#HOW MUCH DO PEOPLE NORMALLY SHARE FOR A 'SNIPPET'????

[cheshire-castle-library]

Joining Snippet Sunday!

Everyone thank @tracle0 for the brilliant idea! (And reblog their post while you're at it!!)

But it was also that 72 hours that made ignoring things I didn't want to deal with sound like a normal idea, instead of questioning whether the station was about to cave in, or - more relevantly - if I had company.

I turned down the last corridor to the "surface access lift".  Caught something in the corner of my eye, glanced half-heartedly and shrugged.  More rattling, but really what didn't in Earth Central.  The "up" button was already lit on the lift panel, which was less the gravlift it should have been, and more so an elevator system some extremely driven agents managed to "procure" the night before a local hotel demolition, sometime in the 80's.  My head slowly started questioning, through the murk of exhaustion, as the elevator made its sharp, echoing 'ding'.  The sound set my sluggish nervous system on fire, hair on end, banishing any thoughts that tried to form as the florescent light poured out of the elevator into the dark hallway, illuminating me and the flood of dust and lint in the air as I stood somewhat dumbly before it.  The dawning anxiety you get when you realize you're dreaming washed over me as I squinted into the light.  Slow thoughts percolating poorly through exhausted synapses and pseudo-cells, as I tried to either decide I'd already passed out and was dreaming, or if what I'd seen was real.

The elevator door shut without anything leaving the car, my eyes still locked on where the 4-or-so foot tall figure stood behind the door.  Was it even a figure?  A street sign?  A diamond-shaped head on a stick-like body with a single eye seated off-center of the face that managed to blink at me once before the door shut between us.

Another moment passed with me squinting at the elevator door.  "Autex, proximity bio scan."  My voice echoed back to me metallically off the deck plating of the dark, empty hallway.

["Attention: Insufficient Host Intracellular Energy."]

"Shit."

The interface voice of the Autex slurred in my head as it read off a litany of diagnostics and repairs it was initiating on my body, as my consciousness fell out of my grasps, and my body fell to the ground.  Half-thought questions about the blinking street sign, the Autex, and my impending concussion floated lazily in the dimming murk between my eyes.

"Belvedere Thurston, you are Summoned by the Triumvirate of Founders," a voice like tar and leather echoed in the hallways, and the last thing I saw, squinting through fading vision, was a "Road Work Ahead" sign with a mustache and one, off-center, eye leaning over me.

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 2)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3122

(Part 1)

_________________________________________

“When you said you got me a t-shirt,” you sigh, once again adjusting the hem of the jersey Mor provided you. Notshirt; jersey. The bottom of the Velaris Bats uniform has been trimmed—startlingly low. Or is it cut too high; you wonder with a swallowed curse. The damned thing nearly shows off your entire midriff. “I thought you meant, like, a normal fucking shirt and not whatever this is.”

Mor scoffs, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she weaves her way through the throng of people towards your seats. Her long strides in her black heels hard to keep up with. “That is a Mor Original, and I only made it cuter,” she huffs indigently, like your discomfort is the sole inspiration behind her “designs.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve allowed Mor to pick out your outfit, but it’s definitely going to be your last, you try to remind yourself. The handful of times you’ve thought this exact thing before is laughable, and you’ve never once remembered. She’ll continue to cut the hems of shirts and alter skirts into even shorter skirts until the end of time, probably.

She’s been the crafty type since you first met her. Anything that she could add personality to was subject for a good old shot of “Mor’s Touch:” clothing, home décor, even the cocktails she mixes—which often go from something as simple as a Dirty Shirley and turning it into a cherry-passionfruit with a hint of lime drink, mixed with tonic instead of Sprite and garnished with a frilly umbrella stuck through three Maraschino cherries because “one is simply not enough.”

You agree, and you’d never admit to your eccentric roommate that it’s the most delicious drink you’ve ever had. Goes down like lemonade and has you going from a corner-stander to someone in the center of the dancefloor in two drinks flat.

