.”

Your face heated, nerves shooting off like a flurry of butterfly wings in your chest. You wanted to hiss at him. What was he playing at anyway? He’d flirt with the likes of a potted fern, but still.

It wasn’t something you could afford to think too hard on. This was just who he was: an irredeemable flirt, someone who couldn’t help but poke around the edges of boundaries just to test the strength of the fenceline. A guy like him wasn’t interested in the long term, anyway, and probably wouldn’t last with someone who didn’t want to sit around and stroke his vanity all day. 

Besides, it was nobody’s business but your own whether you occasionally thought about how it might slap his thighs when he walked.

To your growing horror, you found yourself unable to tear your wide eyes away from his; gaping far too long to chalk it up to a mental hiccup. And he was eating it right up if his stupidly smug smirk was anything to go by. 

You fell back into your earlier TV watching position, but instead of settling your head in his lap like before, you curled yourself beside him, the crown of your head pressing against his outer thigh. Safer that way, better to avoid his gaze. Mortification burned bright and unbearable in your chest. 

“Stop staring. And stop calling me babe.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” you said sharply.

“Because,” Gojo considered, nodding, seeming to roll the word out on his tongue. He laughed, insincere. “Because! You’re so right.”

You remained stubbornly silent. The pad of his thumb dropped to smooth over the deepening scrunch of your brows and you barely allowed it to stay. It was just a thing with Gojo; his hands always had to be fiddling with something, touching something. And you were usually the closest thing.

That was all.

“Ya know, you get all twitchy when you’re nervous,” his voice purred from above. “You nervous?”

Having little hope that he missed the small shudder that tracked your spine, you craned your neck to shoot him a warning look. But the sight that greeted you had you forgetting how to breathe.

Gojo was studying you with a shocking intensity, the glowing Six Eyes flicking between yours like he was carefully mapping you out. The ghost of a fascinated, greedy sort of grin curled at one corner of his mouth, seeming only to deepen at the sight of your unease. You dropped your head back into the couch, squeezing your eyes shut to will away the stone of want that had lodged itself firmly at the base of your throat. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Never been able to stop you before,” you snipped.

Gojo hummed, undeterred. 

So sly that you hardly registered what he was doing until his shadow was looming over you, he repositioned himself, one leg sliding onto the couch so he could turn sideways to fully lean over your balled up form. With a quick move and a scooch forward, you found your head propped on his lap again.

A large palm cut off your furious protests, sliding to cup gently beneath your jaw, two fingers grazing over your clattering pulse. A calloused thumb slid across the seam of your downturned lips.

“Do you like feeling helpless?” he asked softly.

You stilled as a drop of startling heat slithered between your legs. His hand drifted down the column of your throat to follow the contraction of your nervous swallow, like he’d predicted it, like he was fine-tuning an instrument. Shit, you felt so small tucked into his lap like this.

You averted your eyes back to the movie.

“Serial killer question,” you said, wretchedly anxious with him peering down, every tiny response of yours seeming to be dissected and filed away for something sinister.

You pretended to be invested in whatever Oscar-worthy, nonsensical bullshit was happening on screen, the woman now captured in the monster's clutches. That is, until you were thrown headfirst into a crippling silence.

“Hey! I was watching that.”

The remote landed with a loud clatter on the coffee table. “Sorry, baby. Can’t have you holding out on me.”

And then suddenly, the real horror was right here in the dead quiet. The only light source was a soft overhead. With a burst of anger drawn up from a slowly drying well, you rolled onto your back, glowering up at him.

“Can I fucking help you?!”

“Mhmm.”

Your teeth clenched. “What are you even talking about, helpless?”

Gojo propped back on one hand and pretended to think about it. “Ah, you knowww. Scream queen style or whatever. When the cards are down and you’re all played out.” His eyes flicked down your form to where your hands twisted nervously into the bottom of your t-shirt. Then back up, voice dropping pensively. “So fast you’ve probably never felt it, though… being chased down like that, backed into a corner. Never been challenged the way you deserve, I bet. You like the thought of someone who can keep up with you?”

If the body was a chest of drawers, yours overturned all at once. Someone who could keep up with you… Challenge you. Like… him? Your jaw clenched. A desire you didn’t even know you had settled with a pulsing heat in your lower belly.

