#like my streams have always been scuffed

[wistfulforstars]

I Want More, More

Crosshair x Reader Oneshot

WOW, I broke 20 followers! Thank you, thank you for reading my little fics, it means the world! Have a Crosshair battling with his feelings oneshot!

Word Count: 4605

Summary: Crosshair is made aware that he has not been treating you like he should. He has a crisis about it before talking to you like an adult, kind of.

Warnings: Here there be smut, minors begone, Crosshair struggling with his feelings is its own warning, Crosshair is a dick until he's not, he's a moron your honor, slightly desperate Crosshair, rough sex into talking into gentle sex into rough sex again, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, language, some derogatory pet names, talking during sex, reader is afab, there's porn here I promise, you just have to get through Crosshair's angst

This wasn’t fucking working.

Crosshair was near madness, and he was sure you were reaching a point where you needed a break. You’d never let him fuck your mouth for this long before. But there you were, topless, tears streaming down your face, knees probably scuffed or even bleeding from the durasteel floor, nevermind that you still had your pants on. And yet you pushed through, voicing not a word of complaint as you gagged on his persistent cock.

And he wasn’t anywhere close to finishing.

You should be complaining, he decided. What had it been? Thirty minutes? Fifty? Crosshair couldn’t keep track of anything except his own frustration, and that was making him a terrible lay. And if there’s one thing he would be loath to be terrible at, it was sex.

His cock throbbed, his balls ached, and you kept moaning. He growled.

Sooner or later, you’re going to hurt her. She’s going to get tired of this, and she’s going to leave. Hunter’s words from earlier in the week creeped back into his mind, and any hope of salvaging this situation dissipated into thin air.

Crosshair abruptly pulled you off his length and backed away, tugging his pants up as he went. Still you knelt, breathing heavily, awaiting what he’d do next. It was the arrangement you’d both worked out months ago. You allowed yourself to be used as he saw fit, and he made sure you left satisfied and ready for dreamless sleep. No feelings, no complications. It had worked well for a long time. But he looked at you then, your face a mess, your curled legs trembling, and for the first time, he couldn’t stand the sight.

She deserves someone who cares deeply about her, Echo’s voice, well, echoed in his head, as unbidden as Hunter’s had been. His nosy brothers had held an intervention of sorts a few days ago while you were out getting supplies. It had started with Tech’s “We want to know what you are doing with our medic,” gone through Wrecker’s “You know she likes you, right? Like, a lot,” and ended with a long speech from Hunter about how “One day Crosshair, you’re going to wake up and realize that she’s moved on. For some reason, she really cares for you. And you’re treating her like a meaningless one night stand, except you keep doing it over, and over and-”

It was stupid. You both liked what you were doing. You were both consenting adults with the power to walk away at any time. You were both happy and fulfilled with that. It was enough.

Except for the past few days, it hadn’t been.

Crosshair began to really notice certain things since the talk with his brothers. Like how you always met him with a cheery good morning, and how you didn’t expect an answer in return. How you’d sit next to him while he cleaned his rifle, content to do all the talking if he just listened. How you always ran over after a close call on missions, frantic about his safety and never expecting him to inquire about your wellbeing, even if you were covered in soot and limping away from an explosion. 

He realized you were giving more, much more to your…friendship, than he was. And that didn’t sit well with him. Your relationship was supposed to be transactional, and here you were, giving him attention and assistance and contact without expecting one damn solitary thing in return. Always giving, never receiving, and he…

He was a fucking prick. 

Horrible, awful scenarios started coming to mind after that. For two days, he thought about what would happen if you got transferred, or completed your service and left, or, stars-forbid, got shot. A concept he’d never considered before. You were always there, always constant as Tech’s pointing finger and Echo’s whirring attachments.

The idea of you leaving him - and he was completely arrogant for never seriously entertaining the thought - was frightening. And Crosshair didn’t do frightened.

The worst part? While he was drowning in inner turmoil due to his asshole brothers and your own damn sweetness, you were waltzing around, perfectly fine. You had never given any outward indication that you wanted something real from him, something more than a smokescreen of orgasms and sharp banter. Now that he knew how much you cared, now that he’d heard that you liked him no matter how hard you tried to hide it, he couldn’t let it go.

You’d been contenting yourself with his hands on your body and his lackluster personality for months, when, according to his brothers, you’d really wanted something deeper. Did you think he would reject you, or that he wasn’t capable of anything more to begin with? Both possibilities stung, a lot deeper than he’d ever supposed they would. Especially as he realized that neither of them were unreasonable of you to assume. Suddenly, he was furious.

That’s how he ended up with his cock down your throat in the back of the Marauder, while everyone else was out on the town. Not in his bed, never in his bed. That was one of the rules he’d made, to stop things from getting too intimate. Instead he’d had you kneel, and you’d done it with a wry smile and no questions. He’d planned to fuck these thoughts out of his head, but as it turns out, his brain was thinking the fuck out of his dick, so to speak. 

So instead, he leaned against the wall, gazing at you. You still kneeled, still waited patiently while he’d stared for who knows how long. 

You deserved better. 

The thought was pounding against his skull, incessant and refusing to leave. And Crosshair knew there were only two ways to resolve it. He could walk away, wish you well, and hope that you found someone who could give you a true relationship, no matter what it might cost him.

Or…he could try to be worthy of you.

The first option entailed less risk, and was definitely more his style. He couldn’t be bad at a relationship if he never tried to give you one. But the thought of someone else seeing you like this, or worse, someone else seeing you in ways he hadn’t yet…on a beach, walking down a colorful city street, riding a speeder bike, in the snow…

He stood abruptly and crossed over to your languishing form. He had you in his arms in less than a second, and had you laying on his bunk in less than five more. 

“Cross, wha-?” you protested. You knew the rules, knew his boundaries, and tried to sit up and leave. 

He grasped your shoulders and gently pushed you back, “Please.” Was all he said, whispered and hoarse. He worried at his lip without realizing it. Your eyes widened, and you let him lean you back on his pillows. He fidgeted with them, trying to make them fluffier than the GAR issued sacks of foam they really were, and you quirked a brow.

“You fucking with me, Cross?” you asked, and he could tell you were putting real effort into keeping the trepidation out of your voice. “Because this is a real weird joke.”

Okay, he deserved that one. But his words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How was he supposed to know how to tell a woman he liked her anyway? If the Kaminoans included a class on charm somewhere in their training programs, he definitely didn’t get an invite.

Maybe you would be better off with someone who didn’t spend their days getting up close and personal with other people through a fucking scope. 

But all this staring was starting to freak you out. You were sitting awkwardly, legs open, tits out, under his genetically superior gaze. Crosshair didn’t know what kind of face he’d been making, but it clearly wasn’t one you were used to. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to the side, away from him.

“Are we done?” You ground out through a set jaw, a slightly trembling lip. “Is this…ahem…is this over? Because you could just tell me, you don’t have to try and make it easier. I can just go back to my bunk and…and…”

He caught the sheen in your eyes, the catch in your throat. Fuck. Fuck.

“I-I want you…” stars, he can’t even talk. Damn you. Damn him. He cleared his throat. “I. want. you. to stay… there.”

Well, it sounded like it was being tortured out of him, but at least it got your attention. You turned back to look at his face, “You want me to stay here.” You said evenly, jerking your head towards his shabby pillows. “In your bed. Where I’m never, ever supposed to be.”

He swallowed, mouth dry as hell, and nodded. You were so much better at this, so much stronger than he was. He couldn’t do anything but spill his guts in what was probably the least romantic way possible. 

So he did, “I want to try…something else.”

Your lips parted just a fraction, and something seemed to click behind your eyes. But you were tough, tougher than he ever gave you credit for, and you never gave him any ground. Oh you were gentle about it, cool satin to his rough burlap. He suspected it was the healer in you. But you always demanded communication from him, demanded that he explain his behavior, even if it took him a while.

“Something else,” the hitch in your voice had disappeared. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me, babe. You know I’ll try something new, and we have a safe word, but this violates your rules, and I don’t know how to act now. I don’t know what’s okay.”

Babe. It slipped out of your mouth every so often, usually in a teasing lilt over comms during a battle. He didn’t know if he loved it or hated it, but it always brought a sudden heat to his face. He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“I…” c’mon, bastard. You can get this out, you have to get this out. She’s waiting. “I want… toforgettherules.”

“I’m sorry? One more time?”

Brat. In any other circumstance, he’d have you over his knee for something like that. But he took a deep breath, like the ones he’d take before making an impossible shot. And maybe that’s what this was, “I want to forget the rules.”

Your eyes alighted with something like hope, “Why?”

Yes Crosshair, you stupid prick, tell the lady why. He needed to get his head examined. He was talking to himself more than usual. And now he’d started to sound like Hunter.

“Because,” he ground out, teeth clenched. “You deserve…better…than what I’ve been giving you. But I…I don’t want anyone else to deserve you.”

You sat with that for just a moment. And then you brought a hand up to your mouth and giggled. It was such a happy sound, he was almost completely unoffended. 

“You like me,” you murmured, eyes full of mirth and pure, honest delight.

He let out a shaky breath. It was almost a chuckle, “I like you. You’re a little shit, and you give me a heart attack half the time. But I like you.”

“And… I’m allowed to like you back?” This question was tentative, small. Not how he wanted to see you. You should be bright, confident, unafraid to show your brilliance. A fierceness crept into his heart.

“You get to like whatever you damn well please,” he growled, then softened slightly. “But…it would be nice if you liked me.”

You hummed, and dropped the arms covering your gorgeous breasts to cup his face in both hands. Your fingers moved in his cropped strands of hair, but he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the peace it brought him. 

“I like you, more than I ever thought you’d want me to,” you almost-whispered. Then you grinned that same grin you got when Wrecker offered to let you press a detonator. “But if you want in on this, babe, if you want some kind of commitment, I’ve got some rules of my own.”

Strangely, the thought didn’t concern him nearly as badly as it had a day ago. He didn’t know shit about real relationships. He wanted you, and if you gave him some kind of guide to go off of, well, at least there was less of a chance of him fucking it up. 

Crosshair nodded, and your smile grew wider, joy sparkling in your eyes.

“First of all,” you began. “You have to say good morning and good night to me. You also have to hold my hand every so often, and let me kiss your cheek. I promise not to embarrass you…too much.”

He huffed a little, but conceded, “Agreed. Anything else?”

“Oh this is an ongoing list. There will be amendments,” you chirped happily. “I require actual conversation daily, and I get to sleep next to you after we fuck.”

“What do you take me for? Of course you get to-”

“No getting jealous of my guy friends, including your brothers. Like when I give them hugs or candies or-.”

“The regs absolutely cannot be trusted-”

“Ha! I knew you’d be a jealous boyfriend. Oh yeah! And I get to introduce you as my boyfriend from now on.”

Crosshair’s mild disgust must have shown on his face, because you laughed outright, “What about partner? Lover? Fuckbuddy?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll make ‘boyfriend’ work. Can I kiss you now or does the princess have more proclamations?”

That shut you up. Despite all the other parts of him you’d had in your mouth, one of his rules had been no kissing on the lips. Your eyes glazed over, and he smirked and leaned forward.

Your lips were so soft, plush and sorely neglected. A vague sense of regret and longing overtook him. How the hell had he managed to avoid kissing you until now? It didn’t really matter. He decided, as you let out a little hum of surprise, that it was about to become his new ritual. Every morning, every night, every time he could drag you into a private little alcove, he’d do it, just to get a chance to press his lips to yours.

He pushed forward, his tongue licking at the line of your lips, and you whined. His cock pulsed, and he began steadily rocking it against your clothed thigh. You opened your mouth eagerly and he dove in. Oh this was divine.

“Never thought,” he mumbled into your mouth. “Never thought it’d be like this.”

“Like…what?” you gasped.

“This…this fucking… brilliant. Stars, your mouth…”

You groaned, and he moved to sweep his deft tongue along your jaw, up to your ear. He bit at your earlobe, and your hips began doing some involuntary rocking of their own. Crosshair growled in your ear, satisfied when you shivered.

He stopped though, when he felt your stealthy hand cup his balls through his pants, “No,” he rasped, taking your wrist in hand and bringing the misbehaving appendage up to nip at your squirming fingers. “I told you, doll. I want… to try… something else.”

“Letting me call the shots would be something else,” you whined, still wiggling in his grasp.

He shook his head, “Not tonight,” he said, sounding out of breath. “Tonight, you just lay there. Look pretty. Look fucking gorgeous because that’s what you are, and keep making little noises for me.”

You whimpered at that, and he smirked. But it wasn’t his usual cocky, infuriating twist of the lips. This was an adorable half smile, part disbelieving, part alive with anticipation. 

Your pants were hastily removed, and while your shoes caused a bit of an obstacle, Crosshair simply wrenched them off and tossed them over his shoulder. One landed with a thump on the durasteel floor - a place he swore you would never be kneeling unprotected again. He was pretty sure the other ended up in Tech’s bunk. 

Crosshair traced his hands down your legs and slowly, ever so slowly pulled your knees further apart. You were pressed back against the pillows, open and waiting for him, and his heart rose to a furious din in his ears. He was almost positive you could hear it. 

He was seized with another fit of insecurity. How was he supposed to know how to cater to you like this? He knew how to grasp your throat just hard enough that your eyes would roll back into your head. He knew how you liked to be tied down and spanked. This wasn’t even the first time he had held your legs apart and let you squirm under his attention. But tenderness… communicating one’s feelings with one’s body… he didn’t even know how to begin. 

His eyes flicked to your face, flushed with shyness and lust. Your kind, welcoming eyes, more open in every breath than he was in his entire lifetime. You bit your lip.

You have to try to be worthy of her, he thought to himself. And he turned his attention to your pussy.

Still clothed in your thin, basic panties, the solid color was stained dark with your wetness. Crosshair cursed, and slowly descended between your legs.

First, he kissed your knees, not bleeding but definitely scraped, and the gentle touch of his lips had you sighing. You’d never made that sound before, that exhale of pure contentment. He wanted more of it. 

You flinched and squirmed as he ran his tongue down your inner thigh, but he held you fast. You weren’t getting away from him. Not now, not when he was finally ready to really try. 

Crosshair knew where you wanted him. You weren’t exactly subtle with the canting of your hips and the nervous fluttering of your fingers over the sheets. Your breaths were coming in short bursts of want. Stars, how were you this sensitive already? He’d seen you in a state of pre-orgasmic distress plenty of times, had made you beg for him past the point where you could speak in coherent sentences, but never had he seen such simple, sweet touches electrify you in this way.

Instead of lowering his mouth to your pussy, though, Crosshair moved to lick and nip at your hip bone. You squealed and moaned, and he decided he’d never heard such an addicting sound.

He brought his tongue across your belly, snapping the waistband of your panties with his teeth before teasing your other hip. Your whimpering was a constant symphony in his dark bunk. He pulled back and chanced a peek at your face. Your eyes were shining with yearning. You had one hand in your hair. He reached up, tugged your abused lip from between your teeth, worried that you’d draw blood, and glanced back down.

