#this is a barely used character from 2017

[doe-prince]

[mearcatsreturns]

“authors behaving badly”...are they behaving badly, or are they just writing a story that you don’t like or that doesn’t resonate with you in particular? are they not engaging in a way you like?

[quasi-normalcy]

Every "Nu Trek" (2017- ) Series Ranked from Worst to Best:

Very Short Treks (2023): There's really no words for just how terrible this series is. I mean, I know that it only barely counts because it's explicitly not canon and has a total combined run time of about 15 minutes, but *my god* is it bad! Only one of its episodes is remotely funny, and even that manages to feel like it's driven its main joke into the ground by the end of its 2-minute runtime. The only thing that I can say for it is that is that it gives me an easy, uncontroversial choice for worst Star Trek series, not only of the last 7 years, but of all time.

Picard (2020-2023): Listen; I know that this series is unpopular with the Tumblr Trek fandom, but it actually breaks my heart to have to put it so low on the list. It has, in my own opinion, the best dramatic acting of any Trek series and among the best directing, and almost every individual scene, in isolation, is compellingly watchable. More than that, it has fascinating worldbuilding choices, you can really *see* the passion of the writers for what they're creating (at least in the first and third seasons), and Agnes in particular is among my favourite characters in anything ever. It's got a lot of great moments, too! Picard and Seven bonding over shared Borg trauma; Soji uncovering the truth of her identity; Jurati hacking the Borg Queen's brain; Picard's final farewell to Q; Shaw's Wolf 359 monologue; Geordi's reunion with Data...I could go on. And yet, it just feels like so much *less* than the sum of its parts! Incredible ideas are introduced and then just shrugged off to pursue much more boring ones. Story arcs feel pointless if not actively offensive. Absolutely baffling writing choices are made throughout, with no indication as to why. And the nostalgia baiting , particularly in the final season, becomes so intense that it just chokes the plot to death. One comes away haunted by the feeling that this series should be so much better than it is.

Discovery (2017-2024): Really, this is two separate series: a twisty, grimdark, sci-fi war drama and a gentle queer coffeeshop AU about scientists who talk about their feelings. Both of them have their moments, but they each fall down in the same way: a focus on epic, high-stakes mystery box storytelling that undermines one's ability to really get invested in the characters, or even know who they are when they aren't off saving the universe. Without that, while I liked many of the characters and loved seeing them science the shit out of things using teamwork and the power of math, it's kind of difficult to get invested in this series one way or another. In spite of its absolutely gorgeous visuals, it comes off feeling weirdly...flat.

Short Treks (2018-2020): Not a lot to talk about here; just kind of an anthology series of short films adjacent to Discovery, Picard, and Strange New Worlds. Mostly they're varying shades of mediocre, but a few of them are as brilliant as any episode of Star Trek ever made, so the series gets to be relatively high on the list.

Strange New Worlds (2022- ): This is the first entry on this list that, in my opinion, belongs on the top shelf with some of the best of the older series. And it achieves it basically by adopting the same formula as the original series or the next generation--socially conscious planet-of-the-week adventures with enough wit, cleverness and joie-de-vivre to keep it interesting. I remember in 2017, there was plenty of discussion of how it's possible to update Star Trek's formula for prestige television; how funny that the solution turned out to be "don't change it at all, just give it modern special effects and actual character arcs." That said, the series is a bit *too* beholden to the original, with focus primarily on a bunch of characters who aren't allowed to grow or change too much because we already know how they'll turn out. It would be even better if it were about a new ship and a new crew full of nobodies who we can come to love. Which brings us to...

Lower Decks (2020-2024): Above, I said that Picard felt like it should have been so much better than it was. Lower Decks, frankly, should have been so much worse. How is an adult animated sitcom with Rick and Morty style animation and constant memberberries this freaking good!?! Every episode is a master class in efficient storytelling, with 22 minute runtimes often feeling like they contain as much story and character work as episodes twice as long. And the characters are incredible--like TOS and TNG, they feel almost archetypal, and even though you've never seen them before, they slide so seamlessly into the Star Trek universe that it's hard to believe that they weren't just *always* there; that there was ever a time when you could imagine the Star Trek universe without just intrinsically knowing that Tendi and Shaxs and Mariner were off somewhere in the background. It's greatest success though, the reason why it's comedy works when it really shouldn't, is that it's only *slightly* sillier than the serious series. What we end up with a fantastic series with an ethos that is pure Star Trek, and in fact, if I had written this list a month ago, it would certainly be in the #1 spot. However...

Prodigy (2021-2024?): The first season of Prodigy is...charming. It's got some fun characters, some spectacular visuals, some interesting premises. And if the plots tend to be a little too simplistic to be engaging to an adult, hey, it's a kids' show. It's good. Solid. Above average. And if I had only the first season to go on, it would probably be in third position on this list. But then, a few weeks ago, it went ahead and dropped the best season of Star Trek in a quarter-century, and I really...I just cannot recommend this series highly enough. The sheer, ambitious scope of the narrative; the arcs it puts its character through; the cleverness of the writing; the fricking GORGEOUSNESS of it! And it does all this while redeeming deeply unpopular characters and plot points from other series, in a way that never feels forced or pandering. Not only is it the best Star Trek series of the 21st century, it's one of the best children's animated series since AtLA. Go. Go! Watch it! Watch it now!

[lttawnymadison]

TGCF Revised Version Afterword by MXTX

Since I kept seeing snippets of this, I wanted to read the whole thing for myself. I'd already bought the book on JJWXC and did an MTL for this. It's so wonderful that she's back and sharing new things and that the revised is finally done! - Tawny --------------------------------------------- The author has something to say:

Seeing the small red clay stove again.

———— Afterword of "Heaven Official's Blessing" 2022

■ Finally done!

Long time no see! It's another afterword starting with "finally." Without further ado, seasoned readers would know that I make substantial revisions. For instance, scenes like the Bai Feng Mountain Hunt and the ending recognition of Sizhui in the serial version of "Mo Dao Zu Shi" were not originally there.

The revisions in "Heaven Official's Blessing" are the most extensive of all my works. It was a huge project, as it is also the longest in terms of length, serialized over eight months. Due to poor health and other reasons, the revision process was interrupted for a long time before I picked it up again, and it sporadically took about five to six months over several years.

In the era of web novels, there are endless new entertainments, and honestly, not many people re-read a story. Plus, some problems in the serialized version are structural and can't be changed, but I still tried my best to address my regrets. After all, when I was serializing it, I was almost always in a feverish and sick state, barely pushing through. Additionally, I often enjoy comparing different versions of my favorite authors' works back and forth, finding pleasure in the process. So, for readers, discovering "Wow, this part has changed!" is like starting a new journey with Easter eggs in a second round.

■ The new revised version includes about 100,000 words of new content!

These 100k words are mainly concentrated in the latter half of Volume 1 and Volume 3, but there are plenty scattered throughout the text. For example, I fulfilled a promise to A-Hua, giving him several new outfits. Seeing A-Hua dressed beautifully in a new hairstyle to meet his gege made me happy.

In terms of the intensity of revisions, personally, I feel it goes like this:

Volume 1 and Volume 2 > Volume 3 > Volume 5 > Volume 4.

Additionally, the new version cuts some redundant words and plots that weren't very meaningful. However, I tried to keep all the original interactions between Hua Lian as complete as possible. If some minor interactions are missing, they weren't deleted but moved around.

■ One day, I suddenly dug out something.

An antique from 2017, a folder called "Heaven Official's Blessing Setting Collection."

Curiously, I opened it and read with interest.

● Comparing the original setting outline and the main text, the highest fidelity is in the main storyline between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian.

A-Hua, restored at a ratio of 1:100.

Hua's character setting is the most detailed, and virtually every point made it into the main text, including details like "ghosts don't like the sun, so Hua Cheng sometimes drapes a red cloth over his head"...

Points not used, listed a few:

As a child:

· After being saved from falling off a city wall, he foolishly followed a parade over and over again, grabbing people to ask, "Who is that? Who is that person?" People told him, "That's the royal son, the future Celestial God, the most outstanding Crown Prince of Xianle Nation ever!"

(This point couldn't be used because in the text A-Hua was held in the Crown Prince's arms after being saved)

· At home, he was often punished to stand or kneel, not given food, and wore old clothes, accused of stealing money. Whenever he argued with his family, he would stubbornly sleep in the Prince's temple overnight.

· Went to Mount Tai Cang to volunteer sweeping red leaves at Huangji Observatory, just to sneak peeks at his future wife happily swinging.

After becoming the ghost king:

· One of his hobbies is buying and building houses everywhere.

· Very protective of his leather boots, would (badly) polish them until they shone.

· To other devout followers of Xie Lian, he said: "You have good taste."

· Secretly prepared many betrothal gifts for his beloved god, wanting to marry him!

The character setting of Xie Lian as a teacher in the serialized version compared to the initial draft, the serialized text subtly differs. The initial draft was more... exquisite and elegant, very serious. The serialized text is more... humorous. I think perhaps because some plot points were tragic, Xie Lian thought he should be happier to make the readers more relaxed, so he drove me to adjust his mental state! But due to the spiritual oppression at that time, the character's depth was not enough, while in the new revised version, I hope he can show a more self-content state on the same core basis.

Excerpts from the unused original setting:

· Super easy-going. Easy-going means: if given fifty bucks, he would happily dress in drag and dance. Accepts haggling. Thirty bucks works. Twenty bucks too!

· The observatory is small, the house is broken, wants to grow flowers. Leaks during rain, so he uses a bucket to catch rainwater.

· Because he can't afford a caretaker, he cleans himself, and also feeds chickens. Chickens eat flowers. Keeps a cat.

· Completely engrossed in discussing serious matters, he unknowingly finished all the broken sweet dumplings!

● Water, Earth, Wind original setting:

The highest fidelity is the main line between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, followed by the Water, Earth, Wind subplot.

The main conflict hasn't changed. Just... how could the original setting of Water, Earth, Wind be so dark and terrifying!

The character morals in the main text improved a lot, otherwise, the original Black Water would be sheer scheming + murderous! The ending for the Wind Master would have been more tragic.

The Venerable of Empty Words suddenly became an improvised character. It seemed like an ancient fable-like monster, making the main text more interesting than the original setting.

Overall, the formal version is a bit better written than the original draft.

● The unfortunate life of Lang Ying:

Lang Ying? Is there such a character? I don't remember!

Ah? It seems there was such a person, but I don't remember any of his plotlines.

This is most people's feeling towards the character of Lang Ying. It's not a delusion because he barely had any significant plot. In fact, any valuable scenes could have been replaced equivalently, so in the new revised version, I deleted this character.

But, in the 2017 setting collection, I suddenly found that I had actually opened a separate document for Lang Ying, and his role was defined as a "growing-type BOSS!"

I was silent.

And immediately opened the document, curious about my initial setting. A "growing-type BOSS," how did he become someone whose deletion went unnoticed...? (I even don't know how to address him!)

Who knows, perhaps out of excitement, I accidentally pressed the wrong shortcut, and somehow it became irreversible, leaving only an empty document for me to stare in disbelief. The once "growing-type BOSS" has now forever become a mystery!

This is the unfortunate life of the deleted Lang Ying.

· There was another document in the setting collection called "Swordsmith." I opened the document and read it with interest.

I was shocked. Because I completely forgot I had conceived this story. Why didn't I write it?!

Darn.

I know why I didn't write it. This story... it had no ending!

——————— Thus, the magical glimpse into the "Heaven Official's Blessing Setting Collection" concludes!

■ I like men with stories!

Maybe because I watched an outstanding work as a child. It was a memoir, the protagonist in the biography was gentle and affable, and the protagonist in the memories was cold and ruthless. The story was scattered with the poignant fragrance of white plum blossoms amidst bloody and stormy circumstances.

This almost perfect work deeply influenced my aesthetics, leading me to be most interested in the memory parts of characters in various works. Although many viewers prefer the present scenes, often asking when the memories will end, I actually find these intense and painful memories to be the most fascinating!

A story is the history of a character, as well as the key to their personality. A person with a story stands before me like a puzzle. The way to solve this puzzle is to understand their story. Because the biography makes one curious to know more about a character they like, loving them more now because of their past. When serializing "Heaven Official," my greatest pain initially was telling myself, "This time I don't want to write a memory slaughter," deliberately trying to avoid a structure similar to previous works, yet I still hadn't found a better way to express it, resulting in my deep dissatisfaction with the later part of Volume 1. I was also hesitant to fully commit to the memory scenes in Volume 2, and with the heavy mental burden, this part was very painful to write. When revising, looking at Volume 2 was almost unbearable, because I'm the type of person who, as a child, would immediately switch channels when a TV show's protagonist was about to be wrongfully accused or embarrassed. I couldn't help but knock on a friend's door and ask:

Me: Was the author suffering some kind of mental trauma at the time? This negative energy is too horrifying, the protagonist is so pitiful, I really admire anyone who could read through Volume 2 completely.