“So, what I’m hearing, and correct me if I’m wrong.” You stopped, centered yourself with a deep breath. “What I’m hearing is you asking whether I’d get off on being chased?!?

“Get off on it?” Gojo’s jaw dropped, acting as if the idea had only just occurred to him. “Wow. Uh. Dirty girl. Well. Sure I mean, yeah. If you want.”

Your nails scraped across the leather of the couch, trying to distract yourself from how ridiculously enticing the idea was. Because it shouldn’t be at all. Nope. Not to a well-adjusted person. What made it exponentially worse was that the longer you went without storming out of his apartment, the more Gojo looked at you like the cat about to eat the canary. And damn it all, you didn’t hate it.

No. You hated that you didn’t hate it.

“If I want?” you grit out. “First of all, there’s something wrong with you if you get your rocks off on the idea of hunting women. Elmer Fudd over here. Get a grip.”

He smirked. “Be nice, kitty cat.”

Using your elbows, you shoved yourself up, whirling around to sit on your heels so you could better set him on fire with your eyes. 

“Why should I?!” you spat his earlier words back in his face.

Gojo went still, his slightly widened eyes flitting across your red-faced indignation. His gaze dropped to your lips as he chewed on his own for the span of a few breaths. Finally, he clucked his tongue. Whistled softly.

“Well, shit,” Gojo said. “Would ya look at that.”

Without an ounce of shame, his hand slid down the front of his pants.

“Wha–”

 “Sorryyy,” he sung. “Mind of his own, it’s the darndest thing!”

You gawked at him in disbelief as he casually adjusted himself.

“Really, man?!”

“Oh relaaax. Ever seen one before? Wanna take a peek?”

You tried to clear the image of those long fingers wrapping his cock, bringing himself to completion for you with that same groan he’d demonstrated for you earlier.  The thought had you too hot in your skin. 

“I’ll kill you. They’ll never stop finding your body.”

“Oh, keep going, I’m almost there!” he groaned theatrically before he shot you a cheeky, lopsided grin. “Gotta give it to you, babe, you really know how to get a guy goin’. I’m half hard and we haven’t even started.” His head cocked just a degree further and suddenly the playful grin he sported gained a sharp, predatory edge, voice dropping in low warning. “Keep looking at me like that. All angry. Sweetens the deal at the end of this thing. Makes it allll worth the wait.”

You swallowed, throat like sandpaper. “Deal?”

“When I catch you.”

You should walk out. You should walk right back out, like you said you would.

Unfortunately, your silence spoke volumes. Frustrated on several different levels, your hands flew up to cover your eyes, fingers pressing into the lids until you saw spots. But nothing could distract from the hyper awareness of the ache between your thighs.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice sounding small.

A long-fingered hand encircled each of your wrists, prying your hands away from your face. He held them hostage, pinning them to your upper thighs so you couldn’t retreat as he leaned in. Your heart stopped when his cheek brushed past yours.

“What I want is the whole thing. Listen. I love it when you play dumb with me. Seriously I do,” Gojo murmured into your ear. “But I think we’ve been sitting on the same page here for quite some time now, yeah? All the fighting, dancin’ around the tension and whatnot. I mean it’s sexy as hell, don’t get me wrong, but we both know it’s just extra bullshit.”

Your entire being was up in flames, face so hot you wondered if he could feel the heat emanating off your cheeks, his own pressed so tightly to yours he could probably feel your jaw work out a response.

“Make your point.”

He laughed, dipped his head, the tip of his nose nuzzling down the slope of your neck. The tiny, experimental flutter of warmth against your skin made you twitch, but the sudden hot drag of his tongue had you violently shuddering, searching for purchase until suddenly you were the one holding onto him, fingers digging into his shoulders. You could practically hear his arrogant smile as he breathed you in long and slow, the following sigh one of genuine contentment.

Gojo leaned back to have a look at you, disgustingly pleased with himself.

“Sure thing. I’ll make my point,” he said. Your arms felt strangely bereft when he moved out of your space, falling limply at your sides. Casual as could be, Gojo settled back into the couch, one ankle perched over his thigh, fingers clasping together like the two of you were discussing weather patterns. “Here’s the thing. I wanna find you, chase you, and fuck you in that order. Think you’d like somethin’ like that? Being pinned down with my cock in you?”

His eyes dropped to the motion of the unsubtle squeeze of your thighs, a razor sharp smile spreading slow across his lips.