The wet spot on your panties had grown, and finally, with a lighter touch than he’d ever directed towards you, Crosshair ran a knuckle up and down your clothed center. You keened, and threw your head back on his feeble pillows, which had flattened almost completely under you. 

I need to get new ones, he thought absently as he tugged your panties to the side, exposing your dripping core. She deserves to be fucked on real pillows. 

He lowered his head, and you were both gone. 

Crosshair had tasted you before, often as a tease while you were tied up and helpless. But not often, and not thoroughly. He usually enjoyed watching your face while taking you apart with his fingers, snarling demeaning pet names into your ear. But this…this was transcendent. You tasted like home, like he could live his entire life and die between your legs. He drank from you slowly, meticulously, lapping at your entrance and circling your clit before closing his lips around it and lightly sucking. Your legs were trembling within minutes. Every few seconds, garbled, meaningless sounds escaped from your throat and spurred him on. He gently, reverently pushed a finger into your hot center, caressing the spot you both loved. You seized up…, and let go.

He rocked you lovingly through your orgasm, fingering you slightly and keeping his mouth clamped around your clit. Your pussy spasmed, your hips jerked, and your mouth opened in a silent scream. 

But he didn’t stop. 

Crosshair began again, stroking your throbbing clit with his tongue, refusing to allow the fire in your abdomen to subside. Now that he’d really tasted you, now that he’d felt you fall apart on his lips, his only goal was to make it happen again.

“C-cross!” you yelled, hand flying down to his hair. You tugged hard, and he groaned.

“More,” he mumbled into your cunt. His fingers pressed at that tender spot inside you, and your head flew back. You shrieked and writhed on his bed, dripping onto the sheets. 

You were moaning with every breath, tensing your legs and frantically thrusting your hips towards his waiting mouth. Your toes curled repeatedly in the corners of his vision. Your pussy was red and swollen, your slick arousal running down his hand and wrist. 

Crosshair curled his fingers inside of you and allowed his teeth to gently catch against your begging clit, and your second orgasm hit like a lightning strike. You seized up, screaming your release to the ceiling of his bunk. He gently lapped at your clit as you came down, your yells turning to sobs. Tears spilled down your face and onto your chest. You reached for him, and he encircled your shaking body with his arms.

“Shhhhh,” he hushed into your hair. “You’re alright…you’re alright…I…I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

You pulled back, tears tracking your cheeks as you stared into his eyes, “Y-you’ve never called me that before.”

Crosshair knew you understood the word. Echo called you mesh’la on occasion, Wrecker too. “I felt left out,” he said. “I should get to remind you of how beautiful you are more than anyone else.”

You sniffed, and threw your arms around him, “You’re beautiful too,” he heard you mumble, and his heart swelled. “But…”

“But what, doll?”

Your voice took on a fierce, desperate tone, “If you don’t get inside me right now, we’re going to have our first fight.” 

Crosshair was stunned, but only for a moment. This was why he lo…liked you in the first place. 

He took on the domineering tone he usually had with you in these situations, “Demanding girls don’t get what they want.”

But you just grinned, and lifted your chin, “Girlfriend privilege.”

He threw his head back and laughed. What had he gotten himself into? 

He couldn’t wait to find out.

“Just this once, mesh’la.”

You practically went limp in his arms as his straining, red cock breached your entrance. He stilled for just a moment, relishing in the feeling of being inside you. When you looked up at him, eyes shining with something he dare not name, not yet, he felt complete.

Crosshair grabbed hold of your hair and yanked, and you squealed from the pull of his hand and the push of his cock. This much he was sure of: he knew how you liked to be fucked, and he didn’t have it in him to be gentle any longer. And though he wouldn’t last as long as he’d like, no one could accuse him of not being a giving lover.

“Just like that, good girl,” he growled. You whined and writhed, impaled on his cock and unable to even think. “You just lay back, and come for me one more time.”

“Cross…I-I can’t.”

“You can,” he assured you, and his thumb went down to ever so gently move on your clit. “You’ve done it for me before, and you’re going to do it for me again. Scream, bite me if you have to, but you are going to give me one more.”

You wailed, hips thrusting up, frantically trying to match his rhythm. Crosshair released your hair to grab your throat. He leaned in, a hair's breadth away from your ear, and whispered, “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

You tensed, and he grinned, “You like that? You like knowing you’re mine? That this mouth, these tits, this pussy all belong to me?” He started moving faster, keeping that pressure on your throbbing clit. He bit at your ear, “But remember, mesh’la, just because you’re my girl doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut we both know you are.”

That did it. Your cunt clenched around him, and you let out an ear-piercing scream. Your release came in strong, crashing waves, wiping your mind of anything else and soaking both of you. Crosshair couldn’t hold out any longer. He buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you, and you shuddered with the aftershocks, so full and sated Crosshair swore you’d fallen asleep.

He was wrong. You lifted a trembling hand to his face and smiled gently at him, “Thank you, Cross.”

He scoffed, “Nothing to be thankful for. Not like we haven’t done this a hundred times.”

But you shook your head, “We’ve never done this before.” You gestured at the mess you’d made in his bed, at your tangled limbs and the invisible closeness that still existed between you, even after the amazing sex. “Thank you for trying.”

Crosshair felt his strength leave him. He gathered you up, and buried his face in your chest, taking deep, calming breaths, “Don’t let me coast on it.” He murmured. “Don’t cut me any slack. I’m bad at this.”

He heard your giggle from above, “A little unpolished, maybe, but I’ve never seen you fail to excel at something you were determined to accomplish.” You stroked his hair. “We’ll be fine, babe.”

“We need to talk about that nickname.”

“I can think of others,” you teased. “Honey, sweetie, my little tooka-”

He made a gagging noise against your breasts, and you were outright laughing, “Babycakes, darling, love-”

Crosshair knew he’d tensed up at that last one, had let a little gasp escape in his contentment. He blamed the recent orgasm. But you’d heard it, and you stopped laughing.

“Oh…” he heard your voice take on a strange tone, and finally looked up at your face. You looked…shy. Shy and happy. You nodded, “Love, then. I can make that work.”

He felt his ears burning, and he turned his face back into your chest. A sudden possessiveness overtook him, and he gathered you closer, “You can’t…” he mumbled. “You can’t call anyone else that.”

You were quiet for a moment, probably remembering all of the interchangeable nicknames you liked to use with his brothers. Then he felt your hands grab his face - still hiding in your breasts like a coward - and turn it toward your own. You smiled down at him. 

“And that, love, is what we call boyfriend privilege.”

Crosshair gazed at you in amazement, then felt a rare smile break out over his face. He hugged you close, took his time kissing your lips again. He knew, in a moment, he would tell you to stay where you are as he got up and did something he’d never done for you before - clean you up himself. It’s something he would insist on doing from here on out.

Because, he decided, that’s what your boyfriend would do. And, as he was realizing rather quickly, he did not want anyone else to earn that title. 

It was his. And he was yours. 

[demonslayedher]

Today I went to the Zenshuuchuu-ten (Total Concentration Exhibition) for the Swordsmith Village and Hashira Training arcs today!

This is basically a chance for Ufotable to be like, "remember that cool thing we did?" and for we the fans to be like, "yup, sure do, that's why we're here."

It's not quite as extensive as other KnY events I've been to, and it doesn't particularly provide any new information, but it's fun to see some glimpses of the process from animation cells to finished clips. There's always a handful of fun displays to interact with, scrolls of character designs, and nice panels to display screenshots, especially centered around character arcs and impactful moments.

This time it was roughly as follows:

1. A room with large screen shots of Muzan the Upper Moons that appear in time with lines from the show and twangs of a biwa

2. A small room with a small swordsmithing game that they hurry everyone through. You need to strike the sword with just the right amount of force to get a ball into the middle of three slots, which I did, so I got handed a little piece of paper which is my certification as a master. I mentioned this to a friend afterword and her response was "of course you did."

3. A room in two parts dedicated to Muichiro's arc in SSV, with a hazy curtain you pass through sort of like Muichiro gaining his memories, and a model of his sword backlit in turquoise

4. A room dedicated to Mitsuri's arc in SSV, including a model of her sword which curves all the way across the room, and a little Mitsuri whom you could challenge to arm wrestling. She beat me pretty easily.

5. A Genya room of screenshots, and models of both his short little sword and his gun. Forgot to mention that their lines were playing overheard in each room!

6. A Gyokko and Hantengu room. A Gyokko only appeared over a model of the vase if you took a photo with flash, and there was a little Hantengu figure to look for, and if you found it, they'd give you a piece of origami paper on your way out of the gallery (pretty much everybody found it, but it was tiny).

8. The dedicated to Nezuko's mastery was not in-your-face triumph, but instead had a TV screen playing the Nezuko tribute music video version of her song, with the lyrics as scattered across the grey walls as the stream-of-consciousness lyrics.

9. Right after that, the staff ushers you in to the Hashira meeting, as though you were late.

Next to the meeting taking place, there is a model of Tanjiro's new old sword.

8. After that is a room dedicated to Giyuu's back story. I liked the design of the hanging screenshots in this one. Although the overall image is "water" because of the blue, the water design with light cast on the floor, and water droplet sounds mixed in with Giyuu's lines, the half-and-half effect was perhaps not intentional, but it was there. When you turn back to look through this room, the hanging screenshots--memories of Sabito and Tsutako--are all black.

9. The rest is a room dedicated to the different stages of Hashira training, with 3-D displays like riceballs, paper airplanes, pancakes with honeycomb and a ribbon, a board with ropes and sword cut marks (yikes), scuffed wooden swords, and a boulder you could push on. Along the tops of these displays were some eyeballs scoping everything out...

10. After that they put you in a theater room with three wide screens and headphones. At the last Zenshuuchuuten they did a reedit of the Akaza and Rengoku fight across three screens, so I figured this would have has plunging into the Infinity Fortress. After a preview review of Hashira Training highlights and Muzan's walk, yup, sure enough things got explosive and they plunged us in via the big screen, including some extra disorientation by zooming really closely in on some moving shots, or having multiple things happen at once across the screens.

11. Then they funnel you into a place with a TV playing the announcement for the Infinity Castle movies. No new content or news.

12. After that, these things tend to have a bright and happy Kimetsu Academy room! You could take photos, but there was a chalkboard with the voice actors have let their signatures and messages for the fans. I appreciated how they seemed to reflect their characters in their comments and handwriting, to some extent (certainly not Matsuoka (Inosuke) or none of it would be legible, but Hayami (Shinobu) has very legible, handwriting, and Hanae (Tanjiro) has comments like "I hope you'll feel like GUWAAA and GAAAAA!"). You could not take photos of the signatures, but you could take a photo of Mitsuri's art and figment of her imagination who says disparaging things to her (despite how she wants her art to make the world happy?? Oh, the irony):

13. The gallery concludes with a hall eyecatch illustrations, and a hall of Ufotable staff art paying homage to their favorite characters and scenes. Always treat seeing things in Ufotable style, but with individual craft and taste!

14. After that, you buy things. This is where they get ya.

Kind of thankfully, it's late enough in the exhibition's run that they've already run out of a lot of the smaller items I was intrigued by, so I behaved myself. I got the t-shirts I was planning on (I love the simplicity of them so so much, and really had to resist getting the paper airplane one too), a Daki ribbon item leftover from the last exhibition (though what I really wanted was Daki shoelaces), and an official pamphlet of the event. My friend got a couple Osaka-only badges,but since she got doubles of Zenitsuup the Umeda Sky Building, she gave one to me.

I really love that "nanikore" ("what the...?") design. It's so simple, and if you don’t know KnY, you might think they're just silly little circus dudes. But people who know will be like, "!!!" and their day will be a little brighter for having seen it.

Gonna do a quick self-reblog now with some extra photos!

[matchibee]

Domestic Bliss

I've been itching to write some domestic Miguel so please have this. also I speak Spanish but rarelyyyy write it so I apologize if it’s scuffed, lo siento :/

Miguel O'Hara x Reader, don't really use (Y/n) and all that good shit. not proofread, suggestive so read at ur own discretion

Early morning sunlight streamed through withdrawn curtains, the feeling of a small body embracing you from around your neck drawing you in, a soft smile gracing your lips as you peered down at your sleeping daughter

The pads of your feet pressed against hardwood, a shiver running down your spine. The summer sun hung low in the sky, still early, but you couldn't go back to sleep without that familiar warmth that enveloped you from behind -- a helpless middle to the sandwich of adoration that greeted you every morning.

"Amor," You began, rubbing at your eyes to see an energetic Miguel in the kitchen, hand on his hip as he effortlessly looked over the stove -- the sweet smell of a homemade breakfast making you hum in delight. "Why aren't you in bed, Amor. It's too early to be awake."

Miguel chuckled at the way you wrapped your arms around his waist, palms splayed to discreetly feel at the muscles defining his middle.

"I'm not allowed to make breakfast for my family?" Miguel released one of your hands from his middle, your lips pouting at the loss of contact. He brought the detached limb to his lips, placing a loving kiss on the back of your hand.

"Of course you are, Miguel." You returned the hand from whence it was placed, peppering kisses down the bulk of his sculpted back, the sensation tickling the large man. "I just want to have a late morning, sleep in."

"You're more than welcome to sleep in," Miguel had plated the last of the breakfast, turning on his heel to face you. It was only then you noticed the apron wrapped nearly around him. Far too small, decorated in sparkly glue by your daughter, designs undiscernable but Miguel adored it with his entire being.

"Bueños Días, mi vida." Miguel peppered kisses along the top of your head, tilting your chin to face him, planting a fleeting kiss atop your lips, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up, I know how clingy you get when you're sleepy."

You pushed away from Miguel, pout on your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I'm not clingy."

"Hm? You're not?" His voice had dropped a few many octaves, eyes peering to the band that glimmered against your finger. How he adored seeing it, no matter the time of day, how long it'd been since it graced your frame. The sight always set him aflame with adoration, reminding himself of why he'd decided to place it there in the first place.

How badly he’d wanted to ask you, a fumbling mess despite his outward appearance of confidence. He’d dropped the ring into the fountain of chocolate that had taken far longer to assemble than he wanted to admit, the both of you diving to the chord that powered it.

When he’d found it, coated in melted deliciousness he breathed a deep sigh of relief, cleaning it off as best he could, dropping onto one knee and confessing everything that ran rampant in his heart.

Now here he stood, happier than ever, the love of his life looking away from him as they denied his words.

He couldn’t help it, he adored when they pouted.

Snaking his arms around them, resting firmly on their hips, he backed them into the wall decorated with family photos, careful not to knock anything over. “You know I hate when you do that.” But he didn’t. God, he wished you’d do it more, even if it meant forfeiting control of reason every five seconds.

“You don’t hate when I do anything,” You mended, hopping onto your tiptoes, arms wrapped neatly around his neck.

Exactly how he liked it.

Almost exactly how he liked it.