Friend: Do you even have the right to say that?

But the memory slaughter in Volume 4 was much freer, written in one breath, so the revisions for this volume were also the least.

So, will you still write large segments of memory slaughter?

Um, well, we'll see, haha, hehe...

■ Closing Remarks:

Lastly, I'll address the question some asked me, "Will the new revised 'Heaven Official's Blessing' be more torturous?"

Me: You're talking nonsense. 'Heaven Official's Blessing' is a sweet pampering story, thank you!

Acknowledgments:

Shi Nai'an wrote in the preface to "Water Margin": "On snowy nights, about five or six people listen to my storytelling; on rainy days, about seven or eight; on bright and sunny days, about ten. I read, everyone listens, and we are all happy, with no other thoughts." When I read this as a young person, I was delighted. What divine days! Writing first to entertain oneself, then to entertain others. Self-expression and self-acceptance are certainly primary, but the affection of others is also a significant positive feedback. Thus, first, I thank the steadfast readers who have accompanied me all this time. I've thought about just walking away amidst the noisy disputes; abandoning the account amidst the tumultuous world! It seems not bad. But looking back, I can't bear to leave some truly sincere readers.

I've had authors I liked disappear from the internet, and I always feel like a part of my youth has vanished, a feeling quite distressing, reminiscent of overly grand and harsh things like the tears of the era or the torrent of history. So, I want to accompany my readers as long as possible, hoping that the day of parting comes later. Perhaps I'm not good enough now, but I will strive to be better in the future. Or perhaps you've never truly understood what kind of person I am, or even completely misunderstood me, but as long as you genuinely like my stories, we can sit down and chat.

And, I must mention my friends, who can be described as having the courage of a hero. Long time no see, Teacher Changyang's illustrations are still as beautiful as those of a celestial being, I hope Teacher CAS can go to bed earlier and worry less, and Teacher Kuohao, who despite a heavy workload, still fully honored our agreement. The "Heaven Official's Blessing" radio drama is really fantastic! It reminded me of the original intention of writing this story, and I was very moved. If it weren't for the silent companionship and efforts of these old friends, Mo Xiang Tong Xiu might have stopped writing back in 2016, disappearing from the world of martial arts, and thus, "Heaven Official's Blessing" would not have been born. I look forward to retracing the paths we once walked together when gathering ideas. And many friends who reached out to help and encourage me, thank you for accompanying me through the snowy nights.

[hyperfixatedhells]

hyperspecific sso nostalgia

"you have taken a dangerous fall" or falling off of a cliff so many times that you get taken back to your stable. also the screen turning red when this happened.

magic horses only turning magic if theyre away from civilization.

having to spam W or else your horse will slow down.

waiting for the bus and using the bus ticket.

using the circus ticket.

having to drag and drop items from your inventory.

jojo siwa at the disco.

spirit around jorvik.

collecting the stars and being so excited upon finding one.

certain horses being cold tolerant, [fjord, icelandic, etc] the others slowing down upon entering the valley of the hidden dinosaur.

finding gary goldtooth in the middle of nowhere.

low quality saddle bag pets and that stupid torn saddle bag.

not being able to stack items.

having to build reputation to progress.

the saving nightdust quest.

april fools updates, especially the 2016 supershire.

the summer bonfire event, the birthday event, the st. patricks day event, all of the holiday and seasonal events.

how the areas would be decorated for valentines day, easter, etc.

those things that would temporarily change your starter horses coat into all sorts of wacky things.

the barrel race in moorland.

the old filter.

the trailers being star rider only.

the closets being star rider only.

jumping being star rider only, and justin teaching you how to jump.

no jumping in towns/cities.

the original home stable.

waiting for the fairies and just BARELY missing it.

the baronesses racetrack being under construction for SO LONG.

jorvik not having any snow during christmas.

the 2017 character update and the ORIGINAL original character, plus the original weird looking starter horse.

horse island.

unnamed stable girl, the one that came before maya.

all of the old npcs.

when you enter a new area, the name of it would flash in the middle of your screen.

speed boosts on roads.

star stable news with ylva and matilda.

the loading screen stable cat who gave you tips.

the kallters.

having to build your reputation with the hermit to buy his horses and having to build your reputation with the kallters to buy fjord horses.

the iceberg and the seals.

the clothing and tack being basically unidentifiable until you hovered over them, because the items just had a gray or gold icon with what the item actually classified as. [aka what it looks like on mobile]

the fort pinta shark.

the global store not being around and having to buy things directly from the shops or the mall.

the infamous purple car and bulldozer that would run you over.

having to fill your houses needs multiple times a day plus the little smiley face mood thingy.

only being able to care for your horse near stables.

only having three uses for your water bucket.

unused furniture.

starshine roaming around greendale.

the "glue man" and the little girl in your stable singing during halloween.

wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

the chat filter being called phil.

stacy place oh god stacy place. also archie fails

all of the star stable commercials and ads, especially that one fucking disney channel commercial.

please add your own nostalgias onto this post i would love to hear them

[fanfictionalraven]

Promises

Title: Promises

Summary: You and Dean had promised each other you'd always be there, no matter what. But when Sam falls into the pit, Dean runs to someone else.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, others mentioned

Word Count: 3,754

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of character death

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published October, 2017. Italics are flashbacks.

You run your hand over your face as you stare at the computer screen in front of you. This motel’s wi-fi sucked. You’d been waiting on this same page to load for five minutes now. Rising from the chair, you pull your jacket on. If it was going to be this slow, you were gonna go get a drink.

You make your way to the door, straightening out the collar of your jacket. You grab your keys and pull the door open, jumping back at what’s waiting on the other side. Your hand instinctively flinches for the gun tucked into the back of your jeans before you stop yourself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask, more venom in your words than you had really intended.

“Hello to you too,” Dean Winchester snaps, the hand he had raised to knock falling to his side. It had been well over a year since you had seen or even spoken to Dean.

The two of you had practically grown up together. Your fathers had left you both at Bobby’s often and you considered the Winchesters family. You, Dean, and Sam had been through so much together but there was no denying you had been closer to the older brother. You were there for him through everything. Sam going to college. John dying. Sam dying. You’d watched him get dragged to Hell and were there as soon as he came back. You had been fully prepared to pull him through Sam falling into the pit. But Dean didn’t pick you. He’d picked her.

Lucifer had just blown Castiel into chunks before throwing Dean into the windshield of the Impala. Bobby shoots at him and with the flick of his wrist, Lucifer snaps his neck.

“Bobby!!” You scream out, moving towards his body quickly. You sob as your hands ghost over his neck, knowing there’s nothing you can do. Lucifer begins to punch Dean repeatedly. You rise to your feet and take a step to run and help him. Lucifer holds up a hand, freezing you to the place.

“No,” Dean chokes out, spitting up blood. Lucifer lets out a laugh as you attempt to move.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to kill her yet. It’ll be more fun to make her watch me kill the man she loves with my bare hands,” he says.

You call out and sob, completely useless as Lucifer uses Sam’s hands to beat his brother within an inch of his life. Dean can barely see as he tells Sam it’ll be okay. Something snaps inside Sam. He regains control, grabs Michael, and the two tumble into the pit.

Once the pit closes up again, you’re released from the place you’d been standing. You rush to Dean’s side, quickly assessing his injuries. Cas appears next to you and reaches down, healing Dean instantly. He brings Bobby back as you help Dean to his feet.

The drive back to Bobby’s is quiet. Dean, yourself, and Bobby all ride together in the front seat of the Impala. Dean keeps both hands tight on the steering wheel as he drives. Once he stops the car in front of the house, Bobby gets out leaving the two of you alone. You peel one of Dean’s hands off the wheel and hold it in yours.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, your voice soft and comforting. He shakes his head, staring at the dashboard in front of him. “We’ll get through this.”

“I’m getting out,” he says. Your eyes widen in surprise before you nod.

“Okay. Well – ummm,” you start. Out had never really been in your plans but if that’s what Dean wanted, what Dean needed, then so be it. He pulls his hand away from yours, returning it to the wheel.

“I’m gonna go back to Lisa and Ben,” he says, eyes still forward. You stare at him in disbelief before your cheeks heat up quickly in embarrassment. Lucifer had put your feelings for Dean out there, plain as day. You loved him. But clearly Dean didn’t feel the same way. This was his way of breaking the news to you.

“Oh. Well – that’s, that’s good,” you say, sliding across the seat to the passenger side door. “If you need me, you know how to reach me,” He nods once, his eyes never leaving the dashboard. You couldn’t help the rage that was starting to build. Years of friendship and support and he just seemed to be tossing you aside. “Have a good life,” you tell him as you quickly exit the car. You barely get the door closed again before Dean’s spinning tires, leaving you in his dust.

“How did you find me?” You ask him now, crossing your arms. He rolls his eyes, squeezing into the room past you.

“Bobby always knows where you are,” he says. You frown and curse Bobby internally. Damn traitor.

“I thought you were out,” you say, closing the door as you turn to face him. He looks at your computer screen and raises an eyebrow.

“Was,” he says. “You’re hunting a rugaru by yourself?” He arches an eyebrow at you and you shrug, walking over quickly.

“So what if I am?” You ask, reaching past him to close the laptop.

“Never knew you to be stupid,” he says. Your eyes narrow, anger bubbling in your chest. You hadn’t seen him in over a year. Who did he think he was just barging in here, telling you how to run your own hunts?

“Why are you here, Dean?” You ask. He looks at you and something shifts in his face. It’s a look you know well. He’s worried.

“Sam’s back,” he says. You nod, biting your lip.

“I know,” you tell him. He frowns slightly and you sigh. “I’ve known this whole time. We even worked together – for a little while.”

“So everyone knew my brother wasn’t in Hell except for me,” he says, anger slipping into his words. You roll your eyes.

“You had what you wanted,” you tell him. He stares at you now, disbelieving.

“What I wanted?” He asks. You shrug your shoulders.

“Lisa and Ben, your perfect little normal family,” you sneer, walking past him. He grabs your arm and you look at him quickly.

“The hell is your problem, Y/N?” He asks. You jerk your arm away from him.

“Any time something happened, you ran to me and we faced it head on together. We promised we’d always be there for each other, whatever came. And I was there. Long before…” You stop, biting your lip. You didn’t want to do this. Every fiber of your being was fighting to keep the floodgates closed. Dean Winchester was sure as hell not about to see you crying over him.

“I needed a break, away from the life. I had to try for Sam, or so I thought,” he says. You squeeze your eyes closed, turning away from him. Taking a slow, steadying breath, you regain your composure.

“When Sam came back, I told him we had to tell you. I swear I did, Dean. But he said he’d seen you with Lisa and Ben and that you were happy. The happiest he’d ever seen you,” you tell him. Turning back to face him, you find he appears crestfallen. He looks like he’s struggling to say something before he shakes his head.

“You said you hunted with Sam,” he says. You frown and nod.

“For a little while – couple months maybe,” you tell him. The look on his face changes again, as though he already knows the answer to his next question.

“What happened?” He asks. You bite your lip and look away. “Y/N, I need to know.”

“He almost got me killed. We were on a hunt, a djinn. I can’t prove it but I – I think he let me get captured,” you confess. He nods slightly, watching you.

“I’m pretty sure he let me get turned into a vamp,” he tells you. Your eyes widen slightly before they jump to your bag of weapons open on the bed. Dean catches the movement and shakes his head. “Samuel cured me. Sounds crazy, I know, but you can check me yourself.” You shake your head slightly. “You met Samuel?”

“Your grandfather? Yea, he was a real charmer,” you say, rolling your eyes. Dean lets out a laugh and nods.

“Yea, he’s an ass,” he says. You smile a little then look down.

“Why’d you come?” You ask. He sighs and you look up at him again.

“Wanted a second opinion on Sam. And – ugh – I missed you,” he says. You can hear an added weight to his words. I missed you. His eyes are locked on yours, trying to pass those words’ deeper meaning telepathically. You shake your head, fighting tears once again.

“You picked her, Dean,” is all you can manage to say. He frowns and takes a tentative step towards you.

“I was trying to keep you safe. The people I care about most, they don’t do too good with me around. I couldn’t lose you like I lost Sam. So, I ran,” he admits.

He takes another step forward, closing the distance between the two of you. His hands capture yours and you look up at him. His eyes are soft as they search yours. He leans down slowly and your eyes flutter closed. You feel his nose bump yours gently and his breath, a mix of mint and whiskey, washes over you. At the last possible second, just before his lips touch yours, you find the strength to turn your head away.

“I don’t want to be your backup plan,” you tell him, your voice trembling. He frowns and raises your chin with one finger.

