#he still sucks just in a different and more palatable way

[jestierabbit]

N… Nega Mark Beaks

Markus Beaks, intern of Dr. Gyro Gearloose, and (unknowingly) his future replacement.

Young Gyro/Mad Ducktor design by @soulcured my beloved

[chaldeanu]

language ノ dr. ratio

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 0.6k ノ gn reader — oral . character receiving ノ sloppy head so good it made him finally shut up ノ short thirst from my notes that i do not remember writing :)

he was perfect. perfect like those ancient statues, with marble looking so soft and detailed, as if someone turned an actual human into a sculpture with a spell, not a chisel. tall and wide, toned muscles, unblemished skin, no hair on his body. except… sliding the pants down his hips, you see his girth still not fully hard, but already so big, so swollen.

unlike those ancient statues with barely anything to show.

you take it in your mouth. carefully. lick him, kiss the tip, and slowly roll back the foreskin until the head is glistening and ready for you to spit on it. just enough so it would make wet sounds while you swallow his length as much as you can, almost reaching your throat. you cannot fit him entirely, but you can feel he’s satisfied enough just to sense your warmth enveloping him from all sides.

as unusual as it is, he’s silent, quietly humming under his nose as his half-lidded eyes follow your movements, analysing and simply adoring whatever you’re doing right now. no harshly spewed comments? no instructions? not even praise? nothing. perhaps you took his ability to speak together with his cock, the gentle suck disarming him from his most powerful weapon — language.

for an unknown reason, this thought fills you up with pride, spurring you on to slide his shaft out of your mouth only to slurp around his base once more, playing with different levels of pressure applied by your lips. sucking at his sack too, fondling and feeling the heaviness hidden under velvety soft skin. then you rise higher and lap around the head again.

finally getting some response in the form of an eager twitch, throbbing as you flatten your tongue against it. a plenitude of precum dribbles out onto your palate, and you swallow without hesitation. sweet and salty taste of arousal, delicate enough for you to enjoy. it makes you hungry for more of that flavour, and soon his girth slides deeper into your throat while your hand gives attention to the rest of his dick, twisting it slightly whenever you need to change your angle.

soon, there is a heavy palm tangling in your hair, pushing and pulling however it feels. guiding you away when you almost hit his limit and back when you aren’t applying enough force. so nice to be under the weight of his control, to the point your nails scrape teasingly insides of his parted thighs. enough for him to feel a sting whenever he rubs his legs together later on.

still, nothing coming from him except for breathy hums and satisfied exhales. should you wear a badge, you want to be called from now on the one who silenced the doctor veritas ratio himself, unable to counter the skill of your tongue. and no one needs to know what exactly it means.

one particular twist of your wrist has him letting go of your hair and placing both of his palms on the bed instead. it’s quite difficult to concentrate with you licking all around his girth like on a lollipop before, but now you can observe how his whole body shivers when you give a few sharp sucks on your way up his length.

so you do it again, a little stronger than before, earning yet another subtle shake.

you trace a finger along the vein from his base to his tip, covering him in your spit mixed with his precum, smearing the liquids all over the sensitive head and listening closely to any sound he could make. when none came, you added even more slickness, stroking him up and down. firm grip with a generous amount of friction from your lubed hand moving across his flesh.

now he’s leaking into your palm, skin slicked to skin, but you do not care. actually, this very thought encourages you to continue, to make such a wise and proper man feel this good he’s unable to utter a word.

[neverchecking]

Yoo, can I request sub!wild w/ reader? i was thinking like reader could just be teasing him by sucking on his neck, marking him up, ykyk and he's below them desperately trying to grind up against them. bonus points if he comes untouched >:)

have a good day!! or night!! or evening!!!!

You have a good day as well, anon! You absolutely can request that. I mean my favorite boy, being a big ol' sub? Sign me the F U C K up. This is also kind of an apology since my last Wild bit kind of, admittedly, wasn't up to my own standards. It was rushed and not as polished as I normally like. It was deleted twice and I was just over it at that point but that's no excuse. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it, Darling!

And you know I'm going for those bonus points.

Smut, so 18+, MDNI.

Smut CW: Wild is a subby baby boy, you edge him a little, he busts a little prematurely with no touching (BONUS POINTS), and you know me. He cries just a little.

His Home

The difference in the way people treated him varied. It varied a lot. It ranged from people taking one look at his scars and treating him like some form of monster that had escaped from it's cage to people automatically bowing to his every whim-- deeming him some form of warrior who had faced battles far past their comprehension. Some people tried to hide their whispers behind cupped hands and side glances while others outwardly made their disgust known.

It was just the way it was.

At least in his Hyrule, however, he had a safe haven. A home. A place he could go to, to hide and recollect himself enough that dealing with the public was palatable once more. The civilians of his Hyrule knew he was the Hero, yes, but that didn't stop them. They still talked about how he had failed. How he was a century too late. How it didn't matter what he did, because they had grown accustomed to the Calamity. That he had done it for his own pride when that wasn't the case at all. Of course, he knew why he did it. He did it to avenge the fallen champions. He did it to free Flora, who had been fighting non-stop for a hundred years. He did it to ensure his home remained safe and sound.

Because you were his home. You were his sanctuary. You were the one to collect him into your arms and hold him close, gently whispering soft comforts into his ear, the one who was humming a half-remembered lullaby to sooth his nightmares. You remained a stone pillar of patience and comfort for him to follow. Like a beacon calling him to his Goddess.

Then he was dragged away from his home. He went kicking and screaming, make no doubt about it, but it didn't stop that Fraud from pulling him away. He was dropped with his sword brothers, which was...fine (Fine was a good word for it). But they weren't you. They had nothing on you. They could dream of being half of the comfort you were.

That wasn't even the worst of it, however. No, the worst was the face that he had now lost his safety blanket. His one hold over his own crumbling sanity was eons away and the only way he could even hope to reach them was through luck alone and Hylia's filthy grace.

Neither of which he would bet any amount of rupees on. If he were a betting man, that was. But he wasn't.

He wouldn't bet anything on making it back to you in a timely manner.

But life had a way of surprising him, he supposed, as he blinked bleary eyes open only to find familiar surroundings. The stale smell of the forest, the cool feeling of dew and dirt under his palms, even the drifty breeze flowing through his hair. It was all enough to remind him that while he wasn't quite home just yet he was close. Closer than he had been in so long.

He could practically taste you on his tongue already, the salty tang of your sweat; hear the lustrous harmony of all the sounds he could pluck from you. Just thinking about the heat of your skin under his palms, smooth and unmarred unlike his own, had him buzzing with epinephrine. He was sure even the others could pin something was different with him as the minute they entered Hateno they had wandered off to the inn and allowed him to wander off. Which was perfectly fine with him.

He had it all planned out as well. He'd get home, scoop you into his arms tight enough you would never doubt his love for you. His absolute devotion to your being. How nothing, not even time itself, could separate the two of you. Nothing could keep him from you.

Then he'd pepper an absolute flurry of kisses all over your face, neck, anywhere he could reach, just to hear your giggles ring out in pure glee. Feel your arms wrap around his own neck, fighting to return the affection only for him to make the action nearly impossible. How could he break apart from you long enough?

Of course, he would, only to press your lips together in a heart stopping kiss. Just so you could steal his very breath from his lungs. And he'd let it happen. Just to make you happy.

It didn't happen. The reason you and him paired so well together was because you surprised him at every turn. At any given point you could turn him onto his head and throw him for a loop. And he lived for it. The excitement and the rush of following you into unknown waters. It was so addicting.

This was all proven when instead of him trapping you in his arms, you pounced first-- as if waiting for him by the door. You didn't even give him the chance to act before wrapping your arms around his neck, crashing your lips together in a flurry of desire and fondness. Distance does make the heart grown fonder or something, he didn't know. His brain had began the shut-down process, too overwhelmed on emotions and a lack of blood.

When you dragged him to the stairs leading to the loft, positively filthy promises leaving your lips making him stutter. His heart was in his throat, pumping wildly in an effort to make up for all of his blood rushing to his cock-- which stirred to life in his pants.

He hadn't even known he was so pent up until you were pinning him to the bed, hips a familiar weight against his as you dragged your clothed core over his own. It was like being hurdled into the deep end within seconds as something hot and fiery and untampered roared to life in his veins.

His hips bucked wildly, aching for some sort of friction that he desperately needed. He would take anything you gave him, of course, but couldn't you take mercy on his poor, tattered soul? He would slaughter Ganon a million times over should you just lower yourself a bit more. Just give him a little more, please.

The feelings of your lips on his neck had him jolting as his own hands latched onto your hips in a positively bruising grip. Teeth gently nipping at skin before your molten tongue was lapping at the indents, soothing the slight sting. It was all so erotic, positively prurient, and he could barely contain himself. He knew he was whining. High keens full of begging and pleading pleas. He knew he was whimpering. Bordering on too overstimulated to actually do anything, but not stimulated enough to actually burst. It all felt tight and frustrating, with salty tears pooling in the corners of his eyes.