Miguel’s grip on his hips faltered, fingers splayed neatly as he moved them to the backs of your thighs, hiking you up to where you were pressed up against him just right.

This was how he liked it.

You were desperate for his touch, desperate for his kiss, desperate for his fuck.

You practically clawed at the neckline of his t-shirt, itching to press against him, bare skin against bare skin. You wanted to feel every inch of him beneath your fingers, and in return he’d ravish you like it was the first time.

He certainly would’ve done so, hadn’t it been for the piles of food steadily growing cold.

Hadn’t it been for the voice that called out from the hallway, “Ew!” Any public displays of affection disgusting in her droopy, exhausted eyes.

“Mija! Mira qué linda mi bebé,” Miguel was always doting on the young girl, dropping you from his hold and enveloping the adolescent into his waiting arms, her giggles erupting throughout the kitchen as he blew raspberries against her neck. “How’d you sleep, amor?”

“Bien, papá!” She pushed against her father, laughing wildly as he continued his assault, practically out of breath. “Déjame!”

Miguel refused, over and over, a cycle until the child conceded to her father’s embrace. Miguel was pleased then, seating her on the island separating the kitchen from the dining area.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

The girl nodded her head, a wicked smile on her lips. You knew exactly where this was going, watching in amusement — possibly popping a few of the strawberries Miguel had freshly cut between your teeth.

Miguel hummed, “Aver.”

The girl slapped her mouth closed, giggling behind lips that had been pressed inwards. She shook her head, Miguel looking to you over his shoulder, your hand in the midst of delivering yet another berry to your stomach. You paused, looking to him with a nervous smile, “Lo siento?”

You were definitely next.

Not before long, the brushing situation long behind you, berries in their rightful place, you’d all sat at the table, devouring the meal Miguel had so graciously made. A rare morning together. No school, no work.

No Spider-Man.

“Mira no mas,” Miguel mumbled under his breath, a napkin producing itself from seemingly thin air as he wiped it against your daughter’s lips, “you’re so messy, mamás. What are we gonna do with you?”

“I think she needs to get cleaned up,” You stated, pointing out the obvious. “Maybe we should go on a trip to the beach.”

Your daughter cheered, Miguel not as convinced. “I think that’s the last thing she needs.”

“It’s water?”

“Con sal.”

“Minerals for her growing body, c’mon, amor!” The both of you marched over to her bedroom, Miguel shaking his head, conceding. He called out to you from his place in the kitchen, cleaning up, advising you hurry before all the best are taken.

It didn’t matter where you were, not to you. As long as the three of you were together, you were more than content.

You’d get to see your little girl happy.

You’d get to see Miguel in his swimming trunks.

The perfect day with your perfect little family.

Miguel simply couldn’t wait for more additions.

[mellorphic]

TommyInnit’s Dream SMP Finale Summary

It was Hannah and Bad’s idea

This was Tommy’s splash text

This was someone’s first dsmp stream in Tommy’s chat

He started farming as soon as he logged on, like always

Tubbo got in a boat and span around again. Tommy used autotune to sing ‘you spin me right round’

Tubbo nearly shot Shroud

This is what How To Sex says

Tommy and Tubbo blew up the Hotel which also resulted in McPuffy’s getting blown up and Puffy was shook

Tommy set shroud free

I skipped over most to the stuff with Dream but Tommy was given op and he spawned ghasts on tubbo and Sam

He went to Techno’s house and found a Cat disc in one of his chests. This broke me.

Tommy spoke about how logsted felt really grungey and different to the rest of the server because of how there was nothing there

George nearly slept through it

In True dsmp Fashion getting the end portal to work was scuffed

Callahan kept spawning withers in The End

Tubbo got the final hit on the ender dragon

Tommy and Tubbo met in vc2 at the bench and listened to music

Tommy has an irl ‘your tubbo’ compass

Exile was one of his favourite arcs

His favourite quote is ‘I have The Blade’

His only question for us is if we have ever sat and chatted to our friends about it

This server has been my hyperfixation since the beginning of 2021. Unfortunately I joined ag the end of the ‘golden age’ as it were. But I’ve made hopefully lifelong friends through this stupid block roleplay, and the characters and story mean the world for me and will forever. I know this fandom is going to get smaller now. I know people will move on. But I think I’ll be here for a few more years.

Dream SMP, thank you for helping me fall in love with stories again. Thank you for helping me grow in my own writing and in my artwork. Thank you for being here when I needed you, thank you for getting me through these last few years. Thank you for giving me characters I could love and relate to, who feel more real than anything else. And thank you for introducing me to creators I will forever love.

I’m so glad I was here.

o7, everyone.

[haunted-headset]

hey friend! tis me back again hahah

this is gonna sound so random but anyways i was thinking.. reader coming home to hear wilbur shouting away in his room (he’s streaming for once LMAO) and deciding to just chill in the living room/bedroom for a bit. and then when wilbur’s finished and he surprised to see reader and he’s so happy to them and just aah :,) 🫶 and i had the idea of smth like a cozy night in with wilbur?? and i was wondering if u had any thoughts on that or if u wanted to write about it maybe! no pressure at all to do any of that tho <3

i hope ur having a nice dayyy! 💕

💗 You're Back! 💗

a/n: stopppppp this is so cute!! also why did my writing get really good during this

summary: read the ask

contains: excited Wilbur, tired reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pet names, kissing, & silly Haunty shenanigans overall

words: 702

tags: @zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)

At around 5pm, you finally got home after an exhausting day at work. You, of course, loved your job; it was your dream job, after all! Some days were more tiring than others.

You took your shoes off & put them near the door next to Wilbur's scuffed, untied Dr. Martens that had lost their shine years ago, unlike your darling boyfriend, who always seemed to have some sort of lively spark about him that nobody could quite have for themselves, which is rather peculiar, since he writes incredibly heart-wrenching songs nowadays. The shoes were massive compared to yours, almost like a clown's.

In the office, you heard shouting & laughter. You didn't think your boyfriend would be streaming, since he hadn't streamed since October, & he never mentioned any upcoming streams. Maybe he was treating the livestream like he treated Mammalian Sighing Reflex & did it unannounced to surprise people. Not wanting to interrupt him, you walked into the bedroom to take off your work clothes & change into sweatpants & Wilbur's brown hoodie that still had the smell of earthy, soothing cologne & petrichor lingering on the soft fabric. You checked yourself in the mirror. You looked okay, except for the fact that your eyes were drooping & you looked almost like you were going to collapse & fall asleep on the floor if you did any excessive movements. You yawned & stretched your arms above your head, hearing a few cracks & pops as you did such from not cracking anything all day. You then cracked your neck & knuckles, & both of them made loud pop & crack & crunch sounds. You finger-combed through your hair, tugging through the knots while wincing. You looked very dead. Abandoning the rule you made for yourself not to bother Wilbur during streams, you slowly opened the office door just a crack, making sure not to make any loud creaks.

"So, I think that'll be all today, chat!" Wilbur smiled. "Thank you all for coming. I'm so sorry I haven't been streaming as much, I've just got Lovejoy things to do. We're all very busy all the time. Here, let's have you all raid...Philza. Go raid him. Bye, chat!" He clicked the "Stop streaming" button on his PC & sighed. Since his spinny chair was still facing the PC setup, you were able to come around & hug him from behind.

"Hello," you mumbled sleepily. "I'm back."

"Angel! You're back!" Wilbur sprang up from his seat & picked you up & spun you around, causing you to laugh. When he stopped, he sat down on the chair with you in his lap. "How was work, love? Everything go okay at work?"

You shrugged. "It wasn't bad, per se, but it was just exasperating. Nobody was rude or crass to me, but I'm just really tired." Wilbur made a small "ah" sound & nodded.

"Do you want to go cuddle in bed & drink some tea?" Wilbur asked, playing with your fingers. "Do you want to do that? Or we could do something else."

"Tea & cuddles sound nice," you said. Wilbur nodded & picked you up & walked you to the kitchen. He still kept you in his arms while he made tea, softly asking you which tea flavor you preferred & which mug you wanted, or if you even wanted a mug or if you just wanted a glass. You two waited in the kitchen while the tea was being prepared, with Wilbur rocking you back & forth to a symphony only he could hear. When the whistling of the tea kettle echoed through the kitchen, he poured the two mugs of tea & handed you one as he grabbed the other & walked back to the bedroom. He cautiously placed you on the bed to make sure neither of you spilled the tea onto the soft white sheets. When he sat down on the bed, you immediately scooted over to him & cuddled up to him with his arm over your shoulders & your head buried in the crook of his neck. & you two just stayed like that for an uncountable amount of time.

Thank goodness you came back.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

(content warning, unnamed character death, war)

A gentle breeze swooshed through the area, carrying a song of peace, a jarring juxtaposition against the backdrop of the world it caressed. The earth was torn and soaked, soil absorbing blood like dew, poisoning a nearby stream. Malice clung to the air a moment before being swept away in the wind, like water flowing over an open wound. Bodies lay on the scuffed-up ground, looking almost like they were resting were it not for the open eyes, the disfigured contortion of their positions, the chunks of armor and weapons, the stench of death permeating the air before the zephyr carried it away.

Link sat overlooking it all. He felt strangely disengaged from it all, mind not really coming up with words, chest tight, body stiff, exhausted and filled with energy, adrenaline making his eyes stay open until they burned while every fiber of his being screamed for rest. Hemisi sat beside him, still holding a scroll she’d picked off the Gerudo general they’d killed in the battle.

Eventually, his friend broke the silence first. She always did. “How many do you think died?”

Did it even matter? He shrugged, too tired to speak.

“I used to think being a warrior was an honor,” Hemisi muttered, fingers tracing over dried blood on the parchment. “That it was my duty to lead the Gerudo and defend my people should we ever need to fight.”

The wind blew again, rustling leaves in the trees as they fell, blood red and golden yellow, like fire raining from the sky.

“There’s nothing honorable in this,” Hemisi finally said quietly.

A sound caught both teenagers’ attention, carried by the breeze, a groan, a whimper. Link rose, pulling out a dagger while Hemisi drew one of her scimitars. The pair moved slowly in unison, watching each other’s back and scanning the deserted battlefield.

It didn’t take long to trace the noise to its source, leading them to a Hylian soldier who was laying on the ground. Blood had soaked through his armor, looking like he’d been swimming in it, face pale as snow, eyes terrified, body twitching in agony.

Link rummaged through his pouch for a potion, but found that he had none. Hemisi came up short as well.

“We have to get him back to camp,” Hemisi said, eyes worried as she looked around to ensure there weren’t other threats or survivors.

Link just stared at the soldier. He’d lost so much blood. He’d lost too much blood. He heard Hemisi curse softly under her breath, kneeling down, and he saw the other wound she’d picked up on. The soldier’s leg was missing, the majority of bone and muscle hidden in tattered clothes, but he could still see the grotesque display well enough, could feel the way his mind numbed further, the way he physically recoiled.

Hemisi shifted a little to kneel beside the man. The camp was too far away. This soldier was too far gone.

It felt… wrong. Giving up like this. But by this point in the war, Link knew when it was time to stop fighting.

“Should… should we finish it?” Hemisi asked quietly as the soldier moaned, barely noticing they were there.

Link moved slowly, kneeling at the man’s other side. Hemisi glanced up at him, grip tight on her blade, ready to end the soldier’s suffering. She’d spilled enough blood as it was – what was one more, if it was to help?

The Hero of Hyrule shook his head. “No. Let Farore take him when she thinks he is ready. But we should stay with him.”

Hemisi bit her lip, looking away from the soldier a moment as he moaned again. Link slowly reached down to hold the man’s hand, and Hemisi sighed, putting her hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We’re here,” she whispered softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re not alone.”

The teenagers stayed, offering what little support they could as the man passed on, waiting until he stopped twitching and gasping, until the tears stopped falling, the blood stopped oozing. The soldier glanced at Link one last time. “H-Hero…”

Link squeezed his hand. Whatever the soldier tried to say couldn’t get out of his throat before he breathed his last, eyes fixed on the young warrior.

The pair sat there a moment, honoring the fallen in their own ways, before they rose together. It was over.

When they made it back to camp, they sat once more, staring out at the field, letting the breeze play with their hair.

[ultralightpoe]

Bigger Than The Whole Sky - Ethan Landry

Authors Note: I have been trying to find any sort of energy to post and get out of bed. Got so close to giving up on life itself and I'm barely back, please bare with me as I try to find my way out of my depression hole I have dug for myself everyone. I know it's been a minute but life has been kicking my ass. Be patient with me - Ultralight

Word Count: 3405

Warnings: thoughts of su!cide, angst, grief.

Apart of my MIDNIGHTS EVENT. (Next Event is Sour by Olivia Rodrigo. Requests closed. Event following yet to be decided)

SOUR EVENT

MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy!

No words appear before me in the aftermath

Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears

Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea

It all went numb at some point. 

You didn’t know when, and you weren’t really mad about it considering it helped with the stab wounds, but at some point after you found out you just…..lost it…….lost the spark. Every will to survive just vanished like smoke in the wind. You had no strength left. 

Police officers snapped in front of your face, desperate to get your statement on the events as medics panicked and tried to get your attention, yelling to each other that you were going into a state of shock as reporters filmed and yelled to get the scoop. You didn’t really think you were going into shock, no, shock was when you go frozen and cold from a traumatic incident. 

This…… this was just pure heartbreak. 

Ethan……….. Ethan had- 

And just like that you were leaning forward to spill your guts as the medic in front of you curses and backs out of the way, tears running down your cheeks hotly as you suck in a sharp breath. You had given absolutely everything to him, you had given EVERYTHING. 

And yet you weren’t angry or upset…… you were just numb. 

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time

And I've got a lot to pine about

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you

What could've been, would've been you

That feeling of numbness quickly passed, and you were left with an unending sadness that just made you tired. 

The news had already published the story over and over, his face took over your phone every time you opened any form of social media and you had yet to clear out all the photos you had taken during your relationship. There was no escaping it, not that you truly wanted to. 

You would never admit that to the others, since they had gone straight to anger. 

They just didn’t understand…. You always thought, which would bring a bitter laugh to your lips because what didn’t they understand? Sam had her boyfriend betray her, Tara lost her childhood best friend from it, Sidney fucking prescott had lost so many people to it. It was a tale as old as time. One falls in love, gets betrayed and stabbed and moves on. 

But you couldn’t move on, you couldn’t leave him. Ethan had stitched you up when you scrambled your way into his life, broken and torn after losing your brother Wes and your mother last round. 

He had saved you. 

“-Yes Mindy,” You snap, reaching a hand to cover your face as you pass a group of kids with their phones pointed at you, the overnight bag carried on your shoulder weighing you down a bit as your boots scuffed on the floor. “I have my taser.”

“I just don’t understand why you decided to walk by yourself in the middle of the night.” She scoffs, the sound of doja cat behind her. “You should’ve called me-”

“First off, my roommate brought a boy over, I hadn’t planned on this. Second of all, you realize I can hear your sex playlist in the background, right?” You fake a laugh for her, trying your best not to let her know you were scared because then she would leave Anika and you didn’t want her to do that since she had worked so hard to get this date. 