“That’s not what this is,” he says. You shake your head and pull your hands from his, taking a step away.

“That’s how it feels. Now, I’ll help you with Sam cause I’m worried about him too. But we’re just friends like we always were,” you say, picking up your computer.

“We were never just friends,” Dean says, staring at you. You look back at him, fresh tears threatening to spill over. You swallow hard and nod.

“Soon as we figure out what’s wrong with Sam and get it fixed, I’m gone,” you say, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

You meant it. You swore to yourself you’d meant it. The moment Sam was back to his normal self, you were going to be out the door. You weren’t going to slip back into your old routines with Dean. You would sleep on the floor before you’d share the motel bed with him like you used to. The stupid, flirty banter that used to make you think you meant more to him? That wasn’t going to happen either. That was your plan. It was a great plan. You just couldn’t stick to it.

You managed to keep your distance until you got hurt on a hunt. Dean was at your side in an instant, worried as usual. His hands made quick work of removing his flannel shirt. He tied it just above the gash in your leg then lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal style back to the car as Sam finished clearing the nest.

He made Sam drive back to the motel, keeping constant pressure on your wound in the backseat. Sam parks the Impala outside the brothers’ room of the motel. You had your own room, your new normal, but Dean carries you into theirs and carefully deposits you on one of the beds. He reaches for the button on your jeans and you grab at his hands quickly.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and swats your hands away.

“Sammy, get me the –,” he stops short. Sam is already at his side, needle, thread, and a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hands. Your eyes widen and you grab Dean’s hands again. He looks at you, exasperation fading into concern quickly. He knows how much you despise stitches. You were an ass-kicking hunter who had no problem facing a demon or a nest of vampires. But bring out a needle and you were running for the hills. “This isn’t a job for a bandage, Sweetheart. I’ve got you,” Dean reassures you. You groan and lay back on the bed, putting your hands over your face.

Dean unties the shirt he’d been using as a tourniquet and you feel the blood start to rush again. He quickly, but as carefully as he can, pulls your blood-soaked jeans off, handing them to Sam who throws them away. The next sensation causes you to sit upright and scream out. Dean had poured the whiskey onto your wound. He hands the bottle to you quickly and you turn it up before handing it to Sam. You look at Dean’s hands as he threads the needle effortlessly and your stomach churns. You follow his hands with your eyes as they move to your leg. One of his hands comes up, cupping your chin, and forces you to meet his eyes.

“You know the drill. Eyes on me,” he says, his voice calm and comforting. You nod and he presses his lips to your forehead quickly. His eyes drop to your leg momentarily before returning to yours. You feel the tug at your skin of your leg and grimace. “You remember the first time I did this?” He asks. You blink then nod, the memory returning. “Tell me about it.”

“We were just kids,” you start. Your voice is still trembling so you take a couple of deep breaths before continuing. “We were playing in Bobby’s scrapyard, exactly what he’d told us not to do. I fell and cut my arm. We were worried about how mad he was going to be so you said your dad had taught you how to do stitches. You started and I passed out.”

“I thought I’d killed you. I carried you back to Bobby and he finished with your stitches before you woke up,” he continues. His eyes shoot down to your leg between every stitch before returning to your face. “That was when I learned about your needle thing.”

“It’s a phobia, Dean, not a needle thing,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. He chuckles.

“And then I learned to do this,” he says, smiling at you proudly. “Perfect stitches, barely even looking.” He winks at you now and you shake your head.

“Promised you’d always take care of care me that day too,” you say. His smile falls slightly as his eyes drop for a second.

“I remember when Sam brought up the idea of anti-possession tattoos. I’d never seen you so pale,” he says, changing the subject. You groan at that memory and shake your head. “I got you through that too though.”

“You held my hand and kept me distracted,” you say, smiling a little. He nods, his eyes staying on your leg just a second longer before he looks up at you and smiles wider.

“Just like now. All done,” he says. You look down at your leg, surprised. There was a perfect line of needlework across your thigh. You smile and shake your head, looking back at Dean.

“Thank you,” you tell him. He shrugs then rises to his feet.

“You can use our shower to get cleaned up,” he says. You nod and he helps you up from the bed. “You’re staying in our room tonight. I’ll sleep in the chair, I don’t care. But – I’d really like to be able to keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood.” He has an arm around your waist, helping you towards the bathroom.

You didn’t make Dean sleep in the chair that night. And you didn’t get a separate room any longer. After that, everything felt normal again. You and Dean would tease each other mercilessly just like you always had. You’d find yourself wrapped in his arms in the early morning hours just like you always had.

A few things had changed though. He didn’t hit on women in the bars like he used to. Instead, he’d stay close by your side, scaring off any man who dared get too close. Normally, you would have been pissed but suddenly you didn’t mind so much.

In the days that follow, Dean makes some backwards deal with Death in order to get Sam’s soul back. He does it behind your back, knowing you’d try to talk him out of it. The slap he receives when he returns tells him he was right not to tell you. The hug and kiss on the cheek tell him you forgive him immediately.

“Soon as we figure out what’s wrong with Sam and get it fixed, I’m gone.”

Those were your words. Your solemn vow to yourself. And that time was now. Sam’s soul had been restored and he seemed to be adjusting well. You’re in the spare room at Bobby’s, packing your bag. A knock at the door draws your attention.

“Come in,” you call out. The door opens and the younger Winchester walks in, smiling.

“Hey, ummm – I wanted to apologize. Cas told me what I did,” he says. You smile at him and shake your head.

“We’re good, Sam. The djinn was nothing,” you tell him. He frowns more.

“That’s not what I meant although I am definitely sorry for that too,” he says. You raise an eyebrow at him and he sighs. “I made you believe that Dean didn’t want you.”

“Sam, that’s between me and Dean,” you say, looking back at your bag.

“Yea, but if I hadn’t have opened my big soulless mouth, would you have gone to him?” He asks. You sigh and hang your head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know anything anymore honestly,” you say, looking back at him. He smiles a little.

“Well, let me tell you what I know,” he says as he walks over. You sigh and cross your arms causing him laugh. He puts his hands on your shoulders. “I know that you’ve been crazy about Dean since you were 12. I know that he’s wanted you since you went to prom with that Sanchez guy. And I know that you’ve both been running from each other for years,” he says. You shake your head slightly.

“But…”

“Talk to him, Y/N. Please,” Sam says. He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before leaving you alone. You frown and run your hands over your face. Shaking your head again, you turn back to your bag. You hear the door open and the sound of boots walking across the floor.

“Sam, I swear,” you turn and stop short. Dean’s standing just inside the room. He glances at the bag sitting on the bed.

“Sam said you were packing,” he says. You frown and nod slightly.

“He’s back to normal,” you say. His face falls and he shakes his head.

“Don’t go,” he says. “We’re good together, Y/N. And I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You picked her, Dean,” you say, looking at the floor to avoid his eyes.

“It was never because I wanted her more, Y/N. You gotta believe that. I was never fully present there with her. And she knew it. She thought it was Sam or hunting, and part of it was. But it was mostly you,” he says, walking towards you. “By the time I’d realized I’d made a mistake, I couldn’t just leave them. And I didn’t think you’d have me after the way I left either.” You wipe at your cheek, furiously.

“You abandoned me. You weren’t the only one grieving, you know? I mean, I get that he isn’t really my brother but I was hurting too,” you tell him. He frowns and shakes his head quickly.

“No, I know. I know you were and there is no excuse for what I did,” he says, reaching for your hands. You step back, balling your hands into fists at your sides.

“Sam said he saw you. That you were happy. Happier than you’d ever been. Happier than you could have been with – with me,” you say, trying to control your emotions. This was the conversation you had wanted to avoid. You hated letting people see you cry, especially Dean. He drops his hands at his side.

“Sam told you what he knew was going to keep you away from me. Because he knew that if you had shown up on that doorstep, I’d have been back in. In a heartbeat,” he says. “I’ve been happier in the last couple weeks with you than I was the whole year with her, even with the crap that’s been going on.” He tentatively reaches for your hands again and this time you allow him to take them.

“What if she calls?” You ask, still avoiding his eyes. He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts your face to meet his.

“She won’t. It’s over. And even if she does, it won’t matter,” he tells you. You bite your lip, searching his eyes. “I’m not good with words. I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean to me. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes. You name it and it’s yours. You want a dozen roses and a diamond ring or you want me to – to jump off the roof or paint your name on Baby or – or – okay, maybe not anything to do with Baby.” You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, looking away. He smiles, leaning in towards you slightly. Your eyes close as his lips brush against your cheek.

“Me and you?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper. You look back up at him now and he’s smiling at you softly.

“Me and you. Till the end of the road. I promise,” he says. You smile then stand up, pressing your lips against his. Your lips move in perfect sync, like it wasn’t the first time they’d ever met. You feel him smile before he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re staying then?”

“Oh, you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tell him, smirking. He laughs then lifts you up with ease, tossing you back onto the bed behind you.

[goblinontour]

CinemaScope

no camera dolly needed for this film

series masterlist

warnings: soft!dom!alex, smut, oral (m/f receiving), piv

word count: 6.9k

La Frette Studios - France, 2017

The chateau loomed before you, its grandeur almost surreal against the bright and clear sky. It resembled a castle in a way. Yet, the most captivating sight was Alex, leaning in the doorway, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched you take it all in.

He’d let his beard grow out, maybe a bit too much. Thicker and more unruly than usual. It was obvious that he hadn’t bothered to trim it much lately, and while it filled in well around his chin and jawline, the sides of his face remained stubbornly patchy. It gave him a slightly dishevelled look that suited him somehow, adding a ruggedness that made him appear older. 

But when you really looked at him, past the facial hair and the glasses he stubbornly never seemed to want to take off, that familiar baby face of his was still there, hiding beneath the surface. Speaking of glasses, he had these new ones he got on his last trip to this place, when he fell in love with it and decided he had to record here. They had become a near-constant fixture on his face. 

His shirt was a different story. Probably should’ve been thrown out ages ago. The neckline was frayed, barely holding on by a thread from how ripped it had gotten over time from years of wear. But he clung to it, letting it become part of this character he’d built, a mix of his obsessions and eccentricities. You didn’t mind, though. It was all just part of who he was, part of the Alex you adored.

You had never minded his quirks. If anything, you found them endearing. They were part of what made him who he was, and you loved every bit of it. So, as you stood there, taking in the sight of him, in this almost-castle in the French countryside, you couldn’t help but smile. He was all yours.

He had explained how they’d shipped all their equipment here, preparing for the new album recording in France. You’d barely listened, too thrilled at the thought of having him all to yourself for a few precious days before the band arrived.

“Ready to come inside?” he called out, his voice pulling you from your reverie. You nodded, walking towards him, the gravel crunching softly under your feet.

Inside, the chateau was a labyrinth of rooms filled with tech you had no clue about and high ceilings. Alex gave you a brief tour, but your mind was elsewhere, already imagining the mess you’d make the place. No distractions, just the two of you. In a fucking castle. In the middle of nowhere France. 

As you reached the heart of the building, Alex turned to you, his eyes softening. “It’s just us for now.” he said, his voice low and inviting. You felt a flutter of excitement. The space felt almost too grand for what you knew would happen sooner or later. You had just a few days until you’d have to leave and you’d be apart for who knows how long it would take them to finish everything up. 

He led you to a cosy enough sitting room, its large windows overlooking the sprawling gardens. Instruments were arranged all over the place, waiting for the creative process to begin, but for now, it was just background noise.

“Did I tell you I wanna get into directing some stuff?” Alex asked, his voice casual as he perched on the arm of the chair where you’d settled in.

“You didn’t.” you replied, looking up at him, curiosity piqued.

He leaned forward slightly, fingers idly playing with the hair on his chin, smoothing it down as he spoke. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. There’s something about creating a visual narrative that really excites me. But…” He trailed off, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll need some practice.”

“Hmm?” you murmured, encouraging him to continue. There was something in his tone that made you suspect he had a plan in mind.

He slid off the arm of the chair, walking over to where his bag lay discarded on the floor. You watched as he crouched down, rifling through its contents with a kind of casual focus that was so typically him. After a moment, he straightened up, holding something in his hand. A relatively small, very old looking camera. Turning back to you, he flashed a grin, his eyes gleaming. 

“I wanted to ask if you’d help me out.” he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost conspiratorial tone he used when he was up to something. He walked back over, standing in front of you, the camera dangling from his fingers. “If you would be so kind as to be ma muse.” he added, his attempt at French charmingly imperfect, still laced with his unmistakable Sheffield accent.

You couldn’t help but smile at his request, the idea of him directing something suddenly feeling so perfectly suited to him. “What exactly are you planning, Turner?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice.