"Wildflower, please-" He cried out, nails clawing up your back as you moved from the hickey you had previously been working on to an unmarked patch of skin. You hummed against him before gently snapping your teeth on the skin again.

It was too much, but not enough. Just enough to keep him right there, but not enough to teeter over, not yet. At least you seemed to take into account his plea, humming in consideration against his skin before pulling off with a positively lewd pop. You weight settled onto his lap, at long last, before you were returning to your previous endeavor.

It only too one roll.

One roll of your hips, plump and perfect, with just enough weight to stoke his cock in just the right way. One salacious rock of your lower body, pushing against his own in a rush of lust and heat. One roll to have him absolutely shattering underneath of you.

Just the push he needed to have him jutting up into you, in an embarrassingly juvenile move, crying out in pure ecstasy with fat tears finally rolling his cheeks. It was an uncomfortable feeling to be reminded of how tightly wound up he was, but to be reminded of how tightly around your finger he was wound? It was pure bliss. To know that he was yours in such a way that you didn't even have to touch him to have him coming undone was salacious enough to have him remaining hard.

To know that you were such a comfort to him, his home, to have him this `devout to you was enough to have him restarting his entire being as fast as he possibly could if only to pin your stunned form beneath him.

He had to show his faith somehow, didn't he?

[cringeghostking]

it’s 1am so this is more of a note to self than anything but:

Nimona isn’t human. She’s her own thing, and the movie refuses to explain where she came from or if others are like her (good). Nimona doesn’t want to find *her* people genetically, she wants to find her *people* in terms of found-family, something she’s always been denied for being different regardless of what species she seeks out

Ballister is an outcast well before he’s used to murder the queen, but for the majority of his life he’s able to carve out a place of belonging. he has institutional power and privilege in a way nimona doesnt, even when he’s seen as a queen-killing villain

Ballister’s character arc is about learning to challenge his internal biases and be a good friend and ally to Nimona, and despite himself also being a type of minority in this world, he never understands her from the lens of his own experiences; he has to mentally venture out from what he knows to meet her where she is. he doesn’t automatically understand who she is because he himself has experienced ostracization, he asks her (sometimes small-minded) questions and listens to her answers and learns---she understands what it is to abruptly lose the community you love, but he doesnt easily understand what it is to shapeshift, but he wants to---or at least, wants to understand her better. and that results in him defending her to his literal childhood best friend / partner.

this but community infighting + how tribalistically dividing the queer community, demanding that we split up into our own little pieces of the alphabet alienates us from each other just as surely as we’re alienated from the broader world. how you can be a minority or part of a marginalized group and suffer in your life for those things and still have privilege compared to others (and how you can bond together with those people and not resent your differences in experience, and have compassion for the parts that suck and work together to achieve world domination your goals)

idk, something about ballister explicitly having grown up hurt and othered no matter how hard he tried to make himself palatable, how ballister graduated top of his class by merit alone and he is still always going to be “the first crack in the wall,” (and being top in the class over the descendant of gloreth is another, and the queen declaring anyone can hold the sword henceforth is another, and so on); there is no world where ballister makes himself Good Enough to not be a threat, and even though nimona knows this, she backs him up and fights for him and hopes against her better judgment that the system can be changed and only walks when he refuses to have her back

and how this is still nimona’s movie and the point is how ballister may be a crack but she’s a fucking wrecking ball in the wall and she must be destroyed at any cost

something something abt respectability politics, yk?

anyway. this is just one thread im kinda absently picking at but fr im going to absorb this movie until it replaces blood in my veins and i can play it while holding a conversation without missing a beat. insane about it v excited to read the graphic novel (im aware it’s different)

[nelapanela94]

you should write about how the reader would be treated on their birthday!! from fluff to smut, i want it all (and definitely not because its my birthday tomorrow)

Warnings: Female bodied reader, Fluff and smut, post war.

Happy Birthday (delayed) Anon!!!! I hope you had a great day. Sorry for the late reply but this week was leaden with work and on top of that I had an allergic reaction to a medication.

I hope you like it!

Frightening, tantalizing.  

Vertigo.  

At what point did life begin to sound different? At what point did he stop seeing you as just another comrade? Perhaps when you fell wounded in his arms, or when you spent all night with him when he caught a fever that makes you hallucinate? The world tipped under his feet and your thunderous laughter turned into a silky caress.  

The buttercream is not smooth enough, and with three fingers he pins the last dot of Happy Birthday! A little choppy but readable. The two brain cells left in your head will catch it. For the first time you moved in together, he does not grumble for you waking up late on a Sunday; he is glad, indeed, that you are still snoring under the duvet. He rose before the sun to bake and decorate the cake, to sweep and mop again, to festoon the living room with balloons and confetti. Great! More to clean after, but Gabi and Falco convinced him with puppy eyes. And as long as it makes you smile; it is all worth it.  

From your room breaks a yawn and the trepidation ripples through his nerves. He hangs the apron and dusts off his hair from remnants of wheat flour. Then takes a last look to the kitchen-slash-dining room. Happy Birthday glints in gold on the walls.

Water gurgles in the sink; he puts aside the piping bags and the scraper and sets the cake stand in the middle of the dining table.  

“Levi?” The balls of your feet pat-pat on the wooden floor. “Why are you awake so early?” The creaking at the end of the corridor is his cue. He clears his throat, but his voice lacks glee and enthusiasm.  

“Happy birthday.” 

Yet your eyes spark, you cover your gasp, and relief soothes him. 

“You… Levi!” You dash with open arms and pounce on him in a tight, air sucking hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You shriek, but all his brain can process is the smell of your hair. Rosemary, ginger, a tinge of sweat.

Air plunges back into his lungs, and you pad to the table. “You didn’t have to! You even made a cake.” You swipe a finger on the white cream, and hum as the sweetness coddles your palate.  

Levi smiles.  

You are lucky to keep your inner child. The ability to marvel at trivial things.  

“May I?” The tail of the ribbon swirls around your licked finger. Levi nods and you pull the lace. The brightness in your eyes intensifies, a heart-melting smile curves the corners of your lips. “No way!”  

A dress. A dress you spot on a display once roaming the most exclusive neighborhood in town. The dress you have spent months saving for. The shimmery maxi dress with a deep v neck, opened back, layered skirt. Revealing but far from slutty, skimming your hands.  

Your eyes shift to him. “This is too much, Levi.” 

“We can return it to the store.” He says, meaning, it is never too much for you. You drop the dress on your bed and rush back to the kitchen.  

“Can we have cake for breakfast?”  

“Uh-huh.” He rummages through for a knife and two plates while you flit around the place with your camera-last year’s present-freezing in time the wobbly cake, the decoration, Levi covered in confetti and other cake ingredients; but it is so hard to focus on something else other than your bare legs, those pajama shorts hardly concealing the end of your ass.

To burn with desire and keep quiet is the worst of tortures, and he himself is the executioner. He controls himself, brushes the salacious thoughts away.  

You do not leave a crumb on your plate. “Keep an eye on me or I will eat it all before dusk.”  

You look pretty, with messy hair and puffy face, with that old T-shirt that is close to becoming a cleaning rag.  

“Are you listening?” 

He raises his brow.  

“I’d like to go on a walk today. I don’t know, you and I…” You blush. “I was wondering how your leg is feeling.”  

“Good.” He piles the dishes and heads to the kitchen, stainless steel clattering on porcelain. “It’s your day, we can do whatever you want.”   

You notice his limping, his face twitching in discomfort, the shifting of weight from leg to leg.  

“I’d like to stay at home all day.”

He peels away his eyes from the foam, and stares at you. He does not flinch, just stares. Waiting. You moist your lips but the words clog your throat.  

Levi, wine, living room dance, souvlaki and agioritiki from the restaurant down the street for lunch.  

“I’ll take a shower,” you say, striding back to your room.  

Levi wipes his hands dry and flops on the couch. His head rolls toward the corridor that leads to the bedrooms, and he sighs. Nothing pains him more than your pity. You giving up your plans because of him.

Chopped, half blind, scarred. Crippled. His body does not respond as it used to, his muscles have faded along with his strength. He chuckles at the absurdity not to cry. He would never be enough. 

His good eye darts to the pictures on the coffee table, Hange thumbing up with a beam on their face, and he scowling with folded arms on the chest. Pins of nostalgia that hold us without permission; how selfish is the clock . The remnants play in his mind like kids in a merry-go-round.

His eyelids are leaden, and finally, the weariness washes over him.  

When he wakes up, the window is open, the balmy breeze of the Indian summer tosses the curtains. The temperature has risen, and he glances at the wooden clock across the room.  

11:30  

Flimsy snores stir him, and his eyes go wide when his consciousness switches the notch back to reality. Your shoulders rise and fall steadily, and your feet dangle over the armrest. You are snuggled on him, your warmth fondling him. The spaghetti straps of your white top slings around your upper arm. Nothing divulges the presence of a bra. He tosses his head back and focuses so his blood continues reaching every corner of his system, avoiding a cluster of red blood cells in his groin.  