“Just call me when you get there?” 

“How about I send you a smiley emoji?” 

“If you send me an emoji I will-”

“Oh, I see a 7-11, I’m gonna stop and get your brother a slushie to ease my arrival. Gotta go-” You rush to hang up, ignoring her disapproval and dashing into the light of the gas station. 

By the time you make it to Chad’s dorm you are shaking and trying your best not to have a panic attack in the middle of the hallway. Arms full with snacks and slushees as you use your foot to pound on the door. 

You prepare a wide smile on your face for when he opens the door, shimmying to ease the tension in your shoulders, doing your best to seem happy. 

But when the door swings open it’s not the cocky smile of Chad that greets you rather than the nervous expression of the curly haired kid in one of your classes, staring at you with wide eyes. “C-can I help you?”

“Oh. Sorry. I was- uh- maybe I had the wrong room?” You blush, stepping back to survey the hall for room numbers. “Crap-”

“Who are you looking for? I know everyones rooms.” He offers, leaning out the door to survey the hall himself. “Dylan? Right? He has a lot of girls come in so-”

“Chad. Chad Meeks.” You snap, blush deepening at the Dylan comment. 

“OH! Yeah, in here. I’m his roommate.” The kid explains, stepping out of the way and widening the door. He waits a second, staring at you as you stare back wide eyed, the room behind him pitch black. He looks confused for a moment before turning to see what the problem was, jumping a bit when he realizes and twisting for the light switch. 

“Sorry- I was sleeping- I wasn’t doing anything else I swear.” He rushes out, shaking his hands. “I am not a creep I swear.”

“You still have the lotion on the shelf-” He whirls to look and you try to stifle your laughter, turning to the bed on the right. “Where is Chad?”

“He went to check on Tara or something. Should be back in like…. soon ?” 

“Okay. Cool. I can go to a coffee shop until he gets here then.” 

“What? Why would you do that? You can wait here no problem.” He shrugs, moving to sit at his desk. You wait a moment before pushing the slushee out to him. 

“Then here. You can have Chad’s slushee.” 

“Thanks.” He smiles, grabbing it softly. “You do the econ homework yet?” 

“We had homework?” You laugh, moving to grab the homework from him. 

Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia?

Did some force take you because I didn't pray?

Every single thing to come has turned into ashes

'Cause it's all over, it's not meant to be

So I'll say words I don't believe

Your court ordered therapist said that you might have relied on him too much, after being broken down from the last incident you had grasped onto the first kind soul you met. She believed that you were trying to fix the trust back, find the nice kind person you once had been. 

You believed she was just telling you anything to make you feel better, right before she stamped a red flag on your papers for ‘DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED’ and prescribing you hundreds of pills that you would dump down the toilet and tell her you were taking. It was a fun game. 

But she might have been right about the relying thing.  Like walking around with a broken leg, relying on a crutch only for it to break and leave to tumbling down a hill straight into the knife of someone you completely trusted wearing a stupid mask because they were too chicken to face you-

“Y/n!” Chad calls, reaching a hand on your shoulder and squeezing as tightly as he could, which after all the nerve damage and stab wounds wasn’t really much. 

“I’m listening!” You rush, snapping to look at your four friends. 

“No you weren’t.” He laughs, pulling his hand back and keeping it close to him. “We were deciding dinner and if you were listening you would recommend what you always recommend-”

“Pizza.” 

“Oh. My. God.” He groans as Mindy reaches out to hug around your shoulders, pulling you tight. 

“Leave my sister alone.” 

“I’m your brother.”

“Chadward. Can you please just…..shhhhhh?” You ask, flipping him off. This draws a laugh from your friends and you imitate them, but your laugh isn’t the slightest bit real which leaves you feeling lost.  And a bit awkward. 

“You okay?” Sam asks, leaning closer to you so no one else hears. You nod, not trusting actual words to come out. She obviously does not believe it but you claim to be thirsty and leave for some water. 

“You’re actually telling me that you prefer Star Trek over Star Wars?!” Ethan asks, eyes wide as he walks beside you on the way to Econ, adjusting his shoulder bag so as to not let it fall.  “What is wrong with you?”

“More like what is right with me! You really like all that incest crap?”

“Oh…. you are going there?” he gasps and you shrug. “Then what do you think about the Targaryens, huh?”

He laughs when you stop short, thinking your reaction was due to his question, but in reality you had just seen someone design across the yard with a ghostface mask on, the football team laughing at the strangers antics. 

“What a jerk.” Ethan sighs when he finally spots it, moving to block your view as you both walk. 

It had been 2 weeks since you met Ethan, and ever since he had walked you to and from Econ which you found that you loved more than anything else. During these walks you got to argue over anything and everything nerdish, just easy and happy conversations. Plus you got to stand close to him which was always a plus since you loved how he smelled and his sweaters were always soft on your skin. 

“Did you do the homework?” You ask, changing the subject to get your mind off the douchebag in the mask. 

“Yes. And you can copy it when we get inside.” He laughs, shuffling past you to open the door quickly, holding it open for you with an easy smile. 

“After you, Spock.”

“Oh why thank you Han Solo!” You smile, flipping your hair as you walk past him. 

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time

And I've got a lot to pine about

You spent your mornings in bed, the sheets tucked around you tightly like a butterfly in the cocoon, staring blankly at your wall.  In these moments you could barely muster the energy to lift your head from the pillow, eyes glazed with tears. 

What was the point of anything?  Why were you here when Ethan was……. Gone. Ethan, the brilliant kind soul that had an amazing future for himself was taken from the world while were wasting space. 

You were never as smart as him, not nearly as funny or great. You had no future, which was ironic considering you were the one here……unless. 

No. 

Don’t think about it, that was rule number one.

But it would make things so much easier. 

You wouldn’t do it. 

No one would miss you…..

For a second your body melts into the sheets as you think about it, all the possibilities and the freedom it would bring. No more getting out of bed and no more stares from people. No more ghostface -.

But you couldn’t, and you wouldn’t. 

So you stand, and force yourself to run a bath, sinking into the heat of it as you close your eyes, leaning back so you are completely submerged. Like the hot water could wash away your past, give you an entirely clean slate.

When your head hits the bottom, hands gripping tightly to the sides of the tub as you listen to your heartbeat under the water, the steady thump of it calming you down a bit while you open your eyes. 

And there he is, blurry through the water, leaning over the tub to watch you carefully. Almost as if he were scared……Ethan. 

Ethan was here, and he was scared. 

Ethan. 

“You were so nervous on our first date, remember that? And look at you now.” You tease, hitting Ethan’s shoulder with a twizzler while he fakes swagger, posing for you which leads you to cackle. “He said  ‘we’ll take the large popcorn AND the twizzlers.”

“You know it.”

“College boy has moneyyyyyyyyy-” For a moment you imitate throwing cash, making him dance under the imaginary paper, both of you humming out words to a random pop song. “Get it. Get it. Get it.”

“I’m rich…. And you suck!” He snaps, moving to walk off as you gasp. 

“And you are no longer getting laid!” 

“Wait- wait I didn’t mean it.” 

“Too late dork brains.”

“Gimme another chance here. I’ll splurge for a slushee.”

“You should have splurged for the slushee in the first place rich college boy.” You tease, walking past him. “I’m not cheap, you know. One of a kind over here.”

“Don’t I know it.” He blushes, moving forward to pull you close, walking with his arm over your shoulders. “You know I love you right?”

“I know.” You wink, smiling when he laughs at the Star Wars reference. “Now come on, we have a movie to watch.”

“Heck yeah.” He grabs your hand, leading you into the theater, checking behind him every couple of seconds to make sure you were still there and okay. Three months into dating Ethan and you were absolutely in love with the man. 

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you

“Y/n!” He shouts, muffled by the water, reaching his hands into the water to pull you up. When you break the surface you are gasping and spluttering out, hands clinging onto his sleeves tightly with tears streaming down your face. 

“You’re here….” You sob, leaning out of the tub to hug him tightly, your face shoving itself into your shoulder as he wraps himself around you, his sleeves wet against your back while you sob into his shoulder.  “I missed you, you ruined my life.”

“I’m sorry, believe me, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re not gonna leave again? Right?!”  

“No… no I’m here.” He whispers, moving to take his shoes off and climb into the tub, pulling you so your back was to his chest and wrapping his arms around you once more, his hoodie just as soft as it always ways and his cheek resting gently on your shoulder. 

“You need to focus.” You mumble, not looking up at Ethan as he stares at you. “We have a test.”

“Halloween is coming up.” He scoffs. “What’s the point?”

“Woah, what has been going on with you lately? Are you dying after halloween? Do you turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes midnight?” You tease, looking up at him finally. “Seriously you keep talking like halloween is the end of it all.”

“I’m just stressed, that’s all.” He shrugs, moving to lay his forehead on your arm while you kiss the top of his head. 

“It’s date night tonight, what do you want to do-” Before you could finish the question his phone rings on the table, and he snatches it up when you look to see who is calling. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” He rushes, kissing your cheek and leaving without another word. 

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you

(What could've been, would've been)

What could've been, would've been you

(Could've been, would've been)

(Could've been, would've been)

Silence fills the room as you both sit there, the heat from the bath calming you down as you twist to lay your cheek on the arm he had on the edge of the bath, closing your eyes. 

“What’s the plan, Y/n?” He breaks the silence, taking his left hand and rubbing the wet hair off your forehead. 

“To sleep here and forget the world.”

“I meant the life plan.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Yes….you do.”

“I plan on-”

“Be serious. Tell me your plan.”

“Do I really need one?”

“With the thought you were having this morning? Yes.”

“How did you know about my thoughts?”

“You have a future you know.” He whispers. “You have an amazing future ahead of you, without me.”

“I don’t think I can make it….”

“You can. I know you can.”

“I just want to sleep…….can you just hum for me? Like you always do?” You cry, reaching up to touch his hoodie. 

“I can do that.” 

He put you in his hoodie the night you stayed over, snatching it from where you had thrown it on the ground in both your rushes to get to his bed, pulling your arms into the sleeves as he kissed up your arms. His lips graze your collar bone before he kisses up your neck, smiling when you close your eyes. 

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in.” He whispers, hugging you close as you both waddle to the bed, shuffling in together until you were both lying down. Your head on his chest as he hummed softly, after a moment you can’t help but laugh when you realize what he is humming. 

“Are you humming me the imperial march?”

“No!” He rushes which makes you laugh even more. “It is so not funny-”

“No no no, I loved it. Keep humming keep humming.” You whisper, moving to look up at him with your chin on his chest. “It was great.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re gorgeous?” He whispers back, bringing a hand up to rub a thumb across your cheek. 

“You….everyday. Like 10 minutes ago when you finished inside m-”

“WOW!” He interrupts, blushing and laughing. 

“You’re handsome.” You answer, leaning up to kiss him before laying back down. “Now keep humming.”

“I can do that.”

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time

And I've got a lot to pine about

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you

When you wake up you are alone, in his sweater and in your pajamas, the bath cold and the sun streaming in. He wasn’t actually here, you realize, he never was. You had managed to sit in a bath fully clothed, and fall asleep. 

There is pounding on the door, drawing your attention quickly, making you rush to jump out to answer it. 

When you open the front door Sam is standing there, taking one look at your tear streaked face and soaked clothes before she is diving in to grab you in her arms. She holds you tight as you collapse, rocking you slowly as you sob into her chest. 

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

“He did terrible things to us- and I can’t fucking get it together.”

“You’re doing great. There is no correct way to go about this.”

“I miss him.”

“That’s okay.”

“I wanted a future with him.”

“You deserved one.” And when Sam says it there was no malicious hint to it, just a soft understanding smile. “But you deserve a future after him too.”

“I cannot believe we are actually doing this.” You laugh, rushing past your friend to snatch your shoe from the bookshelf, you had no clue how it got there. “Ohmygod! Hurry hurry hurry!”

She laughs, letting you snatch her hand and rush you out the door, both of you running as fast as you can to the train stop. 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.” She mumbles, excitement written on her features as you both huddle together on the seat. While she panics you take a second to check your phone, smiling when you see that Sam had sent you the pictures from her wedding you attended months ago, both of you smiling widely.

The lights flicker on the train, and for a moment your heart stops, you take a second to look around……and for as long as it has been you are ashamed to admit you wait to see Ethan on the other side of the train. 

But he is not here and you were no longer there. 

You were in your future, living bigger than the whole sky just as he would want. 

Which meant Taylor Swift of course…….

[raointean]

Rings of Power Celebration - Week 4

I know this PROBABLY isn't what you meant with the "Music" prompt, but I had the thought of Elrond writing "Diggy Diggy Hole" and couldn't not write it

Elrond hummed to himself as he stoked the fire. He and Durin were on their way back to Khazad-Dûm to present King Gil-Galad’s proposal to King Durin III, but unfortunately, it was slow going. In addition to Durin's incredibly short legs, the weather had turned against them, which now necessitated them hiding out in a cave until the storm passed.

"What’s that you're humming?" Durin pulled him out of his thoughts.

What had he been humming? He tried to catch the last few notes before they left his mind, and-Oh no!

"It- it's nothing. Just a little ditty I made up. A bit of silliness, " Elrond tried to brush it off, flushing furiously.

Durin took his pipe out of his mouth, eyebrows raised; his interest officially piqued. "Really? You know, I may be no musical expert, but that tune sounded distinctly dwarvish. I'm curious, and anyway, we could use a bit of levity in the midst of all of this 'doom and gloom and end-of-elven-life-as-we-know-it' business. Sing it for me."

Elrond balked. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly." He really didn't want to lose his friendship with Durin so soon after they had mended it. And he certainly didn't want to lose it over a song! "It wasn't meant for any ears but my own and... it could, perhaps, be a little offensive."

Durin laughed heartily and took a long drag from his pipe. "The best songs always are! Let's hear it."

Elrond sighed, knowing that Durin could, and would, out-stubborn him on any day of the week. "Very well. But let it never be said that I did not warn you."

Durin simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow and waited for Elrond to begin. He did.

"Brothers of the mine, rejoice!

Swing, swing, swing with me

Raise your pick and raise your voice!

Sing, sing, sing with me

Down and down into the deep

Who knows what we'll find beneath?

Diamonds, rubies, gold, and more

Hidden in the mountain store"

The song went on like that for several verses, and by the end of it, Durin was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. In fact, he was laughing so hard that it took him several moments to collect himself enough to speak.

"That was amazing, Elrond. Massive generalization of our culture and absolutely hilarious!"

Strangely enough, there was no sarcasm in Durin's voice; he genuinely seemed to mean it. Elrond rolled his eyes fondly. "You would find that funny."

Silence fell for a few minutes before a new topic arose and Elrond put memories of the song behind them. The topic was laid to rest and he found it unlikely that it would come up again.