He tilted his head slightly, contemplating how to respond. “Well,” he began, slipping into that thoughtful demeanour, “I’ve got this place, right? This castle…in the middle of nowhere. And I’ve got you.” He gave you a pointed look, his expression softening. “Seems like the perfect setting for something quite...cinematic.”

You laughed softly, the idea of turning these few days of solitude into something more intentional, more ‘creative’, appealing to you. “So, what kind of ‘directing’ are we talking about?” you teased, already half-knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Nothing too complicated.” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Just…capturing you. Us. The way we are right now, in this moment.” He paused, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “Think of it as…documenting our time together. Something we can look back on when we’re apart.”

The flutter of excitement from earlier intensified, mixing with a warmth that spread through your chest. You could picture it, all the intimate moments you’d share regardless, immortalised on film, something tangible to hold onto during the long stretches when you couldn’t be together.

You nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation build as he moved to adjust the camera in his hands. “Alright, director.” you said, leaning back into the chair, your eyes still on him. “Where do we start?”

He grinned, the excitement in his eyes mirrored in yours. “Let’s start right here.” he said, bringing the camera up to eye level, the lens focusing on you. “Just be yourself. That’s all I need.”

He began filming, the camera capturing every detail as you sat there. You held his gaze, feeling a mix of curiosity and nerves. After a moment, you broke into a soft laugh. “I’m not an actress, you know.” you said, your voice light, though your words lingered with a bit of self-consciousness. 

Alex chuckled softly as he lowered the camera slightly, peering at you over the top with a playful glint in his eye. “That’s alright,” he said, his tone playful, “I’ll give you some directions then. How’s that sound?”

“Alright.” you agreed, placing your hands on your knees as you sat up a little straighter, preparing yourself for whatever he had in mind.

He glanced around the room before his eyes settled on the large, almost floor-to-ceiling French windows that stretched along the wall behind you. “Start by opening those up.” he instructed, nodding toward them. “Go and open up the windows for me, dolly.”

You stood, feeling the camera following your every move, but paused for a moment, turning to face him fully. “What’s up with that nickname?” you asked, a playful challenge in your voice. He’d been calling you ‘dolly’ for the past couple of weeks now, seemingly out of nowhere.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I just like it.” he replied, as if that was enough explanation. “It suits you.” He brought the camera back up, aiming it at you once more. “Now, you should probably follow the director’s orders, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but there was a smile on your face as you turned back toward the windows. The nickname had grown on you, and though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you liked the way it sounded coming from him. 

The windows were tall and elegant, the kind you’d expect to find in a place like this, and as you reached for the handles, you couldn’t resist looking back at him over your shoulder. He was still filming, his focus entirely on you. You grasped the handles, feeling the cool metal under your palms, and slowly pushed the windows open, letting the outside world seep into the room.

“What was that for?” you asked, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

He lowered the camera just enough to meet your gaze directly, his expression still playful but now laced with a subtle edge. “I want to make sure that, if anyone walks by, they’ll hear you later.” he said. 

The implication of his words sent a thrill down your spine. The game had begun, and you were more than ready to play along.

“Now,” he continued, his tone commanding but still soft, “Undress yourself. But make it pretty.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you toyed with the little bow at the front of your blouse. “So, you’re saying I’m not already pretty?” you asked, drawing out the words, knowing full well what you were doing.

He gave you a look, that look, the kind that sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. “Just keep going.” he murmured, his voice holding that edge of authority you found impossible to resist.

Slowly, you pulled on the strings of the bow, feeling the tension release as it came undone. You could sense the lens of the camera following your every movement, and it made you even more aware of how you were presenting yourself. You grasped the hem of your blouse, your fingers brushing against your skin as you began to lift it over your head. The fabric slid up, revealing the lacy bra underneath, delicately sitting against your skin.

A low whistle escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction. You could hear the soft whir of the camera lens adjusting, zooming in closer, no doubt focusing on your chest.

“Are you zooming in on my boobs, you old perv?” you teased, half laughing, enjoying the banter as much as the moment itself.

“Hey, hey, easy there. Play nice.” he shot back, though there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

You held his gaze, the game now fully in motion, both of you aware of the dance you were performing, each step thought out, each word a part of the intricate choreography between you. 

With a playful smirk, you reached for the waistband of your pants, fingers slipping under the fabric. You made a show of it, moving slowly, sliding the material down your legs with deliberate care, knowing his eyes, and the camera, were on you the entire time. You stepped out of the pants, letting them fall to the floor beside you, then turned back toward the chair.

You sat down gracefully, crossing one leg over the other, feeling the cool leather against your skin. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding up your body, grazing over your hips, up your stomach, and finally, to your chest. You pushed your breasts together, leaning forward just enough to give him the best possible view, the kind that would make the lens zoom in on its own if it could. He followed your every move, the camera capturing each subtle shift, every rise and fall of your breath. The thrill of being watched, of knowing exactly how much control you had over the scene, sent a rush of heat through you.

You reached behind your back, fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. With a flick, it came undone, the fabric loosening around you. You caught it in your hand, holding it up as it swung in the air before tossing it toward him. Even with the camera in hand, Alex managed to keep it steady, his other hand effortlessly catching the bra midair before tossing it over his shoulder with a grin.

“What now, mister director?” you asked, leaning back in the chair, your hands gripping the armrests, chest pushed out, fully exposed.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still on you, but his tone shifted, deeper and more serious. “You can call me Alexander.”

You smiled, enjoying the game even more. “My dear Alexander,” you began, voice dripping with mock formality, “I think it’s your turn.”

“Is it now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the shift in dynamics. “Really?”

“Well…” you said, a playful edge to your voice, “I wanna have something to look back on too.” A grin spread across your face as an idea formed. “Give me the camera.” you demanded, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitated for a moment, looking at you with a mix of amusement and mock reluctance. “Just so you know,” he said as he handed the camera over, “You’re not getting any directing credits.”

“Sure, sure.” you said, waving off his words. “Now, get on with it and get naked. I don’t need it to be ‘pretty’.”

He stepped back a bit, but you quickly stopped him. “No, no. Step back a little more.” you instructed, adjusting the focus as he complied, moving further away so you could catch him fully in the frame.

He grabbed the hem of his tattered t-shirt, and with one smooth motion, pulled it over his head. The fabric caught on the rip at the neckline, and he spun it around on his finger with a flourish, giving you a cheeky grin before tossing it in your direction, mimicking how you’d thrown your bra at him earlier.

He held out his hand, signalling for the camera, but you shook your head, holding it just out of his grasp. “Nuh-uh. Pants too.” you insisted. 

“Right…égalité.” he muttered with a smirk, his fingers already fiddling with the buckle of his belt. It took him a moment to get the hang of it, but soon he was sliding the belt out from the loops, whipping it between his hands with a satisfying snap a couple of times before stepping closer to you.

You were about to interrupt him again, but he shot you a look. “Don’t boss me around.” he warned, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

With that, he placed the belt on the back of the chair, right next to where you sat. “Keeping it close…just in case.” he added with a wink before walking back to his spot, that same smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he began to take off his pants.

You watched through the camera. They were loose on him, too loose, a good few sizes too big, barely hanging onto his hips without the belt’s help. But they were still obscuring your view of the parts you really wanted to see. 

He unbuttoned and unzipped them, letting the heavy fabric slide down his legs and pool around his ankles. But then, as he stepped out of them and stood tall again, your focus was drawn down, your breath catching in your throat. With the camera zoomed in on the bulge straining against the thin fabric of his underwear, the outline was unmistakable.

He rested a hand on his hip, that familiar smirk playing on his lips as he looked at you. But you didn’t see that. Your attention was entirely on what the camera’s viewfinder showed you. Every detail magnified, every inch of him hard and ready beneath the material that barely concealed him.

“Wow.” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes still glued to the screen. 

His smirk widened, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What?”

You finally pulled your gaze away from the viewfinder, looking up at him. “If I had a dick, I’d be hard right now looking at you.” you admitted, half-joking, but the way your voice wavered at the end betrayed just how affected you were.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound filling the room and somehow making the air between you both thicker. “Well, that’s good to know.” he teased, reaching out to take the camera from your hands. This time, you didn’t resist, letting him take it with ease.

He flipped it around, aiming it at you. The change in perspective made your breath hitch as he loomed over you, the weight of his presence pressing down, making you feel small, vulnerable under his gaze.

He shifted closer, one hand still holding the camera while the other reached out to you, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, then slowly slid down, skimming over your lips. He paused there, the rough pad of his thumb lingering on your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly. “Open wide.” he murmured, his voice husky with intent.

You obeyed, parting your lips, heart pounding as his thumb slipped into your mouth. The camera wobbled slightly as he adjusted his grip, trying to find the right angle to capture both of you. His eyes flicked from the lens back to you, a gleam of satisfaction in them as he extended his arm out, struggling to hopefully get everything in the frame.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, his face inches from yours. He spat into your mouth, the action slow, a display of control and intimacy. His thumb still rested on your lip as he watched your reaction, the camera forgotten for a moment as his gaze bore into you. 

Alex shifted the camera’s focus back to capturing just you, the lens zooming in closer, capturing every detail of your expression. He was meticulous, making sure the angle was just right. “I’m gonna do it again.” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a playful command. “Just to be sure I get it right.”

You nodded slightly, your heart pounding in anticipation. Slowly, you stuck your tongue out, offering yourself up to him without hesitation. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, the smirk on his face replaced by something more intense.

This time, the spit was harsher, more forceful as it landed on your tongue. Before you had a chance to close your mouth, before you could even think to swallow, he acted. In a swift motion, Alex slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing them past your lips and deeper, further than you expected. 

The sudden invasion made your eyes widen, your breath catching as he pressed down on your tongue, guiding his fingers toward the back of your throat. The sensation was overwhelming, your senses bombarded all at once by the taste of him, the roughness of his skin, the force of his touch.

You instinctively wrapped your lips around his fingers, the warmth of your mouth enveloping them as you tried to adjust to the feeling, to the sheer boldness of his. He watched you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression one of satisfaction as he eased his fingers deeper, coaxing you into submission.

“Ah, there we go, there we go…” he murmured, his voice low and approving, each word sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers pressed further, testing your limits, the slight stretch making your eyes water. “You look very pretty.” he added, his tone soft but commanding, as if he were admiring a piece of art he’d just perfected.

He pushed just a little deeper, his breath hitching slightly as he watched your reaction, the way you took him in. “Très jolie.” he whispered, the French words rolling off his tongue with a quiet reverence, as if he were acknowledging your effort.

He slid his fingers out of your mouth slowly, the sensation leaving a lingering tingle on your lips. As they slipped free, he gave you a quick, almost playful tap on the cheek. A silent acknowledgment, a “good job” without the words. The gesture was brief, but it sent a warm flush through you, a feeling of pride curling in your stomach.

He adjusted his grip on the camera, holding it steady in one hand as he hooked his thumb into the waistband of his underwear. He shuffled out of them, the fabric sliding down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. Your eyes were locked on him, watching intently as his cock bobbed up once it was freed, thick and hard, the skin flushed with need.

Instinctively, you reached out, your hand moving to touch him, to feel the heat of him in your palm. But before you could make contact, he pulled back slightly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he grasped himself instead. The sight of him holding his cock, stroking it lightly while still keeping the camera trained on you, sent a fresh wave of wetness rushing through you.

“Get down.” he instructed, his voice firm. 

You scrambled to obey, quickly slipping off the chair and dropping to your knees in front of him. The cool floor was a stark contrast to the heat building inside you, but you barely noticed, too focused on him, on the way he looked down at you, the camera capturing every moment.

Your hands rested on your knees, a deliberate choice as you remembered his earlier words: “Make it pretty”. You held his gaze, your heart racing, as you waited for his next move, eager to show him just how well you could follow instructions.

Alex guided his cock to your lips, the tip brushing over them with intentional slowness, teasing you, testing your restraint. The weight of it, the heat, made your lips part instinctively, but he didn’t let you take him in just yet. He lingered there, savouring the moment before he spoke, his voice a low command, “You can suck it now.”

You didn’t hesitate, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the pulsing warmth beneath your fingers. You leaned forward, letting your lips slide over the head, taking him into your mouth. The taste of him filled your senses as you sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks to create a soft, warm pressure. You glanced up at him, seeking approval, but he tapped a finger on the camera he held just above you.

“Look there.” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You shifted your gaze to the lens, the cold glass reflecting your flushed face as you focused on pleasing him. For a moment, he let you take control, your hand moving in time with your mouth as you worked him over, exploring the smooth, velvety skin, the way he pulsed against your tongue. You could hear his breathing change, a quiet approval that fueled your movements.

But then, his hand brushed yours away, taking hold of his cock himself. You felt a surge of anticipation as he took over, his hips thrusting forward in a steady, unyielding rhythm. He drove himself deeper into your mouth, pushing past your comfort zone, until you felt the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The sudden force made you choke, your throat constricting around him as you fought to keep up, to take him as deeply as he wanted.