“Levi.” Your sleepy voice coats his name in lemon and vanilla ice cream. He cracks open one eye. “You always smell so good.” You mumble, making him smirk. He feels like he is walking on a mined field. The wrong move and he will obliterate everything. But your lips are plump and dewy, and he cannot stop himself from dragging a finger along the curve of your mouth. Suddenly, your eyes blink open, but he does not back away. You stare at him, your lips parting for him.

You shift your weight, wriggling up until your foreheads touch.  

You cradle his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs on the curve of his cheeks. His fingers linger on your back. You can feel his erratic heartbeat against you, his breath stroking your lips.  

“Kiss me.”  

His eyes flick from your mouth to your eyes searching for any hint of doubt, repulsion, or regret. But the shackles have always been tied to his feet.  

“I know you want it too.” You whisper. “Kiss me.” 

He nods, his nose bumps yours, a tease that makes you giggle. Slowly, you lean in, your breaths mingling. His lips touch yours lightly, pull back, and this time, they lambaste you. Time stands still, and in that fleeting moment, you feel an electric connection that sends shivers down your spines. Your lips are juicy as passion fruit. His heart leaps between two elements: excitement and fear. The fear of hurting you, the fear of rejection, the fear of losing you. But you kiss him back, and the walls of the fortress he built to protect himself crumble at his feet.

Panting, he pulls away, his fingers thread in the unmoored strands of hair on your back. Your cheeks are ruddy, and a shy smile peeks on your lips. Your pupils have drowned the color of your eyes, tiny diamonds glinting in their depths. Levi kisses your cheeks, your nose, the arches of your brows, tips your head up and drops kisses in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, your nipples are firm like bitsy pebbles, a tingling sensation fluttering in your lower belly. You rake your fingers through his hair, your hands tangling in the back of his neck. You kiss him again. A kiss filled with longing, desire, and a promise of sweet surrender. Passionate, urgent, needy. Igniting a grenade.  

“I want you.” A moan breaks from your mouth, and your desperate hands slip down his body, fidgeting with the button of his pants. A playful smirk curls your lips when you notice the painful strain under his briefs. He pins your hands off him, warning you with his gaze. A point of no return.  

“Are you sure?” His husky voice is like a path of gravel. And you would gladly walk barefoot.  

Without breaking eye contact, you nod.  

“Pieces of you are not enough. I want you all.”  

He wraps his arms around you, trying to coax those three words from his chest. His hands sneak under your top, moving around the smooth hot skin of your back, trailing the knobs of your spine. Your breath rags, and warmth spreads under your navel, aching with desire. You unravel from his embrace, and the wood slabs fret under your feet. You swiftly discard your top, loosen your hair, and hurl it back.  

“Beautiful.”  

You bite your lips, hands trembling. You sit astride on his legs, his hands roaming the supple skin around your hips. The tenderness and lust with which he looks at you makes your soul tremble and assures you that he is the one. “Touch me.”  You guide him to your breasts and then you leave him in his own devices. His eyes are full of love, admiration and awe; quivering hands explore you. He tweaks your nipples between his fingers and wheedles a gasp before taking one into his mouth. You loom closer gripping the back of his neck, releasing the coiling tension by rocking your hips against him. Your skin is hot and burning, glowing like an ember, searing under his touch. No man has ever made you feel this cherished and desirable, despite the scars on your skin, vestiges of the battles.

Your nipple pops out of his mouth, his lips paving the road in the valley of your breasts to pamper the neglected side. His tongue swirls around the hardened peak, captive between his teeth.

"Holy shit!" You hiss, pain vanishing and giving way to pleasure.  

His name drips from your mouth, the throb between your thighs driving you insane, ravaging any trace of rationality. You urge him, pulling his head up by his hair, and catch his ravenous gaze. His smug smile pinkish and sodden. He pushes you off him, and you veer to the side, landing on your knees. Then he tugs you by the back of your knees, dragging your butt to the edge and kneels between your legs, caressing the back of your thighs.  

“Please” you bring a finger down the curve of his nose. “Fuck don’t make me beg on my birthday.”  

“I’m not that of an asshole.” He grins, raises your hips, and pulls down your bottoms with one hand. Pushes your legs open and presses kisses on your inner thighs. Your slit glistens with the urgency of being touched and filled. You close your eyes, and your fingers dig into the cushions. Breath itching, heart racing. You turn off your thoughts and insecurities and just give in to the pleasure of his fingers thrusting inside you, of his tongue laving your engorged clit. A spool of moans bursts from your mouth, and your hips jerk forward, seeking solace, prompting him for more.

Your neighbors better plug their ears.

He pulls his finger out, leaving an aching void. But the disappointment fades at once. Nasty suckling sounds fill the living room, drool runs down his chin. He parts your lips with his tongue and glides it flat from your asshole to your clit. Your eyes bang open as two, no, three fingers plunge inside you, rocking back and forth, hitting that spot that draws constellations on your skin. He knows where to touch, where to lick, where to nip, your body opens to him at its own will. Your walls spam and contract around his fingers, his tongue doing wonders, circling and flicking on your clit. Your knuckles lose their color, and strangled whimpers shatter your breathing. You bite your lips and your back arches in a beautiful bow, and all the tension dissolves into waves of pleasure.  

“Levi Levi LEVI!” You wear out his name, pumping up his ego. He does not let you catch your breath, and instead, he drowns you with your taste on his mouth. Your resistance is a tickle on his chiseled chest. He lays you on the couch and undresses, your hair tangled and soaked in a crown around your head. You turn your head to the side where his clothes fall to his feet, your gaze skimming up his legs, relishing in his erection. The head of his fat, veiny cock grazing the trail of hair that chalks all the way down. You lick your lips, wondering what it would feel like inside you.  

“I want your cock inside me.” You blurt with grabby hands, cajoling a genuine laugh. His body is beautifully sculpted, his muscles flexing with the slightest move. “You’re so fucking handsome.”  

“You should write poetry.” He quips, shaking his head. But you throw a cushion at him. 

“Come here, my pussy needs your cock right now.”  

He crawls on top of you, parting your legs with his knees. “Are you sure about this?” He leans down, his elbows pressing into the foam, and kisses you again. You feel the tip of his dick poking around your entrance, tempting. You curl your hand around his length, coaxing a little gasp form him, and rub him up and down your wet slit. You find the entrance and spur him to move forward. Haughtily, he nudges your hand of the way. “Too nosy.”  

He states at you. The ends of his silky hair grazing your forehead.

The infinite always tries to hide in your eyes.

“Just fuck me,” you whimper and kiss him, wrapping your arms behind his head. His chest pressed on yours as he pushes in, inch by inch stretching you. “Mmmm, Levi.” He is halfway in, and your pussy is working overtime to take him all. His frazzled breath fans the cradle of your neck, his lips quivering at the ambrosial sensation engulfing him. He relishes in your warmth, your tightness, your body adjusting to his size. 

“You feel so good, you feel so good.” You mumble, raking your nails down his shoulders and back.  

“Are you ok?” He rises by a fraction to look at your ruddy face and brushes away a strand of hair.  

You nod, and smile at him, mapping each one of his scars with the tip of your finger as he remains nestled inside you. Two stars lost in the infinite, you and him, that converged in this life. “It’s you what I’ve always wanted,” you coo, caressing his hair. “You always protected me, Levi. Now, let me take care of you.” You press a light kiss on his right eyelid, and blinking the tears away, he casts a tender smile. His soul sparks and his skin frissons as he rocks his hips, grunts wrenching out from his chest. His pretty sounds fall into your ear, your bodies zooming in and out at a luscious, lazy pace.  

You embrace him as if there was a way to get even closer, as if you could trade atoms with every thrust. You bite your lips, holding back moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your nails carve red half-moons in the back of his shoulder as e increases the tempo, desperate to take you to the edge.  

“FuckShitFuckShit, Levi. Fuck, don’t stop.”  

His cock twitches, his hips stutter, his last thrusts are erratic as if he can’t control his movements anymore. You mewl his name, your gut tightening, as your conscience slips out from reality. He pushes deep into you one last time, groaning his repertoire. And your walls flutter around him, milking every last drop of him.   

The world whirls and he loses his balance. Vertigo.

Before he collapses, he mutters, “happy birthday.”

[cranesofibycus]

The thing about Vax is that people forget about his goofy side a lot. It always sort of bothers me when all he becomes is an icon of death rather than of who he actually was as a person before he died.

I don't really have the brain space to get into it right now.

You are correct. There's a tendency to shrink Vax's character down to his (connection to) death.

What resonates so much with me about how Vax handled his fate was how messy and truly human it all was. It wasn't a clean-cut path towards acceptance. It fucking sucked for him. But while it sucked, he was still a person, going through highs and lows. He had moments where his fate was all he could focus on, and then he would spend the following day trying to find ways to mess with Grog. That's the human experience of grief and loss and depression. These things aren't a constant. There are moments of light in all of them.