----------------------------------------------

"As I have already said, your majesty, the dwarves will come. Despite the reticence of the rest of their kind, Khazad-Dûm has pledged an army and I have the utmost faith in King Durin's word." The war was taking a toll on all of them, bringing out the worst in people, and Elrond was frustrated to find King Gil-Galad’s tendency towards mistrust brought front and center.

Gil-Galad sighed. His armor was scuffed and coated with ash from their last battle, the meagar torchlight inside the conference tent reflecting dimly off of it, and he looked as if he carried the entire world on his shoulders. The pressure of leading all of the free peoples of Middle Earth had finally caught up to him, it seemed. "I do not doubt your faith in your friend, Elrond. I only doubt their commitment to help us. Things have been tense between Lindon and Khazad-Dûm ever since... Eregion, as you well know. They may have pulled out of the Alliance."

That was ridiculous, Elrond thought. Durin would never go back on a pledge such as this, regardless of the setbacks. Unfortunately, he had no proof with which to refute his king. Dwarves were known to occasionally flip allegiances at the last moment, and Durin was late.

As he stewed in silence, trying to find another argument in favor of the dwarves, they heard a sound from outside the tent. It was the echo of tramping feet and- was that singing?

Elrond and Gil-Galad shared a silent glance before leaving the tent to investigate. Out in the open, the noise was much clearer, clear enough that Elrond could make out individual words, and he realized with dawning horror and near-delirious mirth that he knew them by heart.

"Born underground, grown inside a rocky womb

The earth is our cradle; the mountain shall become our tomb

Face us on the battlefield; you will meet your doom

We do not fear what lies beneath

We can never dig too deep

I am a dwarf and I'm digging a hole

Diggy diggy hole, diggy diggy hole!"

At that very moment, a banner peaked up over the hilltop, quickly followed by a horde of distant, black dots.

"What is that?" Gil-Galad wondered aloud.

The blue banner waved in the wind, seven Fëanorian stars, a hammer and an anvil, and an iron crown upon it. "The army of Khazad-Dûm," Elrond breathed.

Durin had made good on his promise. What was more, he seemed to have taught a new marching song to his men.

@the-southlands

[giantologist]

My New Friend Gorm

In which a 7 year old meets a giant for the very first time.

"Get back here!"

"No wonder they call you Fraidy Finch!"

"I think he ran into the woods! Quick, let's get him!"

The boy's eyes stung with tears as he scrambled over rocks and roots, his skinny limbs burning, lungs aching with need for oxygen that his panicked breaths couldn't give them. The shouts were slowly gaining, and his bruises and grazes still pained him from the day before. He was always too slow, and hiding wasn't easy in such a small town where every one of his spots had been uncovered. No matter where he secreted himself to read, they always found him. 'You need fresh air and sunshine!' his mother said to him every day, pushing him over the threshold and into the clutches of his daily bullies. 'Rise above them.'

He could literally, as he was very tall for a boy of his age, but he was also stick thin and oddly bookish, and his family's status gave him no help either. Thus, he resorted to fleeing into the woods, where the children were urged not to venture.

Around a tree. Over a rock. Below a log. Across a stream. His agility far outweighed his speed, but it couldn't get him far enough away. He supposed that he'd have to give up once more, take the beating and get on with his life. Body quivering, chest heaving, he stopped in front of a dark hill, leaning against the warm vertical surface to catch his breath.

"There he is!" A voice called, but he couldn't bear to look. "Hey, rich boy! Come here and stop being such a wimp!"

"Please, no…" He breathed, making himself stand upright. He could tell that the rest of them had caught up with him, like circling wolves. "This isn't fair…"

"Fraidy Finch, you got any money on you?" The leader of the pack asked as the children grew closer. "Ha! Look, he's crying! Aww, you scared, baby? You gonna…cry…?"

A violent rumble shook the ground, and the boy fell to his scraped knees, cowering with his arms over his head. He heard screams of fear, the children fleeing with sheer terror in their shouts, until eventually all that was left was the sound of deep, grumbling breaths.

"I didn't mean to scare your friends, little one."

The rumbling whisper made the boy's hair stand on end, and he slowly straightened up, finding that the wall behind him had moved. He swallowed hard, looking at the empty woodland floor and the scuffed footprints in the detritus. "A-Are you, ah… the giant?" He asked, not looking around, his heart fluttering in a different way than before. Less panicked. More excited.

"Sure am. I was just havin' a snooze, but I don't mind that your playin' woke me up." When the boy slowly pivoted his head, he was greeted by the sight of a hairy, tattooed fist pressed into the soft loam, supporting the bulk above. The very sight of it, larger than a shed, made him shiver with glee. "My name is Gorm. What's yours, little one?"

"J…Jasper." The boy whispered, but cleared his throat after a moment, bending his neck to look so far upward, seeing kind eyes staring back at him. The nights he'd spent in his dark room listening to the faint buzz of a far away voice, watching the moonlight ripple off the surface of his glass of water as distant footsteps pulsed through the ground, sometimes catching a glimpse of a silhouetted form across the expanse of farmland. He never imagined the giant would look so amicable, not after the stories he'd been told. "Jasper Erasmus Finch."

"Oh!" Gorm exclaimed with force, before remembering himself and sheepishly lowering his voice. "I've heard of the Finches. I didn't expect someone like you to be playin' in the woods."

"I wasn't playing, sir. I was being chased." Jasper stood, his legs shaking. When his knee buckled beneath him, he felt a displacement of air ruffle his clothes, a warm and sturdy surface catching him under his behind. He softly gasped at the sturdiness of the finger, wide eyes tracing it all the way up the massive patterned arm and back to Gorm's bearded face. "They like picking on me. If not for you, they would have beat me up again."

The smile quickly shifted to a scowl. "Rotten li'l beasts." He grumbled. "I'll squash them for ya... I'm kiddin', o'course." As he lifted Jasper, the boy wheeled his arms so he didn't slip backward, only to find that another finger was ready to keep him stable behind him. The lurch upward and the wind in his hair made him awfully giddy, and he couldn't help but grin. The expanse of a palm appeared below him, and he nimbly jumped onto the plush surface. "There we go. Don't be afraid, I got ya."

"I'm not afraid." He smiled, taking in every detail of the surrounding hand with utter delight. The urge to study every inch, to map the lines and swirls and channels, was overwhelming. But he'd been taught manners from a very early age, and he knew that it wasn't appropriate. "I sit awake at night listening to you sometimes. When you move around or speak or sing. I have always wanted to see what you are really like." He paused hesitantly, then added "I never wanted to believe the rumours that you're a monster."

Gorm's cheeks coloured slightly, and he settled back against a sturdy oak, making the tree bend with his bulk. "Well, you're here now, you can see me for yourself. Don't believe what people say about giants. A lot of us are nice!" His gaze shifted to the forest behind Jasper. "Although, if I see those bullies again, I don't know how nice I'll be."

With a soft giggle, the boy shuffled to get comfortable, his odd golden eyes wide and captivated. "I've always wanted to know more about your people, sir."

Gorm chuckled gruffly as he lifted Jasper to be level with his eyes, his incomplete grin radiating comfort. "You can ask me anythin' you like, little one! But I'm afraid we giants ain't too interestin'."

'Giantology by Jasper Finch'

He'd spent a while thinking up a title for his journal, but it seemed the logical name for his writings. After his studies, when his mother would usually force him outside, he ran into the wilderness of his own volition. His bullies attempted to apprehend him, but once they saw that he was headed back into the forest, they decided he wasn't worth it. Free of fresh wounds, he almost skipped with joy as he called out for his new friend. He'd made sure to memorise everything Gorm had said the previous day, but he'd run it by him just to be sure.

"Well, well. You look happy, little one." Gorm smiled down at Jasper, and the boy paused a moment to stare upward. He hadn't seen him standing before, and the seemingly endless expanse of his friend's form was dizzyingly wonderful. "No bullies today?"

"No, they're too afraid to follow me!" He beamed, and when a hand was presented to him, he eagerly scrambled across the treetrunk fingers, giggling at the sensation of being whisked upward. Gorm held his hand to his shoulder, and Jasper climbed up to sit beside his ear, settling down as though he was meant to be there. "Thank you for yesterday."

"All I did was tell you stories." Gorm said, continuing his stroll. "But if it helped you, I'm glad I told you 'em."

The feeling was indescribable. The wind whipped around the boy, every movement reminding him that he was perched atop a colossal creature, every footfall and breath sending vibrations through his bones, feeling both like an invading insect and like Gorm's body was a powerful extension of his own. "I don't get many chances to speak to people who like me."

"Anyone who doesn't like a bright li'l thing like you isn't worth spit." Gorm grumbled. "Don't worry 'bout them. Sure, they might tease and hurt ya, but you got brains. You'll make something of yourself, and they'll only amount to shit-diggers. Oop!" His hand fluttered across his lips. "I mean, gong farmers. Don't swear." A few more strides took him out of the other side of the forest, a journey that was arduous and perilous to humans.

Jasper tittered to himself, taking in the view of the rolling green meadows below them. "I hope you're right."

[whentheleahvesfall]

It’s difficult to know for certain now what I want to do with my life. I know a lot of the time I do ramble a lot both irl and I guess online, but a lot of the time I feel lost and without purpose without feeling I have a good place in the world. Whilst I know I’ve been wanting to get back into doing art and writing, I guess finishing uni has made me think a lot about the ups and downs of my life and how far I’ve gotten to the place I am now. I dunno… I feel lost? Scared? A mixture of it all? I haven’t the slightest clue at the moment.

I don’t know how many of you guys who read my posts a lot of the time know about this, but I’ve got Autism. I’ve had it since I’ve been about 8 years old, and for the last 13-14 years of my life knowing I’ve had this as something affecting me, it’s made me question a lot about the stuff I’m good at.

Am I good at being a writer, an artist, a student or even just a person?

What do I offer that I feel is a strength for myself?

Do I even consider myself a person who deserves to be loved, despite fearing he always constantly upsets people?

And… I guess that’s how I’ve been really feeling. A lot of the time, I don’t know whether anything I’m doing is something to be considered “good”. Do I belong here? Do I keep making mistakes so much that people don’t want to be around me?

Maybe I overthink things a lot and that’s what these thought patterns are. Yet when you’re a guy who has mostly dealt with things on his own for most of his life, I uh… I don’t know how to really be me in a stream full of people.

I guess maybe I’m not someone who can answer these questions I have about myself. But despite that, I worry a lot of the time. An awful lot. And even still, underneath it all… I feel like I’d like to try and be who I am for what I am, but my brain and the way my life’s been up until now makes me question if I do have a place in this world for people to even appreciate just myself.

For what it’s worth, thank you for everyone who has liked the dumb stuff I’ve done since I first joined Tumblr or who know me from elsewhere. I don’t know why people enjoy it for what it is as I don’t consider myself good by any means, but it does make me smile knowing there are at least a few of you who do like me for me.

I’m just thinking about I suppose what’s next for me. Do I continue to just try and participate in the communities I’m in? Or fade away and hope people forget about me so I move on with just perhaps living a normal life?

I… I’m not honestly sure. I wish I knew how to be positive for myself and to keep moving forward, but without much of a goal, what do I really hope to accomplish for myself? Do I make any of you guys happy? It’s okay if I don’t too, but I feel maybe I need to reflect better on myself, but I don’t know how.

I don’t usually ramble a lot on my blog, and for good reason as I don’t know how many of you genuinely care about the guy behind the scuffed shit and I guess see me for… I don’t know, the dumb nerd with a like for Mudkips?

I may be mistaken, but as this point I really can’t say for sure. Maybe these feelings of mine will subside, but as they are not going away right now, I guess I’ll throw them here and see what happens.

If you got to the end, then thanks. I’m sorry for making this feel overly negative about me, but I suppose sometimes when you really just want to find a way to vent… you gotta do it in the way that helps you to feel better. Sorry again.

I don’t know how much of this is my Autism, but… hopefully one day I’ll get over these doubts. Probably just not right now.

[codecicle]

!!!!! HELLOO mutual do you have a fave Qcharlie or juanaflippa or both haadcannon :3

ALWAYS! Fair warning though lots of my headcanons are closer to explanations for canon or filling in the gaps though ^_^

Charlie's final form of corrupted code skin (that we could see before the qsmp end) had some code on the slimecicle on his head, which I personally interpret as his chat! A little sentient slime with emotions that mirror his, and he takes it down from his head to hold whenever he talks to chat during a stream. He also (canonically!) had the code infection spread to his arms first through falling asleep holding codeflippa every night, so I think the infection spread to chat on his head since he kept holding it in his code-covered hands.

I also give him bomb scars from his original egg murder spree attempt, but when the code started taking over, they started getting corrupted with him! He also wears earings at all times lmao. Typically small black studs, but for fancy outfits he'll switch to gold studs, or if he's wearing a dress! Something more dangly and fun.

I've also talked about flippa being incredibly autism coded, and how I always picture/draw her with scuffed up skirts and dirt on her bright red gloves + boots she stole mariana, plus sooo many bandages and scars on her legs from scratches when playing around in the woods and messing with bugs (! Like how codeflippa really loved the cockroaches they captured for her task). I see all the crouching and running whenever she's excited as stimming, and turn it into her dragon tail wagging or her hands flapping really fast. I also gave her a matching broken horn with sunny, flippa's is on her left and sunny's is on her right, and when codeflippa showed up!, code "mended" the horn and there's visible glitching and code leaking from it. You can also typically see an underlying neon green glow coming from under any of the scales on her tail or cheeks, and the code will leak from those places too.

^ I go into all of this more in-depth in an unpublished fic I'll occasionally vauge about called "the breadcrumbs fic". I've been meaning to finish working on it for a WHILE, so maybe I throw on a vod in the background really quick and get to work :-) (also in that fic is an explanation on the buttons and patches on charlie's backpack he carries everywhere! they were made by flippa and tilin in my wonderful autism mind and he holds onto them with soooo much love. the paint also started chipping away at one point since they were hand-made so long ago, but he ignores it and pretends they're totally fine by painting over it. something something parallels to how he treats the code infection and codeflippa)

(Plus any drawings of the two of them I could find that I think show off their design well under the cut !)

Sorry for all of then being traditional, my art completely evolved from traditional doodles during class since I drew these two almost daily. Not the proudest of all of them, but they show off the designs I want well enough ^_^

^ plus some older drawings of them to show how they're the exact reasons my art style has evolved as much as is has. that traditional piece was from her birthday, 3rd of april 2023, and the rest are from slightly post-charlie birthday stream/codeflippa revival stream. need to blow them up or get them out of my brain

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nine (Part 2)

It’s me who answers the door when he rings. I buzz him in and wait for eternity as he climbs the three story staircase, and he only needs to knock once before I yank the door open. My breath catches when I see him. 