“Yeah,” he purred. “Always thought you might.”

“You don’t know shit.”

His eyes flicked back to yours.

“I know that pussy has to be nice and wet by now.” Another spasm of want rocketed between your legs. God, he was so arrogant. “No shame in it, sweetheart. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop the whole thing.”

A palm settled on your knee, thumb stroking in a gesture of mock comfort. His voice was soft. “Orrr you could just admit you’re making a mess of your panties right now hearing me talk like this.”

It was like your strings were cut all at once, your chin tipping to your chest as you lost whatever self-preservation instinct you had left. “Shit,” you whispered.

A finger hooked into the bend of one of your knees, tugging invitingly. His hum was a soft, rolling lull.

“Come here and sit on me.”

You may have been cracking, folding beneath the weight of your desire, but nothing could have dulled the precision of the homicidal glare you leveled him with. 

“Think you have it in you to shut up for like six seconds?”

Gojo laughed. “Damn, my girl gets mean when she’s frustrated, huh?” At your lack of response, his smile dwindled and he seemed to truly consider you, taking in your stiff form. His gaze fell unabashedly between your legs again, tongue running along his teeth in deliberation. “You want me to eat you out a little? Loosen you up?”

Your jaw clenched as the mental image tore across your mind: hooded blue eyes looking up from between your legs, warm tongue put to work lapping at your cunt – he always did like to stay busy. Shit, why could you conjure up that image so well? 

Because Gojo had looked at you like that before, hadn’t he? Like he wanted to take you apart, piece you back together. You’d just been too blind to see it.

He continued, his other hand reaching out now so both were hooked behind your knees. “Yeah… Yeah. That’s what you need. About time, too, huh. Makes my dick so hard just thinking about it. C’mere.”

“I don’t–”

In a single movement, you were pulled off balance, falling flat on your back. He cut off your yelp of outrage, seized your ankles, spun and dragged you to the edge of the couch, your thighs now bracketing his. You squirmed, head spinning as you panted up at him with searching eyes. It wasn’t a comfortable position you’d been suddenly squeezed into, your head bent awkwardly against the back of the couch, trapped in a slouched position by the oppressive energy coming from the man standing between your spread legs.

Gojo loomed above. His fingers twitched at his sides, drawing your attention there and then directly over to the glaring evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his pants. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Feels like I really don’t even have to check,” he breathed, hungry gaze trailing across your body like he couldn’t decide what to focus on. “Just know you’re soaking. It’s crazy.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Last chance.

“I– you’re… F-fuck you.” His grin was deadly, eyes sparkling in dark victory. It was unsettling, how much you wanted to fall headfirst into that blue.

Gojo Satoru collapsed on his knees like he was about to start muttering prayers. He tugged you closer, the weight of his head falling against your inner thigh with a satisfied hum. Laying there so he could simply observe the slight quiver in your legs as he slowly drew his oversized palms up and down any bare skin available to him.

“Fuck. Look at you,” he murmured, breath sweeping across the damp crotch of your sleep shorts like he was talking right into your clothed pussy. 

At the sound of your tiny, pathetic squeak, his shoulders shuddered violently. He slid forward, fingers hooking into the hem of your shorts, teasing there. His eyes raised with a hooded intensity, holding yours for a few heated seconds. Terribly slow, he let his jaw drop, tongue unveiling itself, and leaned forward to press it firm and flat against the thin fabrics covering your entrance, letting the heat bleed from his mouth. A groan choked out of your throat, coming out more as a grating wheeze, the noise met with a gleaming, wicked satisfaction.

“So the…” you swallowed thickly, voice so ragged it was almost completely foreign. “The thing with eating pussy is you have to remove my-”

There was a sharp, reprimanding smack on your thigh. “Don’t start.”

You half expected him to rip your shorts right off; you wouldn’t have been opposed. But Gojo instead rolled the hem down little by little, so torturously slow your fingers ached with how hard they dug into the couch with anticipation. He nipped, sucked bruises into the skin as it was exposed, gently guiding you to lift your hips so he could pull your bottoms the rest of the way.

His eyes danced in wonder across the arousal that you could feel being squeezed from you just by his appraisal. “Shit,” he exhaled, his warm breath brushing gently across your soaking cunt. You gasped, legs automatically attempting to clamp together. To get away. When was the last time you’d been this vulnerable to anyone? 