But isn't it so much easier - so much more palatable - to think of Vax as the icon of death? Make him one-dimensional so that the loss doesn't feel quite as heavy, or as intimate? His experience has to feel different to ours, right? Otherwise it would just hurt too much? I don't begrudge people that way of thinking about Vax. The wholeness of his story will still be there when - at a later point - they might need a narrative to lean on in their own experience of loss and grief.

[golvio]

Thinking about how one of the reasons I was so disappointed by TotK was because I’ve been spoiled by more narrative-driven indie games lately. Even if TotK Ganondorf was only played like a villain resembling the scariest versions of The Princess when he was threatening to break his seal, we still would’ve gotten a character with way more depth and opportunities for emotional attachment/sympathy.

Like…I don’t want Ganon to be a cute, cuddly, super-palatable and marketable same-aged bestie to the teenaged protagonists. I want to have that same pathos and emotional connection that I felt with his Wind Waker incarnation. That guy may have still been a child-punching jerk who was desperately trying to justify himself, but he was also lonely, maladaptive, and struggling with having lost everything partly by his own hands. Out of all the incarnations of this guy, he felt the most human, even if it was the more self-serving, self-pitying, self-destructive parts of humanity. If we must fight him, I want to feel that same uneasy emptiness where I’m left wondering if things could’ve been different and he didn’t have to die instead of a simpler, “Yay!!! U Beat Da Gaem!!!1!!” sendoff.

And if there’s anything Slay The Princess taught me, it’s that you don’t necessarily need a super complex motivation to tell a compelling story, or to start spinning more complex conflicts and narratives outward from that origin point. Sometimes “Let me outta this basement!” is enough. Especially when the character in question is so driven that they don’t care what they have to do or who they have to steamroll to finally reach freedom. Even if all the prisoner does is vindictively torture the player instead of auditioning for their sympathy in their attempts to escape, you can’t help but develop a strange sort of admiration for their tenacity and resourcefulness. Not to mention that, even in a purely antagonistic relationship, such a motive is an easy “in” for emotional connection to a character. Nobody likes being trapped against their will. Everyone forced into imprisonment would want to be free. Also, solitary confinement in particular sucks, and eons of that would be enough to make anyone ornery and desperate.

They didn’t even need to do much to reimagine Ganondorf for a new audience. Just give him a more realistic response to the archetypal Zelda Series situation that he was forced into like BotW’s Link and Zelda. The Holy Maiden is made to suffer, the Hero is made to grow up too fast and put through grueling challenges, and the Monster is made to be imprisoned and be cut down after he escapes because his mere existence threatens the Holy Maiden. (And even if he suffers just as much as the Maiden, it’s all his own fault because he’s Evil, so don’t you dare feel sorry for him!)

Calamity Ganon wanted out of that basement, just like Zelda wanted out of her role and the pressures that came with it. You’re really telling me Nintendo couldn’t have done something more compelling with that? It’s absolutely possible for a character whose history has expanded him to a near-eldritch multiplicity and timespan to still feel human and relatable. You just have to be willing to look at that character with genuine affection as a writer, even at his absolute worst.

[sonicjustbecause]

Sonic - English, Japanese version - my impression as somebody who doesn't speak any of the two languages.

First - my experience with the two languages, to explain how I perceived thing as a total foreigner.

English - I truly can't speak English. My written English sucks. I don't know if you can read/understand my posts. I can read English, both British and American (I usually use British English but I use American when I want to be more concise), overall I can read all kind of topics, but I don't like slangs. My listenings skills are bad, it depends who is speaking. I could listen and understand enough Sonic Prime without subtitles, but in other occasion the language is too different from Italian and I need the subs.

Japanese - Mostly I watch anime in Japanese. I don't speak the language at all and I can count all the japanese words I know in one hand. The sound of the language is sillabic so is as clear as Italian. As for Sonic, I watched Sonic X in Japanese version (Italian and English version long ago, I don't even remember a lot), the two adventure in English, Unleashed in both version, Frontiers in Italian and Japanese.

Sonic Force is boring, I was unable to pay attention. I saw it not long ago and I quickly forgot everything. The only good thing was Infinite's Italian voice, is very beautiful.

OK, my impression of the character from English version was not like it was describled there. I perceived it more how is perceived in the Japanese version. Many times I said our personal experience make us perceive a character in a certain way, maybe the language I speak is part of it. Italian is more contextual than English, or maybe is how character act (that does't change whathever language they speak), I don't know... I remember perceiving Sonic as a aloof, slightly grumpy but kind hearted and happy character before watching the Japanese version (that just confirmed that). Current Sonic - even in Japanese, is more outgoing and sullen.

Flanderization happened in the Japanese version too and is undeniable (I said i watched the Japanese versions too).

Indeed...

this remember a old cartoon I used to see in early '90s...

"Cecil, help me!"

Knuckles still does his duty, but I saw him more and more relaxed lately. Like: 'A bit of absence won't hurt!'. The describled flanderization sounds more like the one we saw in Sonic Boom.

Yes, this.

Sonic X is Japanese and she is clearly different from videogames (Right, I've said I watched the Japanese version). In the two adventure Amy was energetic yet gentle. I remember her kind attitude toward Gamma and Shadow. in Sonic X she made me laugh, but yes, she looks also dangerous. Sonic is right to avoid her.

Magical girl Amy. Well - Eggman deserve that.

This poor guy had it the worst. I remember Shadow being overall gloomy but still playful. Is like they just took away all the facets that made Shadow likeable and left only the flaws (inflating them to 'fill' emty spaces) . The Shadow we had during last decade (except for Lance Shadow) is the perfect edgy character that only 15 years old kids like. At 15 I also lingered on edgelords and I though they were the best because they were 'oh, pure serious' and didn't lingered in 'foolish cheerfulness'. I even characterized some of my own characters as edgelords (I'm glad I'm out from it since late teen). My mum made me understand why they suck, calling them 'arm candy' (belle statuine). That was a great and helpful criticism.

I loved funny and evil Eggman. I don't like what Eggman is lately, more than a villain, he seems a mignon.

Though Japanese dialogue might be better and more meaningful (when different from English ones), this doesn't mean Japanese version of Sonic is free of issues. We need to accept that Sonic franchise is flawed, that the fandom is not perfect. The good thing is that all the material we have around can satisfy all palates. Let's enjoy what we like and hope for the better, whathever will be.

[lord-squiggletits]

Idk if my previous posts were unclear but I don't remotely hate any Optimus version that isn't IDW or think they suck. Every Optimus is good and there's a fan (or multiple fans!) of every version of OP no matter how obscure or underrated (as well as all the other characters).

What's more questionable (or at least annoying) is when fandom ignores canon character personalities in favor of writing specific archetypes that are either out of character or repetitive/stereotyped to the point of annoyance. As an example of this, it would be a female character being called the Team Mom just because she's a woman existing in a group of (primarily male) characters even if she's not remotely motherly or nurturing. Or, as a more topical example, how often I've seen Transformers ships where even though both characters are canonically masculine (or gender neutral), fanartists love to turn one of the characters small and weak (or even outright feminine) to turn the ship into Strong Dominant Seme and Sweet Cute Uke to fit a specific kink or romantic fantasy, even if it's a disservice/OOC to portray those characters like that.

In other words, a fandom's popularity of certain characters, ships, headcanons, etc is often more informed by tropes and forcing canon to adhere to one's personal tastes, as opposed to approaching canon and trying to understand it on its own terms. I'm not talking about the quality of the source material, but rather the way that the fandom interprets the source materials in ways that don't make any sense, approach it in bad faith, or just generally don't care about canon at all. So I'm not saying one OP is better than another, my problem is when fandom consistently focuses on certain stereotypes or flanderizations of a character, and then any character that doesn't fit the popular (often stereotyped) mold is ignored or virulently rejected. In other words, I think popular fandom often does a DISSERVICE to characters whether they love them or hate them, it just takes different forms.

So, just as an example, I think one fandom caricature of Optimus that I see a lot (and heavily dislike) is making Optimus some sort of shrinking wallflower type who's innocent, sweet, and virginal, in contrast to an opposite caricature of Megatron that's big, strong, dominant, and rugged, and making ship art that forces the characters into some kind of seme/uke or borderline heteronormative romance. Despite the fact that canon Optimus (in, say, TFP for example) is tall, broadly built, deep voiced, dignified, assertive, and strong (physically and morally), completely incorrect interpretations of him as a shy feminized uke type are still pretty common to find. And it makes you ask yourself why it is so many people make MOP ship art of them of The Small One and The Large One or The Small, Cute One and The Big, Violent One when it's completely different from canon. It feels as if such fanart is made by people who just want to see seme/uke style slash ships, and if canon doesn't give them what they want, they'll simply trash it and replace it with their own version, even if it's completely OOC.

So when I said in my other post that people don't like IDW Optimus because he can't be fit into caricatures like happy dad or shy twink, I'm not saying it to say "other OPs who resemble that suck," I'm saying it to express "Fandom tends to simplify characters into easily palatable and comfortable tropes, and when they encounter a character they can't do that with, they respond by ignoring or even hating on that character."