There is blood streaking down one side of his face in one clean, scarlet line, leaving dried stains on his jaw, his neck and staining the collar of his white t-shirt beneath his coat. His eye is already turning purple and swelling, puffy skin almost closing his eye entirely. A gash is clearly visible on his brow, cutting it into two distinct, uneven parts. He automatically raises his eyebrows when he sees me, and a fresh stream of bright red blood cascades down his cheekbone. His smile turns to a grimace. 

“Hello.” He says weakly, waving a hand in front of his injury. “Sorry about this.”

“Come in.” Claire says, adopting a very matronly tone as she ushers him to a kitchen chair and locks the door behind him. “Sit.” He does. She already has her first aid box open on the table, neat little bandages still in their unopened boxes, scissors in a little pink suede sheath, cotton and gauze laid out perfectly as though waiting years for this moment to come. She starts cleaning away the blood with cotton wool and soapy water. Watching it makes me wince, but Jude stays very still, obedient and patient as she carefully cleans the skin around the gash. 

“You’ve been absolutely split open.” She informs him. “Did you get boxed?”

“Kicked, actually.”

“Jesus.” Claire murmurs. “Is that the new thing now? Kicking each other in the head?”

“It makes sense when you consider the situation.” 

Jude winces as she gets closer to the cut. I start chewing on my nails. “Why did he kick you?” I ask. 

“I was being funny.” He explains. “I just made a joke.”

“Did you get in an actual fight?”

“No.” He holds his hands out to me to show me his knuckles, clean and unmarred, save for streaks of his own blood that have dried on the sides of his fingers. “He hit me, I didn’t hit him back.” Claire starts cleaning his neck and he tilts his chin for her. “This isn’t great.” She says.

“Should I call a taxi to the hospital?”

“You’ll be waiting there all night. I think it’s better if you sober up a bit first, and we should at least try to stop it from bleeding. I think I have those stitch plasters in my bathroom. Shane needed them before. I’ll try and find them.” Without a word she hands the cotton ball to me and goes upstairs to look for them. 

I hesitate with it in my hand, pink with water and blood, then gingerly I take the seat next to him. His breath is like whiskey. “You are drunk.” I say quietly, and he shakes his head. “No, but I have been drinking. I was out with some people.”

“Can you go from the start?” I ask him as I gently swipe the cotton along his cheek where blood has dried into his pores. “How did we get here?”

He moves his head to let me get at a spot at the corner of his jaw where it has pooled. “I just thought I’d go out with some people from school, some pub in East Wall. We were drinking. It was alright, I suppose. Actually, no, it wasn’t that fun, I was just there to be there, but this guy comes over to one of my friends from school and starts going on about how much he hates his shoes.”

I can’t help but snicker. “His shoes?” 

“Yeah.” He grins, but it seems to hurt him, because he makes a pained sound in his throat when he does. “He always wears these Doc Martins boots, really old and scuffed up, but I think they’re cool.”

“I like them.” I say. “Actually, I have a pair.”

“I know, I like yours on you. But this guy had such an issue them for some reason.” He says. “He was all like, ‘nice shoes, man, where’d you get those, man? They look like shit, man.’ I think to impress the girl he was with, or something.”

“And what did your friend do?”

“He didn’t do anything, he’s a shy guy, so he just stood there and took it. But I noticed that the other guy – his shoes were actually way worse. He had those brown deck shoes on, you know, with the leather shoelaces?”

“Yes, I had to wear them for school. I loathe them.”

“I thought it was funny. Like, how can someone with those shoes call someone out for theirs? So I said ‘hey, are those Dubarrys?’ just an innocent question, which he took as antagonistic, but I… I suppose it wasn’t that innocent. I drew attention to him pretty purposefully, and all the guys started chanting ‘Dubarrys, Dubarrys‘ and kinda crowding around him to look. I thought it might be funny to squat down in the chaos and get my friend to take a picture of me with him to remember the moment.”

“Oh my god. And he let you?”

“For a good ten seconds, yeah, he didn’t really know what to do, he looked a bit rattled and confused by us, like he was a deer in headlights, and his date tried to stand in front of his shoes so we couldn’t take a picture of them. He was all like ‘stand up, man, stand up and look me in the face.’ And obviously I was having too much fun pointing at his feet that I didn’t see the point in doing that, and then he saw that the girl was embarrassed, and,” A shrug. 

“And those ugly shoes kicked you in the face.” I finish. 

“Yeah. And then the bouncers came and chucked me out of the bar.”

“You? Not him?” 

“Us both.” He clarifies. “And then I like, had to leg it away from him in case he did it again. That’s how I landed on the docks, without my keys, trying to call Shane.”

“Oh dear.” I say. “What were you doing in the photographs?”

“This.” He throws up his two fingers on both hands, and I shake my head and laugh. “Seems a bit like you provoked him, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah probably. They were just big words from a little man.”

I hold his chin and bring his head back to the middle, grabbing a fresh cotton ball to wipe off any remaining streaks. His eyes follow my movements closely. “There’s quite a bit of blood.” I say. 

“I know.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It does.”

“Lift your chin for me.” He obeys. “I feel like Claire is a lot better at this stuff.” I confess. “I feel like I’m not very caring, like, by nature.”

“No?”

“No.” I chuckle softly. “You know my mam tried to get me to do nursing in college. It’s what her sister does, and her own mother did it too before she got married, but I can’t imagine anything less suited to me, I just don’t think I have the… whatever you call it. The nurturing touch.”

I meet his eyes as I move to the other side of his face, where a rogue fingerprint is left on the opposite cheek. They watch me curiously, rimmed with thick, spiky lashes. I try not to think about how close we are, or how I can feel his breath feathering over my jaw. “I don’t think that’s true.” He says softly. “I think you’re very nurturing.”

“Thank you.” The clock ticks past midnight on the wall ahead of me, the thunk of the hands the only sound apart from the patting of cotton against his skin. “It’s a pity about your T-shirt.”

“Yes.” He says. “You hardly have something I could borrow.”

“Well actually, your sassy little grey number with the hole in the armpit is upstairs, if you want it back, finally.”

His eyes travel over my face. “Maybe in a minute.”

“Okay.” I place the cotton onto the table. “I think I got it all off, and I don’t know what to do next. I think as long as you don’t move your eyebrow we should be in the clear.”

The corners of his mouth lift. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do you doubt my blood cleaning abilities?”

He chuckles. “So what’s the verdict?”

“You mean how bad do you look?”

“Out of ten?”

“Eight.”

“Wow, that’s bad.”

“Eight for you.” I clarify. “Probably like four for someone else, you’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

He flutters his lashes. “Gosh, thanks.”

“Do you want to go and look in the mirror?”

“Nah it’s okay, I’ll shock myself tomorrow.” he picks up the cotton and starts dabbing at the blood on his hands, all long fingers, angular, jutting wrist bones and fingernails with little white half moons on them, like he’s never been inclined to bite those bits off. “Thanks for helping out.” He says. 

“It’s Claire, really.” I say. “I would have been useless on my own. I don’t think I even have a box of plasters to my name.”

“I think I’d still be grateful if you used wet kitchen roll on me.”

“Can I get you anything else? Something to eat or drink?”

“Nah.”

“Not like you to refuse a snack.”

“Not hungry.”

I frown at him, and he looks right back, something vulnerable and open in his expression that I didn’t expect to find there, not with one eye almost fused shut now, the gash above it red and open and angry. I’m terrified by the depth of emotion I feel for him at that moment, be it instinctive protectiveness or something else. “I’ll bring over the tub of sweets.” I decide. “Claire and I won’t finish them anyway.” I start making moves to fetch them but he reaches out to me, hand just above my knee and fingers curling slightly to the ticklish skin underneath sending a shiver ripping through my body. “Wait, Evie, can I-”

“Got them.” Claire comes down the stairs and Jude lifts his hand away, whatever spell that was between us unwinding itself, and we fall away from each other in an instant. I hop up to allow her to settle back into her seat in front of him. “They ended up being at the very back of the cupboard under the sink. I didn’t see them for ages. You’re looking nicely cleaned up.”

“All thanks to you both.”

She unpeels the stitch plasters and starts carefully fusing the open skin together with them. I can’t look away, it’s fascinating as much as it is utterly disgusting. Jude’s jaw is clenched and his eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Stop twitching your eyebrows.” Claire chides. “You keep pulling the skin all over the place.”

“Sorry.” He whispers. There’s something a bit sweet about how he’s not trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt him, and how he’s kind of being a bit of a baby about it, no “it’s nothing”s or “It’s just a scratch”es He catches me smirking at him and gives me a questioning look, but I just shrug and turn around to retrieve the chocolate tub from the coffee table. 

“Have a treat, for being so brave.” I say, holding it out to him. “Which is your favourite?” 

“Caramel.”

“Too bad I’ve eaten them all. That’s my favourite too.”

“Fine, I’ll get one of the hazelnut ones.” He plucks one out and untwists its purple wrapper, but his lips quiver as he brings it close. “Ugh, I actually feel a bit sick.”

“It’s probably the shock.” Claire says. “Come over and sit on the couch for a bit.”

“Should I not just go to the hospital?”

She cocks her head. “I really don’t know if it’s worth it. These plasters should hold it closed, and if you’re careful about it for a few days I think you’ll be alright. Here, I’ll give you some more in case they come off.” She slips a few into his coat pocket. “I think maybe a cup of tea might make you feel better. Take your coat off, sit down over there and I’ll make one for you.”

“Claire, you really don’t have to do all of this for me. It’s nice enough that you even let me in, I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense. Sit.”

He wrestles himself out of his coat and hangs it on the back of a chair. The massive blood stain is suddenly impossible to ignore. 

“Your T-shirt.” I comment. 

“Yeah, not great.”

“I’ll get you a clean one.” I head upstairs to retrieve the grey one. I’m not certain why I even took it to Dublin with me, but the idea of leaving it in Tullamore to sit in my empty wardrobe was as depressing as throwing it away. Maybe I planned to wear it to bed, even if the idea of doing that feels really intense, considering the cosmic weight it carries. The last time I wore it on my body I was an entirely different girl made up of different tissue and cells, before everything that happened, happened. 

He’s on the couch when I come back down, ignoring the dinky little jug of milk that Claire has placed next to his mug of tea. He’s tainted by his Americanness. He only takes sugar, not milk. He smiles gratefully when I hand him the shirt, and then I turn around shyly to give him privacy as he changes. 

“Oh, will one of you hand me a cotton ball, or something? The blood soaked through my shirt a bit.”

Claire comes to the rescue before I can and tosses him a ball, but I take a chance and glance over my shoulder at him anyway, and feel a deep blush creep over my neck and cheeks as I do. His back is facing me, and the sight of it does something extraordinary to my insides. He didn’t look like that when he was eighteen. Claire catches me staring, pulls a face and gives my arm a quick squeeze as she passes by.

She clears up the last few bits and pieces in the kitchen and puts the milk back into the fridge. “I’m going to bed now.” She announces. “Jude, my dear, stay if you want, the couch is free, Evie’ll get you some blankets, if you want to go, that’s grand, just make sure the door is properly closed behind you, it tends to be a bit sticky.”

“I will, thanks Claire.” He’s put the clean t-shirt on now so I’m safe to turn around. He sits back down, and Claire switches off the kitchen light and heads upstairs. We listen to her footsteps across the landing and the click of her bedroom door, and then I feel like holding my breath in the silence that follows. The clock still ticks, and nothing else makes a sound. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Jude asks me in a voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. I eye his bloody T-shirt in a pile on the coffee table. “Can I wash it?” I ask. 

“I think it’s probably for the bin. I’ll chuck it away after I leave.”

“I think I can get the stains out. I actually know quite a bit about laundry.”

“If you want to, but it’s fairly disgusting.”

“It doesn’t matter, really.”

“Does this have something to do with you wanting to purloin another of my T-shirts and hold it hostage for three years?”

“Hmm, I can’t confirm or deny.” I pluck it off the table and toss it into the washing machine behind me. “I’ll give it my best go tomorrow.”

“Fair enough.”

I walk over and sit next to him. “Is the tea making you feel better?”

“Sort of. Are you going to have anything?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” But I don’t move. He smiles at me. “Or do you want some of mine?”

“I couldn’t stomach it without the milk, sorry.”

“Well have you tried it?”

“Yeah like once when I’d already made a cup before I realised we were out of milk. It was sick.”

“Maybe this will be different.” He holds it to me and I take it. The mug, hot in my hands makes me feel warm all over, the feeling enhanced by the cosy glow of the string lanterns around the window that frame the bleak winter scene outside. I take a cautionary sip, and it tastes bitter and sweet at the same time. I don’t like it, and tell him as much. 

“Worth a try.” He shrugs, and lifts it out of my hands. When he takes another sip he puts his lips against the very same spot where my mouth was, and I wonder if he did it on purpose, the idea of which is strangely erotic. I shiver. “Are you going to stay over?”

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t have my house keys. I can get a taxi home but I’m almost sure that nobody will be awake.”

“That’s alright.” I assure him. “It’s a small couch but I can get you blankets and try to make it as comfortable as possible.” I look him over and deduct that the sheer height of him would be one and a half times the size of the couch if he were lying down on the floor next to it. He’s in for a cramped night’s sleep. The corner of his mouth kicks up. “I’ve slept in worse places, Evie. Don’t worry. There’ve been smaller couches than this one, floors without a blanket, out on a friend’s lawn on wet grass. I’ll be fine.”

I nod. “I hope you find your keys.” 

“Yeah, same. Otherwise I’m not getting back into my apartment in Berlin in the new year.”

“Ah, yeah, well that wouldn’t be great.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine, they’re probably in the bar. I bet I dropped them on the floor. They’ll turn up.”

He takes a long, full breath and rests his head against the wall behind him. He looks so tired now, for the first time since he arrived, and the bruises on his face look somehow more painful than they did then too, but I opt not to mention it again. I’m sure he knows. 

“It’s kind of strange to have you in my house.” I say instead, which I somehow imagined would be a not-weird thing to say to him before it came out of me. He looks rightfully perplexed. “Really? Why?”

“It just feels like, I dunno, like I cultivated a different version of me in this house than the version you used to know, it feels a bit like one universe colliding with another.”

“Ah, like Jude Turner doesn’t exist in this universe.”

“Right.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s on the beach in 2010, of course. My life sometimes feels like it’s been split into segments, and the beach feels like one distinct segment, like nothing about that time bleeds into any other time. It was its own unique world. ” I don’t say the part about even to this day, I view my life as ‘before’ and ‘after’ that summer. Before and after Jude left and everything changed. 

“I think about that summer all of the time.”

“Yeah, I do too. We’re so different now.”

“Nah, not really.”

“I feel different.”

“So do I, but then I go away and I live my life and I don’t see you for ages, and I come back and find you and we’re always the same. It always feels like nothing has really changed as much as we think.” 

“You have shorter hair, a tattoo and a third piercing.” I say, as though it proves something, and he smiles. “Yeah, and your freckles are gone, but those things are superficial. It still feels the same to talk to you.”

I brush the bridge of my nose. “My freckles.”

“Yeah you had them during the heatwave, do you remember that?”