“No, no. Nope. None of that,” he reprimanded, pushing your knees into your chest, spreading your legs more lewdly for his perusal. “Lemme see what I did to you.”

“I– I c-can’t.” You averted your gaze. It was all too much: the sight of Gojo Satoru kneeling between your legs, looking as if he’d let the world burn just to get a taste of you. He breathed across you again, his mouth so damn close that you wanted to start tearing at his hair.

“Shit,” he said again. “Pussy got hot hearing me talk about how hard I’m gonna fuck it later.”

You couldn’t help but let out a muffled cry when two fingers stroked down your slit, pressing against the entrance to your pussy, swirling there. He coated the tips of his fingers thoroughly in your wetness, raising them to the light just to slowly scissor them apart. Watch your own fluid stretch thin between them before going back for more, just lightly teasing. Your face felt impossibly hot, chest rising and falling in short gasps, chasing the stroke of his fingers, needing something to clench around, the slow spread of your slick too ridiculously loud in the quiet room.

“You always this wet for me, baby?”

“I d-didn’t think your head could get any bigger.”

Gojo hummed in amusement, giving no warning before he began to slowly ease two fingers inside you. A string of expletives punctuated the air as your cunt throbbed and clamped down in relief, accepting him greedily.

“Look at that,” he said, hooking the long digits inside you and pulling another whimpered curse from your lips. He took his time dragging them out, pushing them back in with an obscene squelch. “You’re a sweet girl letting me finger fuck you like this. Shit, look at your pussy suckin’ on my fingers. So fucking hot… my girl letting me do this to her.”

“You–You’re- I d-” You attempted to mouth off, snap back that you didn’t belong to him, but a targeted curl of his fingers cut you off at the pass. 

“I know,” he crooned. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

A thumb pressed into your clit and your back arched as bolts of pleasure shot up your spine, hips rolling with the pump of his fingers, chasing more. You needed more. You couldn’t even breathe you needed it so badly.

Gojo bit the inside of your thigh, moaning obscenely and latching harder when you yelped in pain and smacked him hard in the head. 

“Ow. What the– what the fuck,” you gasped, although you hadn’t really disliked it at all. He soothed the sting away with little licks.

“Sorry,” he said insincerely, voice in shreds now, strained with an odd concentration. “Wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve whacked off to the thought of this right here. But now look at you spreading your pretty legs for me. Still tryin’ to act like you’re not starved for my cock after all this time. Making me wait like that. Dripping your cum all over my couch. Makes me fucking crazy. Filthy girl. You’re my filthy girl, aren’t you? Ffuck,” he hissed. 

It took you too long in your blissed out state to realize his shoulders were rocking slightly, and not just from the push and pull of his fingers inside you. “And my sweet girl’s gonna let me hunt her down, isn’t she? Spit on her tits, slap her, fuck her from behind.”

You couldn’t see it, but there was no doubt now that Gojo was masturbating himself in tandem. Thrusting his hips, not fast enough to relieve himself, just to appease the torment. God, he was vulgar, he was disgusting. He was sexy. He was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

With a wet schlick, his fingers pulled out of you. And you could only assume from the way both his gaze and hand fell down to his lap that he was spreading your cum along his cock. Fingers wrapping himself, Gojo choked on something between a salacious moan and a manic laugh. His eyes slid up to yours dangerously.

A quick flash of pink was all you got before he was leaning forward and sliding his tongue through your drenched folds. Finally, you let loose the keening cry that had been stuck in your chest. Your spine felt close to snapping with how hard it pulled taut, your fingers leaping from their death grip into the couch cushion to embed deep in his soft hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

A long, appreciative groan came from deep in his chest and he sighed, relaxed further into his task. One hand fisted around his cock, the other wrapped round one of your thighs to draw you closer, hand splaying across your lower belly to better hold you down. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, dragging tight circles. 

With long strokes of his tongue, he lapped at the wetness collecting at your entrance. You wanted him to go higher, needed his mouth elsewhere, for that wet heat to replace the thumb steadily masturbating you. You dipped your hips to guide him there but he didn’t relent, tongue fucking into your cunt with the same aching slowness. It was like this wasn’t even for you.

“Gojo,” you said weakly. He just hummed, the vibration sending arcs of pleasure up your spine. God you were so close already. You just needed… “G-Gojo.”