Other versions of Optimus have the problem where fandom turns them into a stereotype instead of the actual character they are, e.g. portraying TFA OP as some poor abused damsel with no self confidence and crippling anxiety being abused by his superiors, and then they talk more about this fake uwu smoll bean cinnamon roll version of TFA OP than they do about actual canon TFA OP. And honestly I can't think of any prominent content/meta about G1 OP that isn't just "he plays basketball and does funny one liners and is Team Dad/Grandpa." (Hell, you even get that with non-Optimus characters that get simplified to just sexy twink, old grandpa, comedy relief, evil ex, Diversity Win-- She's A Lesbian, third wheel to the favored ship, etc even though there's way more depth to them than just their surface level stereotype.)

IDW OP's problem is that he can't be stereotyped like that so instead the fandom ignores him. He's not small, so they can't stereotype him as a skinny twink getting topped by a burly uke. He's not jovial or happy go lucky or extroverted, so they can't stereotype him as Team Dad or Comedy Relief. He's assertive, blunt, and has a temper, so they can't stereotype him as a shy wallflower in need of protecting. He makes catastrophic mistakes and is responsible for bad things happening, so they can't stereotype him into a sweet cinnamon roll who has never done anything wrong in his whole life or The Infinitely Wise and Kind Paragon. There's no Big Bad Authority Figure who was mean to IDW OP and traumatized him, so they can't excuse the bad things he did as "he's traumatized so he couldn't help it" and wave away his flaws as "it's his abuser's fault, they made him this way." IDW OP has the kind of depression where he's grumpy, shut off, and angry-- as opposed to the shy, sad kind of depression that just stares forlornly out of the window in a beautifully tragic way-- so they can't make him into a sad woobie kicked around unfairly by life.

Or I guess they just stereotype IDW OP as "evil bastard with no redeeming qualities that's mean to everyone for no reason, plus the writers forced everyone to like him just because he's Optimus Prime" even though that isn't accurate either.

Put bluntly, IDW OP forces fandom to contend with the idea that someone can be a good person with good intentions but still fuck up on a massive scale and maybe end up hurting more than they helped. IDW OP is messy, ugly, flawed, mean, stoic, closed off. When IDW OP has mental breakdowns or has his feelings hurt, he's loud and angry and harsh, and the consequences of what he did while he was unwell continue to haunt him long after. In other words, he actually experiences negative emotions the way a real person would, and sometimes when he's under the influence of negative emotions, he lashes out or does stupid things (like a real person might) instead of inoffensively crying in a corner somewhere. He isn't sanitized enough for a fandom that only wants Perfect Pure Good Optimus Who Never Hurts Anyone Even By Accident, so instead of IDW OP's mistakes and dark moments being treated as the logical end point of a person put in constant no-win situations until he breaks, he gets treated as if his mistakes and flaws make him an irredeemable bastard with no good qualities who should've fucked up less often to make fans actually like him.

And this is all in a fandom where 90% of the characters are war criminals and a good half of them have massacred organic planets. But god forbid IDW Optimus ever make a bad decision in a stressful situation. Or be mean to someone. Or have a character arc about how blindly idolizing people as paragons ends badly for everyone involved because no one can be that perfect. He is simply The Worst Optimus Ever and there's absolutely nothing about him worth discussing.

And just to be clear, the problem isn't the fact that some people don't like IDW OP, or he's just not their thing and they don't care.

The problem is the fact that he's consistently and actively hated by the fanbase who makes a concentrated effort to say he sucks and make sure none of their fan works ever include him. It's literally at a level where I stopped looking in the Optimus tag on this website because I was tired of people randomly going "and btw IDW OP sucks and I want to drown him in a ditch" in posts that weren't even about IDW, and I stopped looking for MegOP fic on AO3 because most of it is IDW Megatron/clearly TFP or G1 inspired continuity soup Optimus. Places that are Optimus friendly for Optimus fans, where I could reasonably expect to find positive conversations, but instead get sucker punched by hate about the character The Space Is About. And I can't even have conversations asking about why they do, bc the way 90% of them talk, I can tell they literally just didn't read the comics or deliberately misinterpreted the story.

I find it bizarre and frankly, tragic, that the hate train for IDW OP is so pervasive that people actively erase and replace him from fan works IN THE IDW UNIVERSE in a way that no other character is targeted in. I have tried so hard to understand why IDW OP gets this sort of hate and erasure when other characters who were as bad or worse than him have perfectly normal takes about them that go "yeah he kinda sucks but he's cool and I like him" or "who cares if he's problematic IRL, it's a story." The only conclusion I can come to is that because Optimus Prime (TM) has a specific brand image and is locked into being a cultural icon, he's held to a standard of The Ideal Perfect Hero instead of the way better standard of "Is he an interesting, well written character?"

[skaruresonic]

"Shadow isn't always an aggro douchebag, look at all these times where he was slightly chill for three seconds in a row! Sure there are just as many if not more examples of Shadow being a raging knob, but I personally do not like those instances and therefore I am going to say they were bad writing and ignore them in favor of the reading of his character that personally appeals to me more!"

What is it about Shadow that makes people be trippin so much? lol

How hard is it for people to just wrap their heads around the idea that Shadows chemistry is different with everybody? He has a MUTUAL competitive relationship with Sonic BECAUSE they have just as much in common as they have differences. Rouge is probably the most trustworthy person in Shadows life currently but it's more like they're co-workers than friends. Amy seems to be able to tug on his heartstrings and get him to do whatever she wants with her earnest personality even while he acts all tsundere about it. Ect.

The way Shadow is isn't mutually exclusive, but folks seem to want to just disregard interactions they don't like because they're different from interactions he has at other times under different circumstances. If your view of Shadow requires trimming fat and going "yeah well that time he was being 'OOC' so I just ignore it" then maybe your view of Shadow isn't accurate.

>>me @ me: the damage is done. you've said your piece. do not drop the Even Spicier Take(tm)

>>me: instructions unclear, failed step one

Tbh, I didn't want to say this because quite frankly, I didn't know how to word it in a way that wouldn't come across as though I was passing judgment since that's not my intention. But… ever since Shadow dropped that "go help your teammates" line in Sonic Forces Overclocked, this general notion has percolated in the back of my mind...

...Well. I think this idea of Shadow as modern fandom conceives him is... made up. And that's the lightest way I can put it.

Over time, I've come to suspect that fandom's constructed this mental image of Shadow as a noble protector archetype, soft-spoken and who always strives to fulfill his duty, and they've become quite attached to it to the point of rejecting other aspects of his character… like the pettiness and the bullheadedness.

It's possible the reason for the backlash against Sega's current portrayal is because the image doesn't match reality. His canonical pettiness chafes against the grain of who he "should" be. I'm not sure how well I'm explaining myself, but I hope the sentiment is received in the spirit in which it's intended.

That's not to say the archetype or the better parts of his personality are necessarily wrong in every circumstance (mandatory disclaimer that I am speaking in generalities and am not personally knocking your fic), but rather, insisting that noble side is all he is and lumping the less palatable traits under that umbrella paints an incomplete picture of his character. Although nobility and pragmatism do inform important parts of his character, they aren't his only traits.

It's like if people took umbrage with Sonic saying "I have no master except the wind that blows free." What, precisely, is there to take umbrage with? If part of the character's personality rubs you the wrong way, that doesn't necessarily have to indicate OOCness, especially when the character is supposed to be an anti-hero.

I have no legit idea what folks even mean by "Vegeta!Shadow" anymore because, for one thing, never watched DBZ, and for another, he gets slapped with the label regardless of his behavior. I can't isolate the offending variable because there doesn't seem to be one, aside from "Sega sucks." Forces!Shadow is relatively chill but still Vegeta!Shadow because Reasons. Flynn fucks up issue 19 so therefore his portrayal is evidence that Sega wants Vegeta!Shadow, because that's how logic works I guess. Shadow goes on vtube and his rivalry with Sonic gets acknowledged? Vegeta!Shadow. Like, is there no sense of scale or degree with which people apply the label? These are three different portrayals. I don't understand.

Obviously I don't want to be all "you must have a high IQ to understand Shadu Le Hedgehog(tm)" because that's very not much the message I want to convey. Lol and lmao I would be so far up my own ass if I did.

But it is interesting how discussing him specifically results in particular problems of communication. The issues with discussing Shadow appear to be that A.) folks tend to think your personal opinions and gripes are indicative of those of all Shadow fans AKA the SA2 fan problem, and B.) you're always going to miss some nuance that someone else is going to point out, and sometimes you have to decide to take the L for the sake of conserving energy.

I've written about his character at length, sometimes embarrassingly so (he rotates in my brain like a TV dinner. hehe Shadow go brrrr). And I think anyone who follows me at this point knows my attitude on Shadow is always changing in subtle ways, because there are as many ways of looking at him as there are facets of his character.