“Of course, I only get them when I’ve been out in the sun for days and days. I think that was the only time I’ve had them since I was a child.” 

“They were clearest at the festival, I remember how they made your face look tanned from far away.”

“Well, tricked you. Get close enough and you’d have been blinded by how white I was underneath them.” I grin. “You know, one of my favourite memories from the whole summer was when we went to Pendulum, and we thought we’d hate them, but they were absolutely amazing.”

“Yeah, and I put you on my shoulders so that you could see the stage.”

“It was so hot by then, like all of the heat from the day felt like it congealed in the air and everyone was bathed in sweat, and when I was high up like that they were drenching me with cold water from those hoses, and I felt like I was holy.”

“You were.” His gaze wanders over me. “I remember Jen took a photo on her digital camera, and it’s crap quality because she got her finger in the way a bit, but it’s of you on my shoulders, and you’ve got that cigarette that we shared hanging out of your mouth and your arms are, like, stretched up to the sky and your eyes are closed, you really looked like you’d met God.”

“I was moved by the spirit.”

“Of Propane Nightmares?”

“Yes.” I grin at him, and he smiles back, a small, closed mouth smile that makes my stomach start to quiver. He has such a sensual little mouth. I wish he’d kiss me with it. The memory of what happened right after the Pendulum gig slides into my mind, the vividness of his hot mouth open against mine, and I briefly picture myself crawling onto his lap and repeating history. 

The look on his face near convinces me that he can hear my thoughts. Surely he must know the power he has over me, because he lightly takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts my head to the side. My heart thuds. He pinches my earlobe. “Do you think that earrings would still go into all of these little piercings if you tried them now?”

“I’m not sure. Probably.”

“But would they make you feel like ‘you’ yet?”

“Maybe.” I whisper. “I’m starting to feel like I’m coming back around to them.”

“Hm.” He says, and I’m a bit terrified of the moment he turns my face back to him, because I am certain I will throw myself at him. I can’t kiss anyone. It’s not the right time. I’m not ready. I’m afraid, and – oh God – Astrid still exists.

As though he has the very same thought at the same time, he swiftly takes his hands away from me and says “Sorry, Jesus, that was weird of me. I dunno why I just went in and grabbed your ear.”

“No it’s fine.” I say, flustered, heart pounding. “It’s no big deal, it’s just an ear.” I spring up and collect his empty mug and the jug from the table and head over to the kitchen to stack them into the dishwasher. “I think I’ll go to bed. I’ll just go up and grab a pillow and some blankets for you.”

“Yeah, okay, alright.” He says, and I go hastily up the stairs to retrieve the spare bedding from the hot press. I can barely look at him as I hand them over, my cheeks still flooded with heat. “See you in the morning.” I say, and I head upstairs to bury myself in blankets, and eventually fall asleep and have the kinds of dreams, of crumpled sheets and golden skin and lips and hands and breath, that will make me feel woozy when I wake up. 

He’s already gone in the morning. Blankets folded tidily on the couch cushions, a note propped on top that simply reads: 

You are angels. 

See you in Berlin? 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[klarriel]

Nimrod

Summary:

Dean Winchester grapples with a relentless double life, working two jobs to make ends meet. In the small town of Smith Center, he keeps to himself, his father's words in his head a never-ending reminder of the past he'd rather forget.

When the mysterious musician Castiel Novak becomes his next-door neighbour, both men are sent on a journey to realise who they could truly be.

In 1979, at the cusp of a new decade, Dean will discover that some people will only stay if you dare to ask it of them.

Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending, 1970s Musician Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Store Clerk Dean Winchester, Small Towns, Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, not dean or cas but oh my god im so sorry don't hate me please, Repression, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks of trauma, Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Past Torture, Sad with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, So do I, But writing this is cheaper

WIP

Read Chapters 1-5/? now

Excerpt under the cut

As the door to Apartment 7 creaks open, he glances around. He’s never been inside another apartment in his building before - it’s kind of disturbing to see one near-exact to his that isn’t his. The identical shelves of the kitchen alcove on the left are packed with plates and boxes not yet stored away. A ratty maroon sofa bed sits to the left of the main room. A rolled-up rug leans against the far wall, between the two windows looking out onto the street below. The golden glow of the evening sun streams in, basking the floor in warmth. 

“You can just put them down wherever” Anna smiles, placing a box of records on the kitchen shelf, before calling out, “Cee! Our neighbours here!” 

Dean decides that, in the interests of not disturbing whatever decorating plans they’ve got going on, the spot next to the front door is probably the best bet for him to set down the items he’s carrying. He places them down carefully,  leaning them against the wall. Hearing a noise, he glances behind him towards the source of the rustling coming from the room to the right of the apartment - judging from the layout of Dean’s own apartment, the bedroom. The door is closed just enough that he can’t see who’s in there, but almost as soon as he looks, a figure steps out. 

The golden light filtering in through the bedroom window illuminates the figure from behind, casting a shadow over them so Dean can’t see their face. Golden tendrils dance around them, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d say they were glowing. 

‘Oh, hello…? ” A gruff voice tinged with surprise.

“Dean!” Anna interjects, walking over to join the figure, “Dean, this is my brother Castiel.”

Castiel walks over, and Dean can make out his deep blue eyes, and the hints of stubble covering his jaw. His buttoned blue shirt pressed mauve trousers are a match in tone to his sister’s outfit - clean, presentable. He seems still in every way, apart from his mess of brown hair that is tousled wildly, and Dean wonders if it’s so messy because of the stress of moving, or if it always just sits like that. He holds Dean’s gaze, his expression not quite readable. Together, Castiel and Anna make their way over to him, Dean to nervous to invade anyone’s space to move. 

“Hello, Dean” Castiel says, smiling slightly before his eyes drop down to linger on the items on the floor next to Dean.

“Anna!” he scolds, turning to his sister, “Please tell me you have not shirked your responsibilities onto someone you’ve just met ?” 

“A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet?” She offers, but at Castiel’s lack of reaction she wordlessly drops her gaze to the floor, guiltily scuffing her shoe on the wooden floorboards.

Dean could get mad, especially considering the guitar-to-head incident, but at this point he just doesn’t have the energy. Plus, the kid looks like she could use a break.

“It’s fine really, I was just walking in and she looked like she could use a hand,” Dean says, turning to meet Anna’s gaze, “No biggie.”

Castiel huffs out an annoyed breath, running his hand through his hair and furrowing his brow, but he smiles anyway.

“Well… thank you, very much.” he says, before rushing to pick up the items, “We really won’t keep you any longer.” 

Something niggles at the back of Dean’s head. He can’t define it, but it wasn’t there when he left work. Maybe the guitar induced more brain damage than he thought. 

He takes the opportunity and leaves with a wave, hearing a shouted “Thanks, Dean!” from Anna as he walks downstairs.

[sabraeal]

Keeping Up With the Joneses, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @aeroplaneblues for her birthday! This is our second year of our birthday exchange, for which she made me this delightful piece of Spy x Family AU Obi & Shirayuki, and I was able to make this chapter. This is a little later than originally planned-- I did NOT get to have the easy writing days on vacation that I planned-- but coming in at only a week and change over schedule, I'm beating my usual spread

There is a boy in the cupboard.

Or, at least, there was. Now he’s spilled out on the floor at her feet, lost in the hollow shell of his sweater; the saddest thing to ever claim the distinction, wool so thin and threadbare any grandmother might despair. And yet, against the mess of drab brown fabric and drabber scuffed floors, his eyes shine out like a beacon. Too large in his face, like all these children, hunger and neglect making cheek cling to bone and hang on for dear life. Too bright for a home as hopeless as this. Too blue.

He can’t be much more than four. Old enough that he should know how to speak, how to sleep in a big boy’s bed and turn up his nose at every vegetable. Young enough that he should still be clinging to his mother, a set of too-large eyes peering over a gingham-clad shoulder, but instead he’s here, in a shelter for orphans made by the war, and—

And she’d been nearly the same age when she’d stumbled down the back stairs of her childhood home to find bags packed at the door. Her mother’s old tartan ones, brought out only once before the pneumonia had taken her, just a winter back. Her father had loaded her onto a cart with strangers, wild-eyed and wary, and told her he’d be along soon. Think of it like a big sleepover, he’d said, smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Eyes so different from these ones: a deeper, muted green, against a brighter, paler blue; the sort that shine when the sun catches them. Unclouded, like sapphire. Pale, like topaz. Ones just like her mother’s.

That would work, wouldn’t it? Blue eyes, from her mother. Green was so rare after all. And he was small for his age, the way she had been— still was, though she’d keep that assessment out of her report. A few years of good meals and a steady home life would probably fix that, but then, well, so would a tall father. Boys always grew so much; no one would look twice at a tall one with a small mother. And the dark hair, so thick it mats instead of simply tangles—

Well, another thing to lay at his father’s feet. His absent, tall, dark-haired, no preference for eye color father.

Ah, but…he’s too young. Shirayuki settles back on her heels, smile stiff. It kills her to think that a boy as young as him could prefer hiding in cupboards rather than playing with other children, that she’s close enough to reach out her hand and save him, but she can’t because— because—

Because King Shenezard’s twins are six. And this boy is—

“Six!”

Shirayuki blinks, meeting that steady stream of blue. “Excuse me?”

“I’m six,” he tells her, rolling over onto his knees. “Six years old.”

The warden here— ah, the caretaker, as her contact had so generously called him, despite the lack of care the peeling paint and dusty floors implied— stoops down, a suspicious scowl thinning his already narrow mouth. Mr Fuchs, as his paperwork said, the sole proprietor of Little Day Orphanage since its inception after the war. And yet when he squints down at this child, head cocked so skeptically, Shirayuki wonders if he could even tell her this boy’s name. “You are?”

The boy frowns, mouth a furrowed mirror of his brow. “Of course I am.”

“Oh.” His proportions might say different, but, well, he hardly has a reason to lie to her. Not when she hadn’t even asked. “Are you? That’s a lovely age.”

"Convenient, too.” The old man coughs when he catches her look, scrubbing a hand over his bald pate. “Er, I mean, since that’s what you were looking for. School age. Ready for learnin’. Which is just what this one is.”

He reaches out, one broad palm aiming to clap that small back; a sweet gesture, if the boy didn’t flinch the moment Mr Fuchs lifted his hand. “If you’re looking for a smart kid, then you don’t gotta look at any of the rest of these brats. He’s the brightest one in the bunch by a mile. Can read and everything.”

“Oh, is that so?” It’s an effort not to speak through her teeth; one she manages simply because the boy is watching.  “Do you have a book you like? The ones with pictures are always so nice. Maybe you could read one for me?”

The space between his brow dints, the way it always did before eyes teared and fists shook, but there is no mother to hold and soothe him, no father to convince him to do what he’d told. It’s cruel to test him, to dangle this promise of home and family above him when he still has so much hope left. But Mr Fuchs hardly seems like a man who would hesitate to employ hyperbole, and her mission is clear: she needs a child who can pass Eden Academy’s rigorous exams. And as sweet as this boy looks, as much as she would love to sweep him into her arms and scurry him out from this awful hole…

Well, she doubts if there’s any of Eden’s future bright-burning stars to be found in a place like this. Few minds catch fire without fuel to burn, and every child here is simply embers trying to survive until the next piece of kindling.

The dint deepens into a furrow, turning his expression from anxious child to frustrated accountant. As if a picture book might be beneath his dignity as a professional, er…six-year-old. He does not scramble to his feet, oh no, he rises with all the gravitas of an elder scholar, striding from the room on legs that are barely long enough to hold him steady. It would be sweet, if Shirayuki were not so sure that she had lost her chance to see if he really was the cleverest child in this home.

“Well,” Mr Fuchs clucks, hardly disappointed. “Ain’t that just the way. Boy’s always been a bit big for his britches, though. Might have dodged a bullet, if you ask me. Too smart by half.”

Too smart by a half was the exact sort of child that would fit the brief, the baseline of the Director's impossible standards. Potentially the only one in this terrible place that would have met them

And she had let him slip right through her fingers. Izana would be positively unlivable.

“Plenty of other kids though.” It’s a conman’s smile this man tries to give her, a charlatan’s confidence that she’ll buy his snake oil by the case. “You know what they say. Kid’s true potential is all about a mother’s love.”

That’s certainly not what ‘they’ say, but there’s no point in quarreling with him; only three rooms into this tour and she’s quite certain they’ll never see eye-to-eye on the topic of cleanliness, let alone child rearing. Instead, Shirayuki stitches the corners of her mouth up into a smile, hoping it looks more natural than it feels. “If you say so.”

“I know so.” One of those liver-spotted hands reaches out, skin yellowed with the beginnings of jaundice, and she realizes he means to hold hers. To take her palm into one of his and pat it, as if she were some nervous mother-to-be in a maternity ward, needing assurance no matter what the source.

She tucks both into her pockets. “Then perhaps we should—?”

One moment the door is empty, and the next the boy traipses through it, cutting them a wide wake as he arcs to the center of the room. His head, so large for his body, swings one way, then the other, and with one put-out sigh, sprawls on the floor.

It’s not quite an invitation, but it’s…curious. Shirayuki shuffles a few steps closer, enough that a subtle lean gets a mostly unobstructed view over his shoulder.

It’s a crossword. The one from this morning’s paper, three of the rows already filled by an adult’s unsteady hand. Shirayuki hadn’t gotten around to trying her hand at it this morning, but a quick glance is all she needs to know that they’re wrong. For one thing, Three Across— jewelry that hangs around the neck— was looking for pendant, not necklace; a fact that should have been apparent when the solver had to scratch the ‘e’ into the black space beside it.

Obvious enough that even the six-year-old snuffs when he sees it, carving the correct answer over it in pencil.

It takes him seven minutes to fill the grid. It takes twice that for her to check his work.

“Wow.” It’s a murmur, a whisper, but when she glances up, it’s straight into those bright eyes, waiting for her to finish. “Wow,” she says again, louder, for him. “This is really impressive, er…?”

“Ryuu.”

“Ryuu. That’s a nice name! A strong one.” It would sound natural with Lyon. “My name is Shirayuki.”

Shirayuki is hardly a child; she doesn’t expect the boy —Ryuu— to turn around and compliment her about how pretty it is, or how much he likes snow, but, well…

She expects a little more than a stare. It’s almost impatient, as if she was wasting time reciting facts; the sky is blue, water is wet, my name is Shirayuki. It would have been nice to be able to do something like this the right way, to be able to visit over a series of weeks and form something like a rapport, an ability to trust her, but Izana’s timetable hardly includes the time for paperwork, let alone emotions. Still, it would have been nice if he could at least smile—

Suddenly, he does. One side twitching, then the other, forming around the word, “Shirayuki.”

It doesn’t quite fit on his face, but she hardly notices. “Ah, yes…?”

“Are you going to bring me home now?”