A few tears welled up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks as you struggled to adjust, to breathe around the fullness of him. Sensing your struggle, he pulled out abruptly, the sudden emptiness almost as jarring as the force of his thrusts.

“What’s the matter, dolly?” he asked, his voice laced with mock concern as he used his fingers to wipe away the stray tears that clung to your lashes.

“Wasn’t ready.” you managed to gasp, your voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened, but only slightly. “Be ready…action.” he ordered as he guided himself back to your mouth, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips once more. “Take it properly. Make me proud.”

You swallowed down your nerves, opening wide and bracing yourself as he slid back in. This time, you were prepared, your throat relaxing as best as it could to accommodate him. His grip tightened in your hair as he began to thrust again, deep and demanding, each movement forcing you to take more of him, to push yourself further for his satisfaction.

He began to fuck into your mouth with a steady rhythm, brushing the back of your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t too fast or rough, just enough to make your throat tickle each time he reached that sensitive spot. The sensation was overwhelming but in a way that made you want more, made you want to take him deeper, to prove you could handle it.

But just as you found a rhythm, just as your body started to adjust, he pulled out abruptly. The sudden emptiness made you gasp for air again, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. A thin strand of spit still connected you to him, a glistening thread that hung in the air between you. Alex smirked as he reached down, breaking the strand off with his hand, watching as it fell away.

He shifted the camera, angling it down at his cock, capturing the wetness your mouth had left on him. He stroked himself slowly, letting the lens see every detail, every glistening drop, every slick slide of his hand over his length. 

“That was good.” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice satisfied as he stopped the recording momentarily.

He set the camera down on the small coffee table nearby, placing it carefully as if it were something precious. Then he turned away, walking through the room with an almost aimless air, his gaze drifting over the furniture, the walls, as if he were inspecting something, or maybe just lost in thought.

You seized the opportunity, reaching for the camera with a quiet determination. You couldn’t resist, not with the way he’d looked, not with the lingering taste of him still on your lips. You brought the camera up, filming him as he moved, the lens capturing the lines of his body, the tension in his muscles, the way he carried himself with that same effortlessness.

He noticed the camera on him and turned around, his eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “Where do you wanna fuck?” he asked, his tone casual, like it was just another decision to be made.

You met his gaze through the viewfinder, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You tell me, mister director,” you teased, drawing out the last words before adding, “Alexander.”

The name lingered in the air between you, and you saw the flash of something in his eyes. Approval. Desire. Maybe a bit of both. He took a step closer, his expression shifting as the roles reversed again, the director now back in control.

“Okay.” he said with a thoughtful nod, acting like he was making a very important decision. “I want to fuck you on the piano.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What piano?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“There’s the big one in the other room.” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before you could ask anything else, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take the camera from you. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that the anticipation between you hummed like electricity.

“Come on.” he urged with a smirk, stepping back just enough to let you move past him. “Ladies first.”

You hesitated only for a moment before you started walking, the idea of what was to come spurring you forward. As you walked, you couldn’t resist the urge to look back over your shoulder. He was right behind you, but instead of keeping pace, he had slowed down, deliberately falling behind so he could get a better angle. 

The camera was trained on you, the lens fixed on your ass as you moved through the room. His eyes, too, were glued to the sight of you, the weight of his gaze a palpable thing, making your skin tingle. The way he watched you, the way he filmed you, was almost as intimate as his touch, as he was capturing every moment, every movement for himself, for later.

The anticipation curled tighter inside you, your breath hitching as you felt the growing heat of his attention. You couldn’t help but sway your hips a little more with each step, knowing he was watching, knowing the camera was catching every detail. You reached the doorway to the other room and paused, looking back at him again, your lips curving into a playful smile as you caught him red-handed.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, though the question was more a statement of fact than anything else.

He didn’t answer, but the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was enough to tell you that he was, indeed, enjoying every second of it. He motioned for you to keep going, the camera still focused on you, capturing the way the light played off your skin as you led the way to the piano, your pulse quickening with each step.

You stepped up to the piano, eyes drawn to it and the way it was dominating the space. Curious, you pressed a couple of the ivory keys, the sound that emerged surprisingly not too horrible to your untrained ears, though it was clear you had no idea what you were doing. Music had never been your forte, despite quite literally dating a musician. 

Alex followed close behind, and as you turned to face him, he carefully closed the fall board over the keys with a soft click, ensuring there would be no more accidental notes interrupting what was about to happen. He placed the camera down gently on the closed lid, abandoning it for a moment as he focused on a more important task.

His hands found your hips, the touch firm and almost possessive as he pulled you against him, sliding back to cup your ass in his palms. He squeezed, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp softly, the sensation shooting straight through you. Then he kissed you, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that made your knees weaken, his tongue slipping into your mouth, claiming you as he pulled you even closer. You could feel his fingers teasing the lace trim of your panties, slipping just underneath the fabric, feeling the soft skin beneath. 

He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as he whispered, “You know I always think you’re pretty, right?”

The words were simple, but the way he said them made your heart skip a beat. You barely had time to nod before he was guiding you backward, his hands steady and sure as he led you toward the edge of the piano. The cool wood pressed against your skin as he continued to nudge you back, his hands never leaving your body.

“Sit.” he encouraged, his voice a quiet command that sent a thrill down your spine.

With a gentle push, he encouraged you to sit on it, helping you up. The edge dug slightly into the back of your thighs as you shuffled back, moving until you were sitting properly. The piano’s surface was smooth beneath you, a stark contrast to the rough need simmering. He stood between your legs, his gaze fixed on you, his hands still on your hips. 

He grabbed the camera once more, bringing it up to capture every detail of the moment as his hand slid down your chest. His touch was slow, tracing the curve of your breasts, before pushing you back gently, encouraging you to lie down on the cool, polished surface. The slight pressure of his hand guided you, your back meeting the smooth wood. 

His hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over your stomach until they reached the hem of your panties. He paused there, his eyes following the movement of his hand as he toyed with the tiny pink bow in the middle, twisting it between his fingers with a playful smirk. The sight of his large hand playing with that delicate detail made your breath hitch, anticipation building as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and began to tug them down your legs.

As they reached your ankles, he caught them before they could fall to the floor. Carefully, he placed the white lace on the surface next to you, adding to the visual allure of the scene.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he put the camera down again, ready to focus on you, needing both hands free to devote all of his attention to you. But you reached for it before he could. You couldn’t resist the urge to take control for a moment, to see the world through the lens as he saw it. 

He didn't seem to mind. In fact, the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, approving smirk as he lowered himself to kiss the inside of your thigh. You adjusted the camera, pointing it down at him as he leaned in, his lips making contact with the inside of your thigh.

The sensation of his beard against your skin was both rough and tantalisingly soft. You could feel the rasp of it as he kissed his way up your inner thigh. 

When his lips finally met your core, he left a soft kiss there. The intimacy of the moment was magnified through the lens, the camera capturing the way he looked up at you, as he held your gaze through the viewfinder. 

He didn’t hesitate as he began to lick at you, his tongue moving with an unhurried precision that made your whole body tense with pleasure. His hands held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he worked. The sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but writhe beneath him, your back arching slightly off the piano as the pressure built inside you.

You managed to gasp out a question between breathless moans. “When do we get to the climax of the plot?”

He paused just long enough to lift his head, a smirk playing on his glistening lips. “Have patience, baby,” he murmured, “I need this.”

With that, he dove back in, his mouth reclaiming its place against your core. This time, his movements were more intense, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at you with a hunger that left you gasping. 

Each stroke of his tongue, each subtle change in pressure, was designed to drive you wild, to draw out your pleasure until you were trembling under him. The heat in his eyes matched the fire in your belly. You couldn’t look away. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as you instinctively tried to buck against him, your body desperate for more, for everything. 

The need in his eyes mirrored the need building inside you, the pressure mounting. It was almost unbearable, the way he kept you on the edge, pushing you closer and closer to the brink without letting you fall over. But even as the desperation clawed at you, you couldn’t help but give in, letting him take what he needed. 

Alex snatched the camera back from you with a quick motion, the lens focusing intently as he pulled back, capturing the view of the wet mess that had pooled at your entrance. His fingers moved over the slick, glistening folds, spreading the moisture around with a slowness that made you squirm.

“Will you talk to me in French while you fuck me?” you teased.

He glanced up, a smirk on his lips. “I don’t even know how you say ‘fuck’ in French.” he replied with a playful shrug, his gaze shifting back to the viewfinder.

As he spoke, he guided his cock to your pussy, his eyes locked on the camera as he filmed the moment. He positioned himself carefully, his thick head pressing against your entrance as he started to push inside. The lens captured every detail, the way he stretched you, the slow motion of his cock sliding into you.

“Fuck.” he moaned as he finally entered you, the sound of his voice mixed with the low, guttural pleasure he felt from the tight, warm embrace of your body. 

He continued to film, holding the camera as steady as he could as he began to thrust, the details of your connection laid bare for the lens to see. The combination of his body’s rhythm and the camera’s unblinking gaze made the scene even more intense, every sound and sight magnified as he lost himself in the feeling of you, in the undeniable connection between you both.

“Oh god.” Alex groaned.

In his haze, he set the camera down, but the action was rougher than intended, the device slamming onto the piano with a loud thud. Neither of you cared, too caught up in the moment.

He reached for you, strong hands pulling you up from the smooth surface of the piano until your chest was flush against his. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles locking behind him as you clung to his shoulders. His grip on you was firm, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while the other supported you under your thigh. 

Without a word, he started moving back, his cock still buried deep inside you. The room seemed to spin slightly, your senses overloaded as he carried you with ease. As he walked away, he reached out to turn the camera slightly from where it had landed, a half-hearted attempt to capture more of what was happening. But you could see the shift in his focus, the way he no longer cared as much about the filming. He was too consumed by the feel of you wrapped around him.

He moved until his back hit the wall with a solid thud, the impact making you gasp against his neck. With his body braced against the wall, his hands freed up to grip your hips tightly, he began to thrust into you again. The change in angle meant he could get deeper. And you clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you moaned his name. 

The pace he set was relentless now, fast and rough, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, his groans filling your ear as he pounded into you, each thrust bringing you both closer to release.

It consumed you both, everything narrowing down to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of your breathless moans, and the way your bodies moved together. The tension built with every stroke, every frantic heartbeat, until there was nothing left but the inevitable release that came crashing down over you both.

You buried your head under his chin, seeking comfort in his closeness and he took the opportunity to press his face in your hair, his breath mingling with the scent of your skin. The moment was a blur, highlighted by his body shuddering as he let out a soft groan, the warmth of his release flooding inside you. You could feel the wet mess already beginning to slide down your legs, mingling with the sweat that dripped down both your thighs and his, though it was hard to tell what was what in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t discern whether it was his cum or simply sweat dampening his legs, but he didn’t care either way.

His knees nearly gave out, and for a moment, it seemed like he might drop you. But he quickly adjusted his grip with a grunt, his arms tightening around you as he carefully lowered himself to the floor. You landed on his lap, the sudden shift making you acutely aware of the pulsing warmth of his cock, which had slipped out but was still pressing against your thigh, making you aware of every subtle twitch. 

Despite the mess and the precariousness of the position, he didn’t move you. His breathing was ragged, the exertion of the moment evident in every breath he took. As he steadied himself, catching his breath, he looked down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion.

“And…cut.” he said, his voice a little breathless but still carrying that familiar authoritative tone. The command was as much a signal of the end of the recording session as it was a release of the tension that had built up. The camera was still rolling, capturing the aftermath of the scene. 

a/n: i don’t like how this turned out. i guess it’s alright but meh.

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

[autisticgirliesbracket]

Autistic Girlies Bracket!

It is a sad truth that autism barely sees representation in media. Even if it does, the character presented on-screen is usually a young boy DESPITE the fact that your gender does not effect your likelihood to have been born autistic.

Which is why this bracket strives to highlight all the canon autistic and autistic-coded girlies out there in media!! And then pit them against each other to prove who is the girlie of all time <3

Another bracket by the host of @adhdvsautismbracket

Inspired by my fellow awesome Tumblr pollers including (but not limited to): @weirdgirlshowdown @insanepoll @artificialkids-2k23-official @sapphiccharacterstournament @beefy-babe-showdown @disabilityshowdown @adhdswagcompetition @pruechaosbracket @goldenretrieverguybracket

Submissions are CLOSED.

Rules:

Do not submit real people/actors/YouTubers/ect. (this includes VTubers and MCYT roleplay)

You can submit multiple characters, but no not submit the same character multiple times.

Please use the form to submit one character at a time (for the sake of organisation and my sanity). Characters submitted via the ask box will not be counted.