On the other hand… I get that people flanderize him, and his multiplicity can be difficult to capture in the limited space a post can permit. But also, there are times where I'm tired and can't English(tm) and I just don't feel like including footnotes every time I'm like "hehe Shadow's kind of an asshole <3," you know what I mean? It should go without saying that Shadow's character allows enough berth that "hehe Shadow's kind of an asshole <3" does not inherently preclude those moments where he's not-an-asshole. Or less-of-an-asshole. Whichever. You know what I mean.

Despite being frustrated with fanon, I'm not trying to pass indictment and say This Is How Shadow Ought To Be Characterized Forever. Rather, I'm just expressing frustration at how fandom continuously refuses to accept the most baseline traits, like (checks notes) "annoyed by Sonic sometimes."

Like it or not, he does have some rough edges. It wouldn't be fair to sand down the bad boy side of Sonic, and indeed some subsects of fandom complain about its erasure. So why is it okay to do to Shadow?

[the-savage-garden]

SJM and the Black Jewels

So, I've read that SJM "borrows" a lot from a book series called the Black Jewels and I wanted to see for myself so I skimmed through Daughter of the Blood. And yeah, I was able to see what others mean by that. I don't recommend reading the Black Jewels though, it's very adult and has triggers galore, especially involving children, and I believe it's done in an insensitive way.

Rhys is pretty much Daemon (and Lucivar) though probably a more palatable version. Though I definitely can't help but question SJM's taste in male characters (I know that's unfair but I'm still thinking it).

I'm going to bring up ACOTAR because I'm a bit more familiar with it now, but I can tell that it's very much just fanfiction of the Black Jewels world with some differences. SJM also uses a lot of elements from it for her other series too.

I used to think that ACOMAF was a retcon because of how badly written it is but seeing how Rhys is based on Daemon I'm starting to think that SJM always wanted Feyre to be with Rhys. Like, maybe the 1st draft wasn't so heavily influenced by the Black Jewels, until SJM changed her mind, I don't know. Tamlin doesn't appear to be based on any Black Jewels character from what I can tell, I could be wrong, and that's probably why he was never going to be the main love interest. It sucks because he's kind of unique, even though he draws a lot from the Beast from BatB. Still SJM is not very good at writing, it's too messy.

As much as I'm not a fan of the Black Jewels series, Anne Bishop does know how to write. From what I've read it's rather easy to follow, and I can tell that SJM is trying to copy that writing style, very poorly might I add. I could see where SJM gets the info dumps from, though Bishop does it in a more comprehensible way.

Also, winnowing is pretty much the Web (Rhys even explains it similarly to Lucivar) and the siphons are the Jewels. Character interactions are pretty similar too. Illyians and Eyriens too but I already knew that. The Runs and the Blood Rite. Surreal and Suriel, etc. Surprisingly I could still continue.

From what I know of Throne Of Glass and Crescent City, they also heavily take from the Black Jewels too.

I'm not going to make a tag for Black Jewels, this is the only time I'm going to talk about it.

How far can an author be influenced by another author before they're just stealing from them?

[bicon-crange]

Alright, let’s hear it

HI SORRY I'M LATE!!

I know this is about this post I made because I got it like. not even a day after.. so.. for context!

SO like I said, I think Dr. Horrible is actually pretty solid writing wise.

I think you could make it an actual (maybe off-broadway budget lvl) musical with a toooouch of rewrites. I think literally just removing the use of slurs (there's like, two, in the whole musical. which sucks but its also like…10+ years old) would make it really palatable for a modern day audience.

Lots of songs like A Man's Gotta Do touch on subjects waay ahead of the public discussion on them like toxic masculinity (again the movies like 14 years old), and I also think it's interesting that in THAT song in particular, the one who espouses these toxic ideals is not the super macho sterotype Captain Hammer, but the our nerdy, underdog, 'relatable' main character.

I also think that it would be greatly improved as a script if Penny didn't die at the end. Now THIS is where it gets lengthy and where I bring in the read more…

I think it would be much more interesting if Penny didn't die. I also really hate it because from the moment she dies on, she's instantly weirdly dehumanized by both the narrative and the literal lyrics, where she is refferred to as "everything you ever…" It's weird to me and I never really liked it.

I think it would be much more interesting if she wound up, as a result of the freeze ray, gaining powers and going against Dr. Horrible. Or something similar.

Now Penny, in real early 2000s girl fashion, is not written to be as in depth or 3 dimensional as the other male characters in the movie ( which is fine to me, as the movie is clearly satirical and very tongue-in-cheek, ALL the characters are more or less stereotypes ).

But what we do know about her is that she is already established to be both very altruistic and a weird parallel to Dr. Horrible.

Her first song, "Caring Hands" is her literally trying to get help for a local homeless shelter that she's dedicated to, and in her third song "Pennys Song," she explains WHY she cares about her town specifically and WHY she is so dedicated to help.

It reads to me as very superhero-y! There are lots of superheros (Spiderman,Batman, you KNOW THEM) who are very dedicated to one specific town or city because something of relevance happened to them there or there's a deep emotional connection (i.e. this need to "fix" a town). So in that way, it still works as a sort of parody of already established superhero characters.

I also think she's someone who idolizes heroism in general, as getting saved by Captain Hammer is what draws her to be interested in him in the first place.

Now, where she works as a sort of narrative foil/mirror really kicks in in the song "My Eyes", where her and Dr. Horrible sing about their completely different points of view (simplified, it's optimism v. pessimism, altruism v. anarchy) … but once in a while in this duet (which they sing on opposite ends of town)…. their words overlap!

And they both wind up saying the same word, or similar phrases, though in completely different contexts.

I think this could totally have been a set up for a fantastic dynamic where they work as dynamic opposites of each other!! Especially if Dr. Horrible stays pining for her long after she becomes a hero? Ough! The drama! The intrigue!

It especially works for me because Dr. Horrible doesn't really care for Penny? Outside of the idealized version of her he's conjured in his mind. Which we know he's been doing since the start of the movie by the way.

He KNOWS she's altruistic and he KNOWS she cares about people, and she has told him this to his FACE, but he keeps on with his antagonistic plans anyways because he thinks he's smarter than her. At his core, he thinks he's better than her and that she can't make decisions for herself.

He even says in one song that he knows she'll cry over what he's going to do but resolves to still do it. He wants power over her,essentially. He wants her the way you want a shiny new toy.

Yet he still wants to try to impress her. Her opinion means EVERYTHING to him because in his mind she's still deified.

During his big villain moment towards the end of the movie one of his ONLY concerns is her seeing him, even now worried that her opinion of him will be tainted.

He even,tellingly, in this moment- calls himself by her nickname for him to soothe himself.

TELL ME THAT DOESN'T JUST SMACK OF A CRAZY INTERESTING HERO/VILLAIN DYNAMIC!!! Especially if Penny, knowing her big heart, continues to not give up on him. But MAN is it hard.

[hms-tardimpala]

Hi! Since you were talking about your latest project, for the ship bingo I'm going to ask: John/Dean? (And if you want to do one extra, may I suggest Philes?)

NARA. I should have known you'd come up with the ship that's not talked about in polite company. Thank you so much!

So, for any anti that might have followed me by accident: I think we're about to part ways. John/Dean here refers to John Winchester and Dean Winchester from Supernatural.

Train wreck but I can't look away: whichever way you look at it, whether it's consenting or not, it's not gonna start well, go well, or end well. No amount of great writing will make this relationship stable or fair. It's doomed.

I'm a casual shipper: this isn't my OTP in this fandom (that spot belongs to Destiel), but I multiship.

INTERESTING COMPELLING COMPLEX SCREECHIBG: Dean took on his mother's role in the family in most ways after her death, why not this too? Have you seen the Winchester family dynamics? None of it is healthy, they're violent creeps with codependance issues. These boys haven't been socialized! So yeah, incest, why not? So many themes to explore with this ship. Abuse, masculinity, free will, homophobia, parenting.

Fandom ruining it: not really. There is amazing fandom content for that ship. But the SPN fandom is extremely divided and confrontational, and John's character is a touchy subject. Most people stop at arguing about whether he is good or bad, and are too busy decrying incestuous ships to provide interesting discussion about Dean/John.

Person A deserves better than person B: hey, John Winchester sucks. He's interesting, but he's the kind of character you watch telling yourself "I wish he'd rot in hell" and guess what? He canonically does!

Could cut the tension with a KNIFE: every room John steps into has tension. Things are already tense and intense and electric with his sons (in different ways) in a story where he doesn't fuck them. Imagine if he wasn't just Dean's father, drill sergeant and personal god, but also the man who taught him to have sex.

FREE SPACE: ew ew omg ewww! This hits the tiny mark between "absolutely disgusting" and "so fucking hot". There are days I can't stomach it, but I stand by it because it's extremely compelling.

Thank you a thousand times for giving me the oportunity to talk about them, it was very exciting.

And now, some Philes as a palate cleanser:

Train wreck but I can't look away: their worldviews and morals are too different and conflicting to build a lasting relationship, it's always going to be messy, and I'm here for it.