*

“It’s not much,” Shirayuki warns him, her smile as shaky as the keys in her hand. They’d rattled the whole way down the hall, loud enough Ryuu wondered why the neighbors hadn’t poked out their heads. At the orphanage, they would have; every jingle, every yelp, every cough had been entertainment, so long as it hadn’t been happening to you. “I only moved in a few days ago.”

There’s no need to be worried. Her key scrapes right past the lock, bouncing off the door. There’s plenty of room. Another try skids right off the knob. Anything would be an improvement over that terrible place.

He nearly corrects her: there are worse places. Ones with white walls and lights so bright they burn. Rooms where the only furniture is a tray of strange implements and a chair that unfolds to lay flat. A place where there’s one window, but you can only see through from the other side. Where even though you’re alone, you know you’re being watched.

But it’s better that Shirayuki doesn’t know about places like that. Even if she turns out worse than that old man, at least she’ll never think to put him back in one.

Her key finally slots into the lock. He can’t see, not through her back, but he knows, both from the metallic jingle it makes, and the way her mind eases with her shoulders, no longer a crackling static but a faint hum, like the moment before the television turns on.

“There we go,” she sighs, guiding the knob through its twist. “Guess I’m a little excited!”

I should tell him I’ve always wanted a child. He’s never met anyone who thinks as loud as Shirayuki does, as clear. The other children always thought in pictures over words, and the old man had been like listening to a radio with a broken antenna, just a series of fuzzed out voices heard between deafening static. That might provide a more stable environment. This is hardly an ideal situation, but he should at least be comfortable.

Ryuu would be happy enough with another cabinet, so long as he didn’t have to deal with all the other children running around, pulling on his hair and tearing his sweaters and calling him ghost boy or creepy kid or whatever unimaginative insult they could cook up in the moment. He nearly tells her, so, but then the door opens and—

And none of Shirayuki’s careful warnings could have prepared him.

“Go on.” She steps back, one hand splayed to keep the door in place. “Make yourself at home.”

It’s him that trembles now, taking one large step over the jamb to stand in some— some entryway? There’s a kitchen to his left, just big enough to fit two of him across, with room for another if they squished together enough. Plenty of cabinets too, but it’s hard to tell without looking—?

“Can I take your coat?”

He’s been clutching it, he realizes, hands fisted around the cloth at his belly so hard they’re beginning to ache. Not even at the pockets, but just above them. “Oh…okay.”

It takes effort, thought, to work his fingers loose. One at a time, uncurling, until the hem drops to just above his knees. Takes longer still for his clumsy hands to unbutton, but Shirayuki waits patiently, a smile on her face he’s already coming to like.

He’s barely shrugged it off his shoulders when she thinks, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, He needs new clothes. Those are too big. Everything’s falling apart at the seams.

These were also the only ones he could wear. Ryuu’s shoulders hunch, brushing the tips of his ears. Everything his size had itched, sitting so close to his skin he could feel each scratchy coil of wool. The old man never cared what they wore, so long as they were covered; it’d been one of the few nice things about living in the home.

“Your shoes can go here,” she says, pointing to a corner by the door. “If you’d like, of course.”

He watches her take off her own, revealing small feet covered in what looks like the end of a sausage casing. Stockings, he guesses. Nylons, like the ones he sees on TV, sandwiched between Bondman’s cliffhanger and resolution. For a modern woman! they would profess, showing a lady at a typewriter. That’s what Shirayuki must be: a Modern Woman. One that’s saving the world.

His shoes slip right off, barely tied tight enough to stay on anyway— needs new shoes too, something that fits— and it’s strange to have just socks on. The old man hadn’t been a stickler for much beside silence, but shoes had been one of them. So no one says I’m making you lot run around wild and barefoot like dogs, he’d grunt. The faster I can get ‘em out the door, the less time any nitwit who wants to take ‘em home has to have second thoughts, is what he meant.

Flat against the floor, his foot feels wrong. Like there’s something worming beneath it, right under his arch. He lifts his heel, just so it clears the wood slats, and oh, that’s better. Natural even.

“Go ahead,” she tells him. “Go look around.” It’s your home too.

Ryuu blinks. His home. “Oh. Okay.”

Stepping out past the entryway, he can see more of it: not just a kitchen and mudroom, but a living room too, with a couch and everything. There’s a dining table too, with chairs. Another hallway with— bathroom and bedrooms, Shirayuki supplies, just a few moments before she echoes it out loud. ‘Not much’ she’d called it, but— but—

It’s the nicest place he’s ever lived.

“Did you want to watch TV?” Shirayuki thinks mostly in words, but this time it’s a picture: the always-on box in the orphanage, sound set just above a whisper. The old man had kept it running all day, everyday, hoping it’d keep them entertained. Quiet. It worked, sometimes. Most times, the kids found their own way to occupy themselves. Picking on each other, mostly.

“You’re welcome to,” she says. I don’t know what kids watch, she thinks. “If you have something you like.”

Bondman is the only thing he bothers with— the only thing worth chancing a run in with the other children. It’s not on until after dinner, right before everything switches over to news. But…

But Shirayuki keeps thinking about his smile. About him traipsing over to the carpet and hunkering down, having one on his face. She wants him to be happy.

Or at least look happy.

He tries out one of those smiles again, still strange on his face. “Okay.”

*

It’s four in the afternoon when Obi discovers that his bedroom shares a wall with 5B’s living room. Something he probably could have figured out months ago, when he thinks about it; 5D’s always knocks hard enough to shake the rafter when he plays a nice victory record or two after work. Only makes sense that at three AM that might be coming from a bedroom.

In any case, he finds out now: through the pap-pap-pap of a cap gun. The recorded kind, like from those stupid kids shows they put on now. New neighbor must have one. Which means Obi the Office Worker is going to have to get more creative about catching up with z’s on company time if the Thorn Prince wants to show up to his gigs all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Obi sighs, wrapping the pillow around his head. Or the Thorn Prince is going to have to start taking on less overtime. Not an option, if he wants to keep himself the way he’s become accustomed. Government workers can’t afford apartments in neighborhoods this nice.

Company sponsored nap time it is. He’s just got to worry about tonight. Last thing he needs it to slip up because some kid couldn’t miss Zorro winning the day or whatever. Probably gonna cost him another shirt; dry clearing never really gets all the blood out. Maybe he should go over there, give this kid a little talking-to--

The pap-pap-pap cuts off. All at once, like a power outage.

Obi frowns, lifting his head out of the pillow. No sound at all, not even a villain’s growl. TV’s off.

Huh. Must have been a rerun.

[thefaiao]

   Making music has been a weird experience. I remember in high-school when I would try to accompany a beat and one friend told me “I have no rhythm at all”. I thought, what, no way. I am enjoying this music so much and clapping, I must have rhythm if my heart is in it. He was right.    Even recently I didn’t have a good notion of rhythm. The song I made for the game in 2019 was a little endearing atrocity with barely any pacing. I’ll probably re-use it somewhere though it’s kind of cute, because even then my heart was truly in it. In a way it has that to replace its lack of everything else.    I was streaming Friday Night Funkin’ to a friend once and she mocked me for barely hitting any notes, it was ruthless. I felt as if I was naked and someone was commenting on any weird shaped moles they could procure. I got mad at her but it did motivate me to get better at following a beat.    I’d always be hitting stuff on my way to and back from places, but I think I was just following random brain malfunctions rather than a rhythm. Now whenever I can I am pacing a beat as well as I can. I got a perfect combo on a reconstructed mole in Mother 3! That shit is hard as fuck. By the end of the game I was getting many perfect combos with my obsession. I suppose I took it very personally. Either way games aren’t the best way to better your skills fully. It’s just a weird replacement... maybe there’s still some real world after-effects but I’d often think “I will get so good at games I will be a beast in real world activities.” I don’t think that worked but I am pretty good at games now.    I wish that friend could see that I got a many perfect combos in Mother 3, but we are no longer friends. But I am sure she felt it through the invisible forces that binds us all. Maybe some stray bowel movement informed her of my achievements.   The climax of this was me working on the track for the game’s boss. It was torture. Like trying to teach a dog to fly. It was hard to be consistent, as I often follow my whims and instincts instead of structuring and organizing myself. Whenever I had to add a variation I’d sit on my chair sweating. Ah! There is no way. I have to kill myself! I didn’t though, I managed to finish it, but only after I failed my driving exam and my brother told me. Dude, it’s pretty good, the melody is dissonant but it works. He didn’t like the out of combat tracks though because they were dissonant and games usually make something more subdued. Now I have to learn more stuff. This is bullshit.    Because of this people will have to accept these beautifully desolated amateurish tracks as if a new school of melody has been made! I will do better in the next ones, whatever. I had fun making them and it’s a game that wouldn’t make sense to have normal video game music. The game is demented so it needs music that reflects the two brain-damaged idiots that made it.    Despite Chuck Salamone’s tracks being beautiful and very inspiring, I can’t help but appreciate the scuffed tracks Mason did for Hylics 1. They have stuck to me more.    Fuck negative dB measurements. What does that mean! Go to hell!

[ideahat-universe]

I'm thankful for Pizza.

Hey, it's thanksgiving so lets give thanks for a variety of things.

It was honestly a pretty good year for me. Especially when it came to gaming.

Pizza Tower came out after years of waiting. I honestly would have released it shortly after the SAGE 19 demo given that the version was so well approved and already had a fanbase and a mod base for it.

But that didn't happen. Mcpig worked on more of the game, adding a bunch of stuff and removing just as many things.

There are plenty of videos about what ended up on the cutting room floor but my favorite thing is the Mansion because it was such an ambitious level that almost always had some kind of lore for its backbone only to get dropped because it was too large or too slow of a level.

Other stuff like having a two player mode with distinctly different characters to play as looked like a nice idea but in reality was just bloat.

In the end it all became mods and with a fully fledged game to cut their teeth on, modders would go absolutely bonkers with what they add and change. From making Pepperman actually functional to bringing back multiple versions of all the dropped levels the game is basically a huge success and has a really devoted mostly sane fanbase.

Emulation is here to stay

The Steam deck is a very successful device and with good reason. It's well made and easy to modify. The Steam Machine didn't work because there was no logical way into the PC market in a way that wasn't redundant.

Handhelds however were a different story. While the Switch and the 3DS dominated for years a secret project was being worked on. Handheld devices that can play multiple games from different franchises. Different developers. It wasn't streaming. It was emulation.

Emulation devices were more than just a knockoff device that Rerez would end up playing where almost all the games were bootlegs of bootlegs.

Real attempts at making real devices that could play real games using the various open source software that was available to them were being worked on.

This took many years. The PSP line actually held the title of being a really high quality emulation device but after the last couple of years true successors have been found.

The Steam deck, even with its massive potential as a device that can play thousands of games sold on the Valve store has the capabilities to easily play several generations of games flawlessly through emulation.

But it's very expensive. Which created a market of people who wanted a Steam Deck but couldn't afford one. So since the release of the release of the Steam Deck the emulation handheld scene exploded with a much sharper level of quality.

Emulation handhelds went from being Meh to Good overnight and with a massive amount of variety, portability, custom firmware, the ability to run Linux, Windows, or Android (depending on the device) and a community that easily maps out what does and doesn't work well on these devices.

Hell, half of these emulation devices already come with thousands of actual, working games on them. I bought a emulation device a couple months ago and it had Cave Story and Shovel Knight as well as several other playable stand alone titles.

There was also the option to mod a 3DS into an emulation device but if you wanted to play non Nintendo releases you were quickly entering scuffed territory (same with the PSPvita when playing Nintendo games).

If you wanted a really well rounded experience, it is more than 200 dollars but an Ayn Odin or upward would get you an impressive range of play ability.

You really are spoiled for choice these days when it comes to games which brings me to my next point.

The game industry is not video-games

I keep getting told that gaming is actually in a bad spot right now. Lots of layoffs, some truly terrible releases, and the ones that do find financial success are complete parasites sucking the blood out of willing whales.

Oh, and what was it? 90% of games being lost?

That last one sounds really bad on paper until you realize that all of human history is like that. Can you even imagine all the stories that were lost to time because the average man couldn't read or write or how certain experimental attempts at music were forgotten because they were before the age of music recording, made by a person whose work was too far ahead of its time?

Hell, a centuries' worth of film is lost because the owner of the property threw it away or it was destroyed in a fire or the original copy naturally degraded over time and there were no other copies of it or even worse, the original was edited meaning that the original master copy was effectively erased.

I get it. We shouldn't have games become unplayable due to bullshit DRM or the game needing a remote server to run or it being tied down to very specifically designed hardware and firmware but to act like gaming is going extinct is hyperbolic.

The reality is that for most people, a life time's worth of video games is already at your fingertips.

It's just a fact, you have way more games than you do time on earth to play them all and any game that becomes lost to the sands of time can probably be recreated as long as you aren't a stickler for copyright.

It's never been easier to play older games and it's never been easier to make a game simply running on the inspiration of a dead or mishandled franchise.

All the stuff about the layoffs and big game studios feeling the squeeze?

THAT'S GOOD.

The reality is that gaming as an art is doing just fine. If you make a really nice game that comes from the heart, even if when it's technically just okay. You can find some kind of success out of making it and people will have fun playing it. No triple A publisher would green light a Visual Novel like Slay the Princess even though Slay the Princess is probably the greatest Renpy visual novel game that has ever been made (which was tough competition seeing as it had to beat Doki Doki and Snoot game) and will have a profit margin which is more than I can say about Gollum.

Aside from whales who vary between being addicts and people with good jobs but no one in their life to dump money into (you can decide for yourself which one is sadder, having a crippling addiction or having nothing in your life other than Genshin Impact), the real thing keeping Triple A gaming afloat was investors.

As someone who is knee deep in the investment field, infinite growth is a real delusion pressed upon by stock holders. If you do the same as last year people want to sell the shares and buy something with moon potential. Sure literally every world renown investor whose word is so valuable stadiums get packed just to hear what they have to say in 0.5 speed (those old men take their time to deliver a speech) will tell you to find something that is stable enough while also offering value in the form of good dividends. From Warren Buffet to the Motley Fool they'll tell you to buy and hold for decades.

But uhh, people want their generational wealth now and if you have enough of those psychos in the boardroom when you decide the direction of your video game company you're going to get into some shit and into some shit a lot of them did.

But now investors are feeling the pinch so it's harder to press your thumb on the CEO when you have to sell off some assets just to make sure you don't end up in a bad spot.

But don't feel too bad for those big suits. They got used to gamblers throwing money at them so when money started drying out they cut talent rather than their paychecks which tells you what they really value in a company (I mean is it a surprise? When you've never worked in the industry you're a Chief Executive Officer in, you don't even think about if something is or isn't replaceable).

So you should be prepared for a crash, a lot of stuff is going to fall over if they don't figure out a restructure that doesn't accounts for priced in growth.

But um, like I said. There are thousands of playable complete, and easily modded games out there for you to play. You don't need to play a new game every year. arguably if you've never played it, heard of it, or know anything about it, that game IS NEW. For you.

So go play it. And if the game you want to play absolutely doesn't exist then ya know what.