Characters do not need to be 'canon' to submit them. This competition will mostly be about autistic-coded characters because canon rep is so rare.

Characters do need to be a girl/woman/girl-aligned to submit them. I probably won't be too strict with this rule and if you're unsure please feel free to send me an ask.

One character per piece of media will be allowed into the competition.

Don't be ableist.

Any questions, feel free to direct these to my inbox!

Under the cut are some characters that are automatically accepted into the initial bracket because I think they deserve to be there, but feel free to give these girlies extra nominations anyway:

Webby Vanderquack from Ducktales 2017

Norma Khan from Dead End Paranormal Park

Delmin from Show by Rock!! Mashumairesh

Wolf from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts

Percival "Percy" King from Epithet Erased

Lunella Lafayette from Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur

Sucrose from Genshin Impact

Twyla Boogeyman from Monster High (G3)

[harasharaved]

Jason Todd Fics - September 2023

Fics I recommend with a focus on or POV of Jason Todd. Masterpost can be found here.

Key: Has a ship or romantic plot, unfinished, multi-chapter, one-shot

NOTE: some of these do require an AO3 Account to read.

Whisper Closely in My Ear by Kangarou

The words went in one ear, rattled around like bees, before ramming out the other. The doctor was sitting painfully close, only two feet away. The tone of voice implied he was talking louder, not quite a yell but something nearly there; it sounded like a whisper to Jason. So quiet, with every third word unintelligible, except for that first phrase: "Mr Wayne, I'm afraid you're profoundly deaf." --- Jason is profoundly deaf. He learns to cope with it.

An AU in which Jason is deaf. This is one of my favorite Jason fics. I often find myself coming back to it. Its a great character study, introspective and has that delicious kind of hurt you just want to sit with for a while, with a helping dollop of comfort.

Children Will Listen by Parker Avenue

Jason Todd is good at extortion. He's what the adults call a snoop - nobody paid attention to the little kid with the big ears. Without even realizing, adults would hand him the keys to getting what he needed. Jason knew how to collect information, because adults found information valuable. And it was. It was free, easy to get, and easy to carry, so long as he kept his head clear and his facts straight. Jason had information Batman could use. He knew it. He had thought it over all day, sitting on that moldy couch, eating stale saltines. Batman would definitely be interested in the information Jason had. Batman had become scary again, like the old stories Jason used to hear the goons in the area tell. Breaking bones, just barely keeping people alive. Batman didn’t kill, no, but sometimes? Sometimes living was worse, maybe. Jason stayed crouched behind that dumpster, silent, because he simply couldn’t decide if Batman was far gone enough to make a kid wish he was dead. (Jason Todd knows how to get what he wants, and Batman tries to lure him to safety.)

Okay I will admit, my biggest weakness is fics about street kid Jason. Slow adoption got me good. Anyways, this one isn't finished but I love the way the pacing takes its time. Co-parents Bruce and Selina is never a con either!

Stargazer by LemonadeGarden

Jason Todd is seriously injured during patrol one night, and is forced to stay at the manor to recuperate until his injuries are healed. To pass the time, he makes a list of things he never got to do before he died. Except there's one small problem: most of them involve Bruce, and Jason doesn't really think Bruce cares all that much about him anymore. This is a story about how wrong he is, but I made it sad anyway.

I'm sure everyone and their mother has rec'd this fic, but I'm doing it anyways because I love it deeply. If you haven't read it, this is your sign!

Glow in the Dark Stars by essspressso (stylesmakethefight)

“I’m being serious, asshat,” Jason hisses, swatting his hands away from his face. “You have to tell me what year it is.” Nightwing crosses his arms a little petulantly. “It’s 2017. Happy?” Jason freezes, breath catching in his throat. 2017. Five years ago. He was…he was fifteen. “Shit,” he murmurs. He’s going to eviscerate Tim. Or: Red Hood Jason and 15-year-old Jason swap timelines, landing one week before 15-year-old Jason is supposed to die.

Time travel trope + Jason Todd's tragic ass life = amazing fics. Feelings, prepare to be felt! LOTS of Angst. You might even shed a tear. Wonderful fic!

Too Much Fucking Salt by Pez_The_Platypus

A rural housewife instinctively understood the law of quantity into quality. Add a pinch of salt to a soup and it tasted better; add one pinch too many and you ruined the batch. Jason had been in limbo for a year and a half, trusting things would get better even though everything just seemed to be getting worse. It was something small that set him off, but really, it was an accumulation of a lot of things that led to this. He was going to kill the Joker.

A one shot, but a LONG one. This one is very sad, heavy, and bittersweet. Its not Bruce or Dick "bashing", it provides a pretty well rounded and human description of them, which is to say they are not angels. Still, if you love pondering the tragedy of Jason Todd and themes of coping with trauma and the inherent grating sensation of trying to heal, this is a great fic for you.

YOU MUST KNOW LIFE TO KNOW DECAY by orpheusaki

Bruce starts, eyes glaring down at the city and unwilling to look anywhere else, especially in Jason's direction, "You always… hated the rain." Jason's breath gets caught in his throat. (For as long as Jason can remember, it's always been raining.)

Jason angst and character study rooted in comic-accuracy. Great short read!

This Kind of Weather by r_astra

Jason’s at school when his mom dies, and that’s the only reason any of it happens. If he’d been home, if he’d been with her, he would’ve been in the wind before anyone else even knew. Even if they looked, no one ever would’ve found him. He’d have taken to the sewers if that’s what it took, man-eating crocodile guy and all.

Yes, another Jason Todd adoption fic, one in which he does not steal the tires. I have a type and I'm limiting myself to only 2 of the many I love. This one does not have much of a focus at all on the Bat-side of things, just a story of Jason finding a home, much older than in the comics.

A Straight Blade by Sparkypants

"What happened to your face?" Bruce asks, reaching his hand for Jason's jaw. "You're bleeding." Jason bristles, cheeks turning pink. "I cut myself shaving." He says, and wipes at the cut with the cuff of his hoody. Damian makes a clicking noise with his tongue, "I'm amazed you haven't taken your own head off." He snarks. Jason shoves his chair away from the table, temper flaring. "Well it's not like anyone ever taught me, is it." He hisses. He's five years late, but Bruce finally teaches Jason how to shave.

Quick one-shot with feelings. Great little read I often find myself revisiting.

Growing Like a Breeze by WhaleofaTime

April 27th isn't anyone's favorite date, but it's somehow worse than usual today when Bruce gets his car stolen. It's nice of Red Hood to come to his rescue. Nicer even that Jason keeps him company afterwards.

One of those fics that explains everything about why Jason and Bruce's dynamic and relationship is so magnetic to read about. They both suck at feelings and yet make me feel SO MUCH.

[jeankluv]

If only wishes could be fulfilled - Gojo Satoru

Words: 2,6k

Paring: Gojo x oc

Warning/tags: manga spoilers, angst, flashbacks, mentions of characters death, fluff, established relationship, Gojo and oc adopted Tsukimi and Megumi, open ending, no use of y/n, gn!reader

Note: I posted this one on ao3 weeks ago but never posted here, so here you have. Also Gege when I catch you

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Everyone knew him as the strongest, as Gojo Satoru the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, the one that brought balance to the world when he was born. He was also known as someone annoying, irritating, arrogant, never caring about others and too full of himself.

But you knew they were all lies. And it broke your heart they only view him as that, because he wasn’t any of that, sure he was annoying sometimes but annoying in the good way. And he cared, he deeply cared for others.

So whenever you heard people describing Satoru it broke your heart a little bit, each time. Everyone knew Gojo but only a few knew Satoru.

You met Satoru back on the day when you entered the Jujutsu world when you were both 15 at the time and you didn’t know anything about the sorcerer's world or clans. The only thing you knew was that you could see things no one else in your town could, so when three years ago a big guy with sunglasses came and fought one of those things, you asked him if he also could see them. It was then when you found out for the first time about what those things were.

Professor Yaga then introduced you to the school and you began studying alongside Satoru, Shoko and Suguru.

It’s been over a decade since that and a lot of things changed on the mean time. Suguru left only to end up dying by the hands of his once best friend.

You still recall the moment you found Satoru sitting next to the dead body of Suguru.

24th of December 2017

It didn’t take you much to arrive at Tokyo thanks to you cursed technique. Arriving at the school you made sure the students were safe, and fortunately they all were.

“Where is Gojo?”

Yuta looked around searching for his teacher. “He was here just a few minutes ago.”

You looked around and nodded, leaving the kids on their own, knowing they would be safe. You walked across the destroyed place, searching for a white hair.

The sound of loud sobbing hit you in the face, like cold water. It was distant but your heart knew too well who those sobs belonged to.

Moving your legs as quickly as you could, you rushed to the direction where those faint sobs were coming from.

The scene you found was one that you would never have liked to witness, and that would continue to torment you some time later. Satoru was kneeling on the ground, while he hugged Suguru's lifeless body. You froze, not because of the cold of Tokyo, but at seeing Satoru hugging and crying the way he was doing at that very moment.

Taking light steps so as not to upset him, you approached him, even though you knew well that thanks to his six eyes he had already known for a long time that the person behind him was you.

Carefully you placed your hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Satoru…” You whispered, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to come.

Satoru stood still for a moment and then spoke. “It was what he had to do…” The words barely left his lips. “But it hurts too much…”

You knelt behind him and rested your forehead on his back. “I know Satoru… I know.” You wanted to be able to take away all that pain and keep it for yourself, you wanted those tears that kept falling down his cheeks to stop. You wanted to protect him.

Sniffing he moved and stood up with Suguru's body in his arms. A strong pang pierced your heart as you clearly saw the lifeless face of the person who was once your best friend.

“He had a family…” He whispered. You did know that Suguru had had a family during those 12 years that you had been apart, at least that's what the reports said. “Those two babies that were here with him… you would probably want to say goodbye to him… and bury him.” You knew where Satoru was going, he wanted to return the body to those Suguru had called family for those last 12 years and you weren't going to stop him.

You stepped aside and Satoru walked a few steps and then disappeared.

Satoru returned the next day, you were standing next to Megumi preparing a Christmas cake when Satoru walked through the door. Without saying a word he approached Megumi and ruffled her hair and then approached you and simply hugged you without saying anything. You knew that at that moment words were unnecessary and that what Satoru needed most was to be with those he loved most.

“In the afternoon we will go see your sister.” Satoru spoke, turning away from you and looking at Megumi. He just lowered his gaze and nodded. "Everything will be fine." He told him, ruffling his hair again, to which Megumi protested.

23th December 2018 [present day]

A sad smile appeared on your face as you remembered Megumi and Tsumiki. You had been unable to protect them. You looked up and saw Satoru's back, he was stretching. Tomorrow was the day, tomorrow he would fight Sukuna.

05th October 2008

You looked at Satoru first and then the two kids that were right next to him. “Repeat that?” You were confused as hell.

“Congrats babe, we have two kids now!” He said in a playful way.

You and Satoru had been dating for two years now, in fact your second anniversary would be in November. You were barely almost 20.

“Satoru…” You looked at him with your arms crossed. “Can we talk for a moment?” He nodded and walked towards the bedroom. You looked at the kids. “You can turn the tv on if you want.”

The two kids looked at each other and nodded. The little girl, who seemed older, grabbed the boy and guide him to the sofa and turned the tv on.

“Satoru…” You said entering the room. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Babe listen.” He said leaving a kiss on your head. “The kid, the boy, is talented and they have no one.”

They were alone? That broke your heart a little bit.

“How did you find out about them?”

Satoru sighed. “He is the son of that guy… Toji.” An immense cold ran through your body from head to toe. Just remembering what happened in the summer of 2006 made you nauseous.

“He is his son?” Satoru nodded.

“Before dying he told me about him, he was sold by him to the Zenin clan.” He fell silent for moment. “You know the type of clan they are and his father probably knew that too.”

“So he told you to take him in?”

Satoru shook his head. “Not exactly, but I decided to take him.” He smiled. “So I paid what the Zenin clan asked for him and here we are.”

“Satoru… they are both small, rising a kid it’s a lot of responsibility.”

“And we can do it…” He approached you. “I know we can do it. Besides, I think I could be a pretty awesome dad.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say, but I hope I don’t have to be taking care of three kids.”

He laughed and grabbed your face. “You won’t. I love you.” And left a soft kiss on your lips.

“Let’s go with the kids and introduce each other properly.”

You walked outside the room to be meet up with the sight of the two kids focus on the tv in front of them.

“Kids.” Satoru spoke and they both turned their attention to him. “This is…” Satoru mentioned your name. “Both of us will be taking care of you two from now on.”

“Hello.” The girl smiled. “I’m Tsumiki and this,” she pointed to the little black haired boy. “It’s my little brother.” She gave him a slight nod.

“Hi… I’m Megumi.” The kid looked up and then down.