THAT one scene. You know the one: the duelling scene, of course. Thurston, what were you thinking? Also, the minotaur fight scene when Fetch realizes Niles is sort of a friend, kinda??

INTERESTING COMPELLING COMPLEX SCREECHIBG: It's because they have such different opinions and goals that they are interesting to see interact. For Fetch and Niles to date or fuck, I think Fetch would have to get more down to earth and less absolute about his views, and that would be an interesting growth. Also, Thurston Niles is a great character to explore and make headcanons about.

They are divorced, possibly not for the first time: these guys fight so much. They're used to each other's presence like you're used to an inconvenience or a flaw in the sidewalk. The way Fetch goes to Niles' house for drinks, and Niles doesn't serve him alcohol, and they antagonize each other but still have a decent time is so Divorced to me.

Could cut the tension with a KNIFE: I love to see the girls fightinnnnnggg. I love that Fetch seems two seconds away from imploding when he's in the same room as Niles. What's interesting is that the tension is brought by Fetch and Niles is chill about their situationship. When they meet on a case of Fetch's, sparks fly and that's awesome.

FREE SPACE: I'm using this space to say a trop I love to imagine for them is "ugh, why did it have to be him of all people?". I like to imagine them both inconvenienced by their attraction.

Thank you so much for playing with me <3

[ereborne]

for the wip game - ahhhh it is actually impossible to pick, i am consumed with curiosity about everything on the list ok ok ummmm refractive index or lay-on-the-floor-and-scream dot excel please!

I did lay-on-the-floor-and-scream for zahnie here, so we'll go with refractive index. Also known as “why do the different colors of kryptonite all suck in different ways, why is Tim fundamentally different people around his family and his friends, why would anyone make a pizza out of cauliflower, and other answers Kon absolutely cannot go another day without”. I am again putting the DC timeline(s) in a blender to make a more palatable story-smoothie!

Kon overhears Tim lying to Bruce about his home life, which is very cool (he heard Robin all the way in Gotham) and very uncool (he was not supposed to be listening to Robin while he was in Gotham) and very impressive (Rob lied to Batman! right to his face! and it worked!) and very worrisome (why is Rob lying to Batman anyway???)

Also Deathstroke has a crate of kryptonite samples, Bart keeps going missing, and Cassie keeps ordering inedible food for movie night. The usual problems.

Kon settles into the straw, absently tucking some prickly bits away with his TTK, and closes his eyes.  Why is hearing practice easier with his eyes closed?  Is it really or is that a—what did Bart call it.  Like sugar pills.  Oooh, sugar—it’s a little bit cheating, to go out for hearing practice but then only listen in on Ma and Pa in the kitchen right there, but—oh they are definitely talking about pie.  Sweet.  Heh.  Sweet.  Aw, he lifted his head towards the house when he was trying to listen to the kitchen.  Hearing practice half-fail.  He lets himself flop back down limp in the straw, TTKs a little more of it away from the back of his neck, ugh, and carefully stays put as he listens for Bart.  Bart’s always making noise, even when he’s still and quiet as he can be his heart still goes like a hummingbird, he should be easy to pick out.  Nope.  Nuh uh.  Nothing.  Kon keeps listening for Bart.  Behind him is uh, east—quick check, yeah, house there cows there road there Smallville out thataway, yeah, behind him is definitely east—so Bart should be to his right.  He tries again.  He just listened around for Smallville no problem, even clocked some cars on the road—and this is the middle of nowhere, so there aren’t cars for ages in any direction—so why can’t he find a juiced-up speedster heartbeat, theoretically actually a whole household of speedster heartbeats, to his right?  There’s a piece of straw jabbing him in the cheek.  He turned his stupid head to the right, ugh.  Uuuuugh.  And how is a little piece of straw still so pokey when his skin is invulnerable, anyway?  Rob would know, probably.  He wonders, just out of habit, just for a second, where Robin is now.  How is he, what’s he doing—and that’s when his stupid hearing decides to cooperate. 

[applecrumbledore]

Fic: 'Snooping and breaking things' timestamp (Sam POV)

I wrote Sam alone in their motel room while Dean was out in Snooping and breaking things. body swap, mentioned sam/dean, PWP, pining.

Wearing Dean's body was a nightmare for several reasons. The heartburn was bad and his aching joints were an annoying hassle, but the fact that Sam had wanted to be inside Dean's body in a very, very different way ever since he could remember was by far the hardest to deal with.

Wearing Dean's body was a nightmare for several reasons. The heartburn was bad and his aching joints were an annoying hassle, but the fact that Sam had wanted to be inside Dean's body in a very, very different way ever since he could remember was by far the hardest to deal with.

Dean was out with Katie wearing Sam's body like a meat-suit, but he couldn't think about that. Because he couldn't think about that, or the fact that Dean wasn't answering his phone, or the fact that Dean was thirty minutes late, Sam was sitting alone in their motel room in one of the uncomfortable dining chairs with his hands folded on the tabletop like a pious schoolboy. Folded where he could keep an eye on them. His thoughts were harder to keep in check.

He saw you naked. He said you have a big dick. He probably touched it.

Dean wouldn't. He told him not to, and maybe their boundaries were a few skips away from healthy, but Dean wouldn't. 

He sounded like he liked it, though. He sounded impressed.

Sam groaned, alone, to himself. It was Dean's groan, so it didn't help.

You're reaching. You're making shit up. You're pathetic, he was just razzing you.

His hands moved at some point without his say-so, because he had the pads of his fingers against his lips. Against Dean's obscene mouth.

He pulled them away, burned. Then, with another glance at the door, he put them right back.

Don't. Stop. Do not.

Dean's lips were pillowy. He tried to remember if he'd ever felt Dean's mouth before, but nothing came to mind, and there was likely nothing beyond clapping a hand over his mouth to shut him up. Touching them so intentionally was new. Tracing them.

He put his fingers in his mouth.

Logically, he knew he should stop. Physically, Dean was sucking his fingers, and he didn't stop.

He let his-Dean's mouth pull at his fingers, sucking gently, the hot wet soft curl of his tongue. He always wondered. He was so stupid, and he always wondered. It was better than he thought. He finally knew what it would feel like, both to have Dean suck his fingers and to suck Dean's fingers, all at once.

It was easy to imagine. His, Sam's, fingers working into Dean's mouth, the way he'd take them, the give of his soft palate and his throat as he pushed them in. Dean pretended like he didn't know, but he did, he had to, Sam saw the way he looked at guys. No real gag reflex, which had to be practiced.

He tried not to think about Dean liking guys, most days. It was too close, it gave him hope he had no business having, because 'guys' didn't mean 'brother,' not by a mile. He wasn't stupid, he was just… broken. Only a little.

He was hard now, too. It was an insane sensation, getting hard with someone else's dick, familiar and still not. He took his fingers out of his mouth, pushed his chair out from the table and looked down at it, which only made him harder, because it was Dean's. He'd seen Dean's hard dick in his jeans more times than he knew what to do with, a life spent sitting next to Dean as he popped wood over a waitress' tits, the same at eighteen as he was at twenty-eight.

Sam wanted to touch it so bad he spread his hands back on the tabletop.

You're better than this, he thought, this does not define you, Dean does not define you, that rotting kernel inside you that makes you want to fuck your brother is only a kernel, insignificant, a speck. It's not important, it's not you. This fucked up thing is not you.

It felt like him, though. A lot. It had been an elephant in his mental room since he hit puberty, and he didn't always think about it, but it never went away. It skulked behind him, waiting for an opportunity—an unintentionally flirty comment from Dean, a caught look, and his brain went crazy wondering: did Dean know? Was it even remotely possible that the thing that was eating him alive was also eating Dean?

He didn't let himself entertain the thought. Dean wouldn't know a healthy boundary if it fucked him in the ass, but this particular beast was entirely Sam's own.

He ran his hand up his thigh, dangerously close. Dean was more sensitive than him, even the friction of his hard-on against denim was getting him there, Jesus, how did he live like this?

He couldn't help it, he slid his palm over it and hissed at the feeling.

It was big. Some of that had to be genes oh God don't think about that, don't, never mind, it was— it was good, thick and full under the push of his hand. He could play with it a little, that wasn't so bad. One stroke, two, the angle awkward through his jeans. He pressed his fingers against the head and made sparks of pleasure race up his spine, too sharp, knees opening wide. His mouth was dry. He kept petting it, rougher, each stroke making it harder to stop.

He thought about how often Dean did this alone, in the shower and in bed and any time he had five halfway private minutes. Sam had heard him enough to know, his reluctant grunts of pleasure and poorly-stifled breathing, the same he was hearing in his own ears, out of his own mouth.

His back was starting to sweat, hot and damp in the valley of his spine, in the tight black t-shirt that drove him crazy. He resigned himself about thirty seconds ago to the fact that he was going to come, he couldn't go back, but if he did it in his jeans, the odds of Dean finding out went up exponentially. He had to take it out. No choice, really. That's what he told himself.