Still he didn’t speed up, acted like he hadn’t even heard you. And it pissed you right off. He wanted the whole thing, didn’t he? He’d said that before. Gojo Satoru wanted you. Badly. He was good, but so were you. Gojo was a man who took. Had taken his entire life. He didn’t want someone who sat around and stroked his vanity. No. He wanted someone who took, too. He wanted you.

A rising anger loosened your tongue.

“Gojo, you f-fucking prick,” you spat. “Take your hand off your fucking cock and do this the right way.”

Deliberately, his tongue pulled from you, thumb still working you at an infuriatingly slow pace. A lazy, dangerous grin began to crawl across his lips, still wet with your juices.

“Careful,” he warned.

“I hate careful.”

Something dazed crossed his face then, like you’d struck him square across the face. He shuddered, his eyes darkening, glimmering suddenly with an almost terrifying devotion.

And then both his hands were on you.

Arms wrapped under your thighs, palms splaying to lock your hips down completely. A blessed heat enveloped your clit with a gentle suction, tongue fluttering where you had so desperately needed it.

“Ffffff” was all you could manage, your back arching, unable to even watch him like you wanted to as your body contorted with the pleasure shooting to a quick crescendo. 

“Shitshitshitshit,” you cried, fingers yanking at his hair, uncaring whether it hurt him, shoving his face impossibly further into your pussy. A vulgar, encouraging groan left him and with one final suck and a flicker of his tongue, you were sailing into oblivion. You clawed at him, a string of filthy curses stuck in your throat as you spasmed against him. It was long, debilitating, and drawn out by warm, slow slides of his tongue against you as he continued to lap up what you spilled, murmuring soft praises.

Your spine laid flat against the couch again as you collapsed with satisfaction, the pleasure still buzzing like a livewire across your skin. You twitched with sensitivity when his thumbs spread you apart, observing the final, tiny convulsions of your pussy.

“I– you’re amazing,” he groaned, like he was imagining himself deep inside you. “God, baby I… I wanna ruin you. My fucking cock is…” His forehead fell between your thighs for a second, like he was gathering himself. “I’m so fucking hard.”

Gojo leaned back on his heels as you sat up, assisting as you pulled your pants back up. He helped you up on shaky legs, until the two of you stood looking at each other, him unmoving, just eyeing you silently with a dark intensity. 

Gently, you pulled his face down to yours, placing a short, gentle kiss to his lips.

You pulled back. 

“I really do hope you’re as fast as they say you are.”

And you disappeared.

[faelapis]

i really hate “it’s x, what did critics expect?” discourse. as if critics are dumdumbs who walk into every movie expecting it to be citizen kane.

critics can appreciate camp. critics can appreciate popcorn flicks. they often do.

but it’s possible to be a bad popcorn flick. it’s possible to be bad at camp. it’s possible for any type of movie to be a good or bad example of its “type.”

that’s not to say critics as a group are unquestionable. they’re not a monolith and frequently argue.

if you need a handy parallel, it’s kind of like in animation discourse when someone says “it’s a kids movie” vs “kids deserve good movies, not bottom of the barrel crap.” you can judge anything, actually - as long as you’re willing to meet something where it’s at.

the criticisms of the fnaf movie are not borne out of wishing it was a more serious drama. we’re talking about a group who (overall) loved the shit out of the irreverent and camp horror movie “m3gan.”

it’s born out of wishing fnaf was a good movie. yknow like. maybe more fun? or scary? or both? instead of what it is, which is mostly boring characters doing lazy, generic backstories and lore exposition.

the part i’ve seen critics praise are actually the more campy elements - like matthew lillard throwing himself into his role, despite how underwhelming it is. i’ve seen critics want MORE animatronics, colors and camp, not less!

to paraphrase one critic: for a movie with an enormous robot chicken armed with a cupcake, it’s an oddly serious, even dour movie. it’s the human drama that pads the film. the animatronics are pretty great, but unfortunately, they are a distant second in focus compared to the human actors.

believe it or not, many critics actually wanted the horror animatronics movie to be about the animatronics. instead we get josh hutcherson looking vaguely tired and annoyed in every scene. as if that’s what we signed up for. is that what YOU wanted, fnaf fan?

social media try reading what the critics are actually saying before bashing the critics challenge: impossible difficulty.