“Hello kids.” You smiled wildly trying to calm them down. “I hope we get along well and take care of you as best as possible.” The children nodded.

Present day

Looking to the ceiling you tried to hold back your tears. God, you missed your two babies so much.

“Love…” Satoru’s voice made you look forward. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though it was a lie. “How about you?”

“Perfect.” He smiled but that smile was hiding so much pain.

“You know you don’t need to hide your real feelings from me.” You whispered as he approached the place where you were at.

“The same goes to you.” He said poking your nose. “But love, I’m alright. Tomorrow I will bring Megumi back to us and everything will be fine.”

He sat next to you and surrounded you, you rested your head on his chest and felt his heart beating. "Our poor Megumi... if I hadn't been in the state I was in, he might have been able to save Megumi and also Tsumiki. God, I just hope that Megumi isn't aware of what happened to him, otherwise our poor boy will be extremely devastated. ” Satoru grabbed you tighter and kissed your temple.

“You were injured in Shibuya and mentally you were not well. Shoko made the right deck to keep you away from everything that happened in the last month.” He whispered softly to your ear.

19th November 2018

Shoko had stopped by to check on you that same morning, apparently she couldn't come by in the afternoon and it was better to check on you that same morning.

You had hit your head in a very bad way during the Shibuya incident, it had even left you unconscious in bed for 5 days.

When you woke up, everything, absolutely everything had changed. Nanami was no longer with you, Kugisaki was in critical condition, the higher-ups had ordered Itadori to be executed immediately, and Satoru had been sealed and accused of treason.

At that moment you felt like your world was falling apart, you needed to find Satoru, know where Megumi was and see with your own eyes that Tsumiki had woken up, but Shoko wouldn't let you get out of bed. Apparently the hit had been big, she even was surprised that you could be as well as you seemed to be.

It was November 12th when Shoko walked with her head down into your room and you felt like your heart might jump out of your chest before she even spoke the words that were in her throat.

“Itadori arrived this morning…” She said sitting on the empty seat near a window and taking out a cigarette from her pocket. “Megumi….” Your world was about to stop moving. “He… was possessed by Sukuna.”

Your body felt weak at that moment, you were very cold, so you hugged yourself trying to stop shaking. Was it because it was cold outside? Or something else?

Shoko called you once again. “There is something else…” You could barely see Shoko clearly, your eyes were filled with tears. “A sorcerer from 1,000 years ago has reincarnated on Tsumiki…”

“What… what does that mean Shoko?”

“I’m not sure… but according to one of Itadori’s new friends it was Kenjaku…” Shoko looked at you and whispered your name softly. “She is gone…”

You covered your face with your hands and started sobbing. That was 7 days ago, since then you had barely moved out of bed. Your body was too exhausted to do so, you wanted to go back to a year ago when everything was fine, when you and Gojo were celebrating your tenth anniversary and both Megumi and Tsumiki were fine. Today, November 19, would be your 11th anniversary, but you were there alone and completely broken.

“Satoru…” You said, through your sobbing. “I need you, I need you here.”

That’s when you felt the bed moving and a hand touching your hair. You slowly opened your eyes, meeting up with a figure you didn’t know if it was real or your mind was already playing tricks on you.

“You are real?” You whispered, still crying.

“I am…” He said touching your face and whipping out your tears. “I couldn’t miss our anniversary right?” He smiled.

You sat on the bed and looked at him, still unsure if it was really him. “I missed you…” You said hugging him and feeling the warmth of his body.

“Missed you too, my love.” He whispered to your ear, hugging you tightly.

“Satoru, our…”

“I know, I know…” He said stroking your hair. “I will bring Megumi to us, I promise.”

And you nodded against his neck, believing in all his words.

Present day

“I’m scared…” You finally confessed. “And I know you’re too, that’s why you sent Yuta to talk with Miguel right?” You glanced at him.

He stayed silent. “I’m the strongest, everything will be fine.”

“Satoru… I know you are the strongest but that doesn’t mean you’re not terrified of facing Sukuna.” You moved to face him.

He rolled his eyes. “Love… I will win and bring Megumi back to us. Trust me.”

“I trust you, I trust you with everything I have but… but doesn’t mean I’m not worried and doesn’t mean I don’t know you enough to know that you have the feeling that things might it go as you want.” You took a deep breath. “That’s why you have been doing something behind everyone’s back right?” He looked in another way, you were right. “Satoru…”

“It has to be me…” He whispered. “If I had not been sealed, none of this would have happened. Maybe Nanami wouldn't be dead, nor Yaga either, maybe we could have looked for a solution to save Tsumiki, Megumi wouldn't have been possessed by Sukuna either.” She took a breath into her lungs and continued. “It has to be me… after all I'm the strongest, right?” A broken smile appeared on his face.

You silently approached him and hugged him as tight as you could. People didn't really know what kind of person Satoru was, always putting others before himself and always blaming himself for things that didn't go well, even if they weren't his fault.

“You’re too good.” You whispered against him.

“That’s not true…” He replied. “If I’m good is because I have a reason to be the best version of myself.” He separated from you and looked into your eyes, those blue eyes that you loved so much. “You make me be the best version of myself. Be a better sorcerer, be a better teacher, be a better influence on the kids. “It's because of you and it's been that way since we were 15.” He grabbed your hand and gently caressed it with his thumb. “I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but…” Swallowing and wetting his lips, he looked at your hand and then at you. “Let's get married, we've been together for 11 years and I want to continue being with you for the rest of my days, so…” In one quick movement he knelt before you. “Would you do me the honor of being your husband?”

From his pocket, he took out a small box containing a beautiful ring. “Satoru…” You whispered in surprise, both of you had talked about getting married on more than one occasion. You knelt in front of him and hugged him. “Of course.”

Satoru covered your face with kisses, causing you to laugh. “Thank you…” he whispered close to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Your heart still felt heavy, you didn't know what would happen tomorrow in the battle against Sukuna but you just hoped that Satoru would return to you and bring Megumi back. To be able to all be at peace.

That’s all you wished and hoped for.

If only wishes could be fulfilled.

[writebackatya]

Darkwing Duck’s* Biggest Fans Haters

*As in the old tv show from the world of DuckTales (2017), not the superhero Drake Mallard assumes the identity of to fight evil

To fans like Drake Mallard and Launchpad McQuack, Darkwing Duck is the greatest piece of television history that helped shape their lives to become the ducks they are today thanks to its titular hero who never gave up despite the odds against him

To the rest of the world, Darkwing Duck was just another superhero show from the 90s that starred a problematic diva d-list actor that may or may not have died

Opinions are subjective of course, neither are 100% correct nor incorrect but I feel like when the fandom talks about Darkwing Duck it’s always about the characters that would also like the show. So why not flip the script a little? We’ll start small and work our way up to its biggest hater

Gosalyn Waddlemeyer:

“GOSALYN!?” You might be screaming at your monitor/phone to which I have to say:

“Yeah”

Again we are not talking about the Drake Mallard or his super identity here, but the tv show he and Launchpad are obsessed with. Because frankly, I bet Gosalyn loves doing all that superhero stuff with her adoptive dads. It’s a cool life to live!

Other than the fact that Drake is a huge nerd who INSISTS that Gosalyn do her “homework” and watch every episode of Darkwing Duck, read all the sacred texts (comic books), and playing the original Darkwing Duck video game on the original hardware so she won’t use the rewind or save features that modern games or ROMs have

Like all kids who have had an adult push their interests onto them, she has a little disdain for the show. But not a whole lot since she’s first on this list. I like to think she’s in the same boat as Dewey where she finds the show cheesy and doesn’t really hate it per say and sees why Drake and LP love the show. She even has a few guilty pleasure episodes

But one thing she doesn’t understand is why Drake and Launchpad insist on watching the Darkwing Duck Christmas Special every year when they’re both practicing Jews

Scrooge McDuck:

Yeah the old man can barely remember Drake, let alone the Darkguy Drake played in that movie he cancelled so I don’t really see Scrooge being a fan of the Masked Mallard. (No, not that Masked Mallard OG DuckTales fans)

If Scrooge did sit down and watch the show, he’d find it to be rather ridiculous if anything. Some vigilante running around dressed like The Spirit or The Shadow or whatever superhero kids are into these days getting slapped around and fighting back just doesn’t seem like his cup of tea

I like to think when Donald and Della were kids they watched Darkwing Duck at the mansion and Scrooge just walked by the room, looked at the TV for a few seconds, scoffed, and moved on with his life forgetting all about that nonsense his niece and nephew were watching

Louie Duck:

Honestly I always had this headcanon that Louie just isn’t a fan of superheroes. Like at all. He finds the stories all copy and paste, using all the cliches he hates from other genres and putting them in tights.

And don’t even get him started on superhero related adventures! If he sees a sky beam, Louie is running in the opposite direction of it. He’s not dealing with the many different diva supervillains out there trying to take over the world with cartoony extreme measures, he doesn’t wanna be around all that property damage

He does have a favorite superhero tho. Waddle Duck because he gave him a Pep once

Lena Sabrewing:

She thinks it’s lame.

Gandra Dee:

This is a no brainer for me. Gandra Dee made herself Darkwing Duck’s biggest hater the moment she heard the duck talk shit about Gizmoduck around Fenton who insisted she does not reveal his secret identity to Drake, because Drake is all he has left

Wanting to respect her boyfriend’s wishes, Gandra decides not to spill the beans but instead add more fuel to the fire by talking shit about Darkwing Duck

And she does not hold back

She’s not ashamed to talk shit on the show. It’s predictablity, it’s cheesiness, the plot holes, how lame it was for its own time, etc

It ain’t her childhood, she ain’t afraid to fight dirty either. She will bring up problematic episodes that depicted races in a not so good and stereotypical light (“It was the nineties! They were different times!” -Drake probably) such as the fact that in one episode Darkwing Duck called a group of Native Americans “primitive savages” or that a non-Asian actor played an Asian character in a sterotypcial manner and that how one of the characters names was “Duck Ling”(Okay but for real, all that shit did happen in the OG show.)

This of course frustrates Drake who is extra suspicious of Gandra ever since he saw her with Gizmoduck and writes her off as a blind fan girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about

She’s pretty chill about not being into the show with Launchpad tho. He respects her opinions because he’s Launchpad and at the end of the day Gandra is still his friend

[stopthebig3]

Sakura stans still message Swagkage their hate when he made the video "Why People Hate Sakura so much" that has millions of views even though this video was uploaded in 2017. They talked about how he was so biased and didn't understood her character. Guy gets harassed because they can't understand how awful Sakura's character is.

Sakura is a character they like so not surprised it made them mad. It would be nice if they didn't harass people but it's not gonna change, they harass even the anime staff.

What is funny about Swagkage's video about Sakura is that it's not even biased. He's way nicer to her than most other people who make videos on her. He did not even meant to make a video dunking on her, because he prefers to make videos about fights but since he made a video "top 5 naruto characters I like the least" a lot of people were protesting why he didn't include Sakura. It seems to be because he doesn't care about her much, but due to those comments he made a video explaining WHY people hate Sakura. And the reasons are valid. I would add to the list but it was still good.

He did not use any misogynist insults, he didn't comment on her looks, he didn't complain that she's not into Naruto romantically. He simply pointed out how useless and underwhelming she is when it comes to battles and how it makes her look pathetic, how she is a bad friend, how her obsession on Sasuke is unreasonable and annoying.

I can't find the original video (did he hide it due to hate or what?) but there are many reactions to the video that show the video on full in case anyone wants to see what we are talking about.

In some of his other videos he says things like he was rooting for Sakura during her fight with Ino (something I disagree with) and I never see him "bash" her so there is not much bias in my opinion.

One part of the video I'll copy here that people who compare Sakura to side characters that barely get any screentime fail to understand

"on top of that Sakura is placed in many important situations where she practically does nothing to contribute"

^^This here is something really important. Yes Rock Lee, Kiba, Shino or Tenten do not get to do much but would they have failed as massively or make as stupid decisions as Sakura has done if they were placed on the same situations? No, because the side characters use those smaller moments they get rather well, and do not do stupid things. If you look at Temari, I can't think of any stupid moment from her. Same with Shikamaru (I'm talking battle wise, you can argue about his personality all you want).

"additionally, the scope of some of the stuff she attempts to do, just to prove she is indeed useful, which serves no purpose other than to satisfy her own ego is far too massive for somebody with her capabilities. She always aims too high and still expects the best outcome"

^^Also an extremely good point.

I remember last time I saw Swagkage's Sakura video, it had 146,000 likes. That is way more than the tweets defending here on twitter get.