He went to the bed, standing for a moment in front of his own before going to Dean's. He sat back against the headboard and fumbled his belt and then jeans open with numb, nervous hands. He paused to push up his shirt and smooth a broad hand over his stomach, flat and hard with a bit of soft, just enough to make him want to dig his fingers in. Up higher, over his pecs to brush over a nipple and feel the amulet bump against his knuckles, which, when he was a kid, made him go nuts: knowing that Dean never took it off, which meant he wore it when he was with girls, a piece of Sam there to bear witness; he wondered if Dean told the truth if a girl asked about it, my brother gave it to me, and how soon before or after sex his name might be in Dean's mouth because of it.

Sam was more mature now, and he didn't think about that stuff so much, but he thought it then. Wallowed in it, even. It was a special occasion. 

He slid his hand back between his (Dean's) legs, over his boxers, and all but melted back into the pillows. He was so hard and warm under his fingers, big, and he could smell him. Guilt grew and grew inside him but he didn't want to think about it, he couldn't, he was too far gone. He groaned and it sounded like Dean, it felt so good, he was so stupid. He cupped himself (Dean) through his boxers and tipped his head back.

"Fuck me," he said to himself, shame burning in the back of his throat. Then, worse—don't say it don't say it don't say it— "Sammy."

Fucking pervert. Pathetic.

He pulled his boxers down, eyes screwed shut like that was any better, and took him in his hand. The skin on skin was electric and better than he ever thought, terrifying and hot and perfect. He stroked himself and couldn't stop thinking about Dean doing it, and how he now knew exactly how he felt when he did, and he lasted all of ten seconds before he looked down and watched, and after that he was fucking gone. He was gone the second he said 'Sammy.'

He knew he had to get it over with, God only knew when Dean would get back and turn a bad situation worse.

He stared down at Dean's hand on Dean's dick, working it in his fist, thick and pretty, proportioned, a goddamn vision. He sunk into his fantasies the way he'd sink into Dean if he could, in some opposite universe where Dean let him, where Dean was just as messed up as him. Dean making the choked-back noises that were coming out of his own throat, Dean losing his mind over it, Dean babbling at him fuck shit yes yes just like that oh fuck, clawing at his back, his arms, going crazy with it.

Even better, the idea of getting Dean to finally shut up was erotic all on its own; fucking him so good and so hard he didn't have anything to say about it, couldn't say anything about it, bravado gone, annoying veneer stripped, just going to pieces on Sam's dick. It was the best thing in his godawful spank bank, fucking Dean stupid like that. Usually face down. Usually with a hand on the back of his head to keep him there.

He slid down the headboard and his head tipped back into the pillows, body going taut with pleasure, teeth clenching, so close his toes curled and he stopped being able to hold anything back, so, even worse, or a hell of a lot more dangerous, he thought about Dean fucking him.

It was humiliating and awful but he let the daydream sprawl in his mind as his hand sped up helplessly—Dean sweating and heaving above him, the ache of him inside him, smoothing his hair back and whispering in his ear, rock-salt rough, you feel so good Sammy you're doing so good I want you to come for me okay baby I want you to

The orgasm caught him off guard in the new body, the signs just different enough, and he watched with slack-jawed lust as Dean's dick spurted over his hand, over his shirt and fuck, Dean would notice, now he had to do laundry, or— he couldn't stop pumping it, it felt so good, all the way through his whole body until he was tingling with it, and way past what he thought was possible it still felt good and he was still jerking it, he couldn't stop, holy shit, what was wrong with Dean? What was wrong with him?

He was still hard and still leaking over the circle of his fingers, all of it slicked up and wet now, and he kept stroking it just because it could, because it made his face burn and his body twitch and it felt amazing, razor sharp but just short of wanting to stop and he kept jacking it and it felt like just-came and not-yet altogether, Dean was a fucking freak, if Sam could ever find a way to talk to him about this, he would, but there was nothing— nothing—

A sensation coursed through him that was less like coming than it was falling off a cliff and he let go of his dick in shock, overwhelmed, and only then did he realize he was coming again. It pulsed and dripped untouched against his leg, getting all over his boxers, a short sharp stab of unbearable pleasure that was over by the time he got his hand around it again.

He collapsed down to the bed, boneless and panting and hot all over, thinking vaguely of laundry and Katie and trying to keep the guilt of it all from killing him. What Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him. 

He'd get up just as soon as he could move. He raised a numb hand to his (Dean's) mouth and touched it again, and dreamed. 

(read the full fic here)

[eyesanddragons]

Qibli and Winter for the duo bingo ?

This is the 2nd time I'm writing this Mini Essay, it got lost...twice...Hope You Enjoy the Qinter Analysis, it got a bit long. I just think the Qinters are really interesting.

It's all about Narratives, parallels, its about being the other person's reason, its about being the others catalyst, it's about self discovery through other, and I understand VERY well that a relationship like this can be platonic, but man the Qinters work So Well.

Let me take a moment to break them down a bit, cause if I did a full analysis it would take a week to get out.

Now Winter is, a person a lot of people wouldn't consider emotional, and trusting, but he is, he really is, the man, even after experiencing years of familial abuse, really only stops trusting his family after his parents try to kill him, like Hailstorm comes out and says the only way to get Winter to leave him was to be as cruel as possible and that didn't even work that well, Winter still looked and felt extremely guilty for Hailstorm, and he believed Hailstorm DID hate him. Winter is trusting and extremely emotional and far from the emotionless ice prince that he seemed like he was, a theme in Arc 2 but I'm not unpacking Arc 2's themes of expectations in this post...probably.

Really, Qibli is more like that emotionless ice prince, he sanitizes his emotions, hides everything but the "palatable" emotions, he's the one who doesn't trust anyone, Winter accepts what people say a lot easier than Qibli does, in Moon Rising Qibli has multiple paragraphs breaking down multiple character's, there motives, how to kill them, etc...even one for Winter, this is before they really became friends, after they became friends Qibli felt...inferior to Winter, because he isn't that trusting, "heroic" person, Qibli even defends Winter from Moon in Escaping Peril, saying that Winter will come back because his actions say more about him than his thoughts (Moon in this scene btw is...saying that Winter won't come back because he's too loyal to his family and that sentence is Weird for multiple reasons like how Moon was the one who gave the grace period in the first place, or how if she saw in his mind she must know about the abuse and that makes the line so much worse BUT THIS ISNT ABOUT HER, pages 115-116 is the scene btw)

And I'm not going to unpack Arc 2's Thought vs Action themes because this ISNT THE POST, but anyway, Qibli really is deeply insecure, he's scared that he isn't good enough, or he's actually secretly evil and lying to himself about being good, and that he'll disappoint everyone, things he shares with Winter, albeit with different cultural context and societal expectations.

But like, Qibli trusts Winter, like, Qibli tells Winter about his family in Winter Turning, which has to be somewhat personal to him, and he just tells him, actually Qibli in general is, really sincere when with Winter, like in Winter Turning Winter even says he's uncomfortable with how sincere Qibli is when he says thank you to him for saving him because sincerity = weakness in the Icewing Kindgom, which makes Winter being really sincere interesting, cause he is, like he isn't nice but he does lean towards honesty, in spite of how much he lies to himself and to the world so that his society can accept him, he is honest, this man got angry at a crime boss for eating Scavangers, (page 80 Darkness of Dragons) he's quite vocal about what he thinks.

The way both interact with there flaws is interesting too, people seem to forget that post Winter Turning Winter does try to improve himself, and does, like not thinking about the epilogues or mind control, Winter is a lot better, and he's clearly trying his best to improve, both with how he interacts with the world and how he treats himself (Even if he doesn't approve with how he treats himself cause the epilogue suck and are sadly in character and Winter is tragic but not a good tragic but this is not about the epilogues), and even when he lashes out and starts to sulk and be rude he does attempt to make up for it, as I said, Winter is just, a lot more open than Qibli

Qibli hides, Qibli's deep seated insecurities makes it so he hides all his flaws, Qibli tries to keep everything under control because he's so deathly afraid of making mistakes, of disappointing others, not actually being as good as people want him to be, he's scared that people will hate him because of an impossibly high standard he can't reach, like Winter! Wow it's almost like there narrative parallels. Interestingly Qibli is comfortable when interacting with Winter, he's more obviously sarcastic/rude/impolite/angry/petty with Winter than he is with anyone else, in a good way, in the way where it shows your comfortable with bickering and bantering with this person because you trust them. This even applies to big arguments, cause they still trust each other a lot even after huge explosive arguments, they give each other time, they understand when they've crossed a line, but they still trust each other.

And your probably looking at the "Fandom sleeps on this one" and going "but its one of the most popular ship on here" and from my experience on here it is, and also the most popular on ao3, but I really do think the wider fandom sleeps on it, mostly cause I feel like Qibli and Winter as characters and there dynamic are just...not as well explored, then again I entered the fandom during that period of time where the only qinter content was basically just jokes about how they might be gay, with them being bad caricatures of themselves. So I don't know how accurate I am here. I just think it deserves a good look before you judge it.