[leikeliscomet]

“But We Love Martha Jones!” - The Doctor Who Fandom’s Selective Memory of Racism

Chapter 3 - Martha vs Bill

Moffat took us to a Bristol university in 2017, to meet the bright, friendly, chip-serving Bill Potts, the first Black lesbian companion of Doctor Who. Bill’s entrance wasn’t met with sunshine and rainbows either, with complaints of “PC agendas” and the accusation of her sexuality being “shoved down our throat” following her throughout Series 10. She was often called annoying and accused of being too angry. Her outbursts at Twelve weren’t fully well received, despite them only happening as a response to being emotionally manipulated and being shot and converted into a Cyberman against her will. Overreactions, right? That being said, Bill seems to have a more positive reception than Martha did and this can be pointed towards the writing. Moffat decided S10 would focus on Bill’s race and had the 12th Doctor bravely punch Sutcliff after his anti-black comments about her. This was mostly well received by the fandom and the Doctor was praised for taking initiative. How I feel about this scene and how Doctor Who handles race can be explained in way more detail for later but I can sum it up by saying I didn’t hate the scene: but I don't love it either. The racism Bill receives is barely mentioned again apart from a small comment in Oxygen, plus I see this scene constantly used to shut down any valid criticism about how race was handled in the Moffat era. Twelve is centred in this scene, not Bill. The fact this scene is referred to as “Twelve punches the racist” and not “Bill experienced racism” speaks for itself.

Leading back to Martha, a weird parallel is made between her and Bill. Yes, RTD and Moffat are different people who wrote different people but a parallel is there regardless; A brown-skinned woman expected to defend and save her white male incarnation whilst barely praised for it and constantly compared to her blonde white female predecessor, versus, the light-skinned woman who was actually defended by her white male incarnation. It's not the best look. The show set up the parallel by having Bill reference Martha’s butterfly effect conversation with Ten and the fandom carried this on. As much as I love Bill, her being held up as the Black companion “done right” has always felt wrong because not only are there critiques to be made about Moffat’s handling of Black characters too (Danny Pink anyone?), it reinforces Martha as the “failed” Black companion. “Moffat wrote Bill to do XYZ whilst RTD wrote Martha to do ABC” became “Bill did this and Martha didn’t so Bill was better Black representation!” Bill spoke about racism and Martha didn’t (even though she did in Shakespeare Code and Human Nature/Family of Blood), Bill wore her natural hair and Martha didn’t (even though Freema didn’t control the costumes), Bill did everything right (as if Martha did everything wrong).

Bill being placed on the pedestal of the “perfect Black companion” not only erases the antiblackness her character also experienced but reinforces how her darker counterparts, Martha, Mickey and Ryan, “fail” in comparison and “fail” in their Blackness, over reasons the characters nor actors themselves had any control over. It really begs the question of how different Bill would’ve been treated if she was darker, but I guess we’ll never know. If we’re gonna praise and uplift POC in Doctor Who, specifically Black characters, we need to uplift them in all shades. Only supporting the lightest person in the room whilst saying they’re better than the darker ones is not the anti-racist serve this fandom thinks it is.

<- Chapter 2 Chapter 4 ->

[femalemonsterhunter]

I'm very sorry for the fact that I feel so inactive rn on every social app/site like Insta and DA themselves regarding posting to something like my finished drawings for several reasons 😭💀💀, or somehow I forgot to even post this finished drawing I made in two or three weeks ago.

Also, here's my art style/AU version but (probably or not) the first attempt of CatDog from the eponymous Nickelodeon cartoon show, however, I somewhat deliberately just separated them as instead of trying to draw them as originally conjoined twins, which I can't do for such good reasons. And plus, I even thoughtfully headcanoned their full name, if it's that simple.

Yeah, I more or less remember when I liked this cartoon show SO much when I first saw it on TV with Ukrainian in my school age (and ofc, as I recall, there was also a one Russian language for the voice of Cat), and then ofc in my adolescence, but still in a school age ‘till 2017, somewhere in 2015 to 2016 (if I don’t even know than I remember) as I used to use on big bro’s old laptop as in every way re-watched every episode of CatDog and even drew barely a lot like in my Star Heart Heart (basically known as “Girl and Friends” since was cringy ass old but former name of my Crossover AU project ‘till 2018 or 2019 its name was literally changed to ”Star Heart” atm, apparently) version and others, and ofc I had a constant but weird crush on Cliff, cuz I have no idea how to explain it, but he is still for me a toughy awesome and totally badass dog guy on the list of favorite villains 🙈. And regardless of the fact that he still bullying Cat for all sorts of unclear reasons.

Anyway, any of you guys have also seen this cartoon show before since your childhood or something?

And still, I hope you enjoy my version of CatDog so honestly.

Art and idea names and more for the main CatDog characters are belongs to me (C)

Cat and Dog from the CatDog are belongs to Peter Hannan and his eponymous production/Nickelodeon Animation Studio/Serom Animation/Rough Daft Korea (C)

[theseshipsshallsail]

Sorting through some old files and not sure if I ever posted this properly over here, so... apologies for the deja vu if so 😉

Summary:

Elio sighs in contentment when a palm slides up his spine, absent-minded fingertips drumming a brief ostinato as the mid-afternoon sun beats down upon them.

The rise and fall of Oliver’s chest is almost hypnotic as Elio lies sprawled against him, Billowy’s well-worn cotton soft beneath his cheek. All around, the low drone of nature lulls them with its song, and Elio watches through heavy eyelids as he traces lazy circles over the bronzed skin of Oliver’s stomach. The berm is tranquil - the only real movement that of the wildflowers in the breeze, brightly coloured swallowtails flitting between them - and Elio sighs in contentment when a palm slides up his spine, absent-minded fingertips drumming a brief ostinato as the mid-afternoon sun beats down upon them.

“Do you believe in fate?”

It’s barely a whisper, but Oliver pauses momentarily before continuing his sleepy caress. “Outside of our teachings, you mean?” Elio nods, and Oliver hums quietly. “Well, by definition, fate is already fixed by the cosmos, whereas destiny relies upon our individual choices.” He pauses, weighing his words, and goosebumps rise on Elio’s neck when a gentle exhalation stirs his hair. “So no,” he continues. “I prefer to think I’m in control of my own life, and not just chalk it up to inevitability.”

Elio smiles. “You’re a philosopher. Aren’t you supposed to put your faith in  things you can’t see?” he teases, curling in on himself when Oliver proceeds to tickle him. “What would your Heraclitus have to say about that?”

Oliver chuckles. “He’d argue that a man’s character is his fate. And that our personalities and actions shape the outcomes of our lives, and therefore, our destiny.” Easing up, he guides Elio back to his side. “And he’s not my Heraclitus.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Jealous, are you?”

Elio leans up to see his face. “So says the man who ate the peach.” 

The next few minutes divulge into breathless giggles when Oliver digs his fingers into Elio’s ribs again, scribbling over his lower belly until tears leak from his eyes.

“Bastardo!” Elio wheezes, as Oliver brushes his thumb over his cheek. 

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“I’ll see you coming,” Elio grumbles - not much of a threat, admittedly - before settling down to listen to Oliver’s heart. “What would Heraclitus have to say, then?”

Oliver presses a kiss to his forehead. “He’d say that big results require big ambitions.”

“Are the two not mutually inclusive?” Elio asks, skirting the drawstring of Oliver’s shorts. “If fate comes to us regardless, and free will is what we decide to do with it, then you may not automatically get what you want, but you will always get what you choose.”

Oliver tips his head up. “And you call me the philosopher?”

Elio shrugs. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Among other things.” They share a grin as Elio wriggles closer. “The inner workings of our lives may be complicated,” Oliver says, nudging his crown with his chin. “But it doesn’t necessarily follow it was designed to be.”

“Descartes may not agree.”

Oliver scoffs. “Seventeenth century upstarts,” he says, eyes dancing. “What do they know?” A flicker of something passes over his features - an indecipherable emotion that leaves Elio exhilarated and uneasy in equal measures. “Even if I were to accept that much of existence was pre-determined, my moral choices, and the direction in which I steer them, will always be my own.”

Elio arches a brow. “Which makes you what? The designated driver.”

“Precisely. My life is governed by me.” Oliver’s tongue makes a sinful appearance. “Me, and a few sensible individuals such as yourself.” 

“Sensible?” Elio snickers. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Yes, well.” Oliver chuckles as he rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Need I remind you we were half-naked in your father’s study?”

“The door has a lock.”

“Which is why I now have rug burn on my ass and shoulders.”

“Want me to kiss it better? Elio asks, the picture of innocence, and Oliver slides an arm around his waist. 

“You’re a tease, Perlman,” he says, rolling on top of him. 

“I learned from the best, Americano.” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Oliver grinds down against him. “Tell me more.”

Elio swallows a groan. “Absolument pas.”

“Why not?” Oliver asks. “We all play to our strengths.”

“Your ego’s big enough as it is,” Elio says, and the corners of Oliver’s lips quirk mischievously.

“By all means, feel free to stroke it.”

“You’re full of yourself.” 

“I’d rather be full of you.”

Elio barks a laugh, but his retort is silenced as Oliver takes his mouth in a searing kiss, leaving him flushed and panting when he eventually pulls away. 

“What were you saying?”

Elio frowns. “Je ne sais pas,” he says, as Oliver’s palms slip beneath the material of his trunks. “I seem to have forgotten, since I was so rudely interrupted.” 

“Disgraceful.” Oliver turns his attention to his neck. “I know how much you despise rudeness.”

“Déplorable.”

“However shall I earn your forgiveness?”

“I’m sure your other positive attributes will make up for it,” Elio says, wrapping a leg around his thigh. 

“Is that so?” Oliver begins to rock his hips, their breaths turning ragged as they fall into a steady rhythm. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well...” Elio shoots him a smirk, lost in the sweet push-pull of their bodies. “My parents think you’re a saint.”

Oliver snorts. “Do you want me to lose this erection?”

“Mafalda’s ready to adopt you.”

“Annella got there first.”

“And me?” It’s the work of a moment to lick his pout into submission. “I think you’re brave, determined, charming - when you want to be.” 

“Thanks, ever so.” Oliver nips at his ear. “Keep going,” he says, completely shameless, and because Elio’s damn near incapable of denying him anything these days, he huffs a put-upon sigh, rolls his eyes for good measure, then reaches around to grab the seat of his shorts. 

“You look like a muvi star. This ass is fantastico. And you have an impeccable sense of direction. C’est bon?”

Oliver stills above him. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, and Elio sobers instantly, forcing himself to meet his eyes. 

“You came back.”

The lump in his throat threatens to choke him, and Elio fights down tears as Oliver cups his cheek. “I did,” he says, voice strained. “But I never should have left in the first place. So what does that say about me?”

“It says you did what you thought necessary when faced with no other option,” Elio tells him, leaning in to chase the intimate taste of his skin. “It says you allowed your martyr complex - not one of those positive attributes, by the way - to override your heart.”

Oliver grimaces, but doesn’t deny it.

“It says you defied convention, your family, and prejudice itself, to be here with me now,” Elio continues. “It means that these days? These days are ours. No more worrying about being good or bad. It’s all about us. Our choices. Whether you want one egg or two. Bach or Horowitz. Green trunks or red. It means a siesta in our bedroom -” He gestures around them. “- or an afternoon at the berm.” 

“Elio...”

“It means we can wake up in each others arms, and get scolded by Mafalda for being late to breakfast, or swim before dawn, and watch the sun rise from Heaven. It means I get to decide whether to kiss you here...” Elio drags his mouth across his collarbone. “Or here,” he says, tasting the moan within Oliver’s throat as he bucks against him. “It’s about doing what we want, when we want. It’s about making each other happy.”

“And are you?” Oliver asks, capturing his face between trembling hands. “Happy, I mean?”

Elio smiles, surging up to kiss him, and by the time dusk settles over their own private paradise, Oliver is left in no doubt of his sincerity.

[lunadreamscaper]

Sometimes I think about what could’ve been…

It wouldn’t have been great but still would’ve been cool.

Now you’re probably wondering “what happened to it.”

My dad and brothers who also shared the computer this and other projects were on (even though though they barely ever used it) factory reset the computer for space and storage reasons. And I lost everything. I lost this project and many others. And not a day goes by where I’m not pissed about that. 😭

I mean I’m glad I never released Ventalia bc that would’ve been terrible lmao (if you know you know)

But yeah this would’ve been such a cool concept if… Ghost knew how to read. So like andjxjjckw

The characters in the photo is Johnny Ghost, Johnny Toast, Johnny Boast, Johnny Roast, Dark Pit and Katrina. (In this version Katrina is the younger sister of Johnny Roast, don’t come for me on that lol)

This art is probably from 2017 or 2018.

Also I drew it on only one layer bc the only thing I had was Paint 3D at the time lmao

Also that rpg maker was EXPENSIVE! AND I CANT GET IT AGAIN BC I NO LONGER HAVE THE EMAIL RECEIPT FOR IT FOR FUCKS SAKE RAAAHHH