You wish you had one right about now to get you through the night.

Your mind wanders to Gwyn back at the dorms, wondering what she’s going to be getting up to tonight. You don’t need to wonder, you know how your red-headed roommate prefers to spend her nights, curled up on the couch beneath a thick blanket, a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels within reach, and her laptop in her lap, creating fantasy worlds for her characters to live in some day.

A surge of pride for your roommate fills your energy tank. Sometimes people truly do find exactly what they were made for in life, and Gwyn was born to write. You’ve only read a few snippets she’s been willing to share, but you can’t fathom forming sentences the way she does, creating worlds and characters from her mind alone, seeing a vision in your mind so clear that it would be a crime not to share it with the world.

You’re not sure you’ve ever loved something that much, but Sports Medicine is pretty damn close. Psychology, is not.

You shiver as the cold of the arena hits the sliver of skin that’s exposed itself once again while you were taking a sip of your drink. Goosebumps pebble in response, coursing over the entirety of your body within seconds, causing you to shiver.

You should’ve fought Mor harder about bringing your jacket, but at least she left you sleeves, her shirt has been cut into a tank that hardly reaches the bottom of her ribs, and there’s a deep cut down the collar, creating a perfect ‘V’ that shows off her incredible tits.

You’d know, you’ve seen them before.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You two look so good,” a girl gushes, steps into you and Mor’s path, halting you from your first steps down the stairs to your seats. She’s chipper, a camera poised in her hands, the thick strap around her neck. He shiny, chestnut hair is braided into two tails, draped across her shoulders.

Behind her thin-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she peruses you and your roommate up and down, admiring your outfits.

“I told you,” Mor murmurs, elbowing you in the side before raising her voice to answer. “Thank you so much! I spent all day on these, and this one doesn’t appreciate my hard work at all. It’s a refreshing change of pace to hear a compliment instead of ‘Mor, don’t you think this is a little too much?’” You scrunch your nose at Mor’s terrible impression of you. Too nasally, too annoying.

The photographer laughs like it’s her full-time job, and you scowl.

Way to throw me right under that speeding bus, Mor.

“Do you mind if I take your picture for the team’s social media account? You two would make a great first slide in a carousel for school spirit,” she gets this faraway look in her eyes as if she’s picturing it now. “The interaction you’d get us,” she sighs dreamily. “I might even get promoted.”

You groan internally when Mor perks up even further. “I think I love you,” she blurts, pupils heart-shaped. “Do you want to sit with us? We have an extra ticket.” She’s bought one for Gwyn, hoping she would join in on this sporty girl’s night, but your other roommate had been adamant about her dislike of the sport, and had gotten a pass while you were dressed up like a doll and dragged out of the dorm.

The girl’s laugh is like a windchime, soothing and melodic. “I wish I could, but duty calls,” she waves her camera around in answer. “Maybe I’ll catch you at one of the after parties, though. Here, you can give me your Instagram and I’ll DM you after tagging you in the photos.”

She and Mor exchange socials and names. Feyre. It’s unique and suits her well.

After adding your own Instagram on her phone, you hand the phone back, posing with Mor. Of course, knowing your roommate as you do, it’s not just one picture that Feyre takes. They’re both beaming, and one picture turns into ten. Ten poses, nine sips of your drink because you don’t know what the hell else to do. Eight frantic smiles, seven internal sighs, and six side-eyes from passerby, trying to find their seats. Five giggles from friends, four embarrassed blushes, three warnings that you are so done with this, two people ignoring you, and one announcement overhead signaling the start of the game in a few minutes.

“So nice to meet you, Feyre,” Mor calls as you begin guiding her away. You have no clue where you’re going, but any movement closer to any empty seat is better than the photoshoot you just had in the middle of the walkway. With a parting smile at the photographer, Mor continues, like she’s all for standing there all night instead of supporting her cousin on the ice. “Message me!”

“Clingy, much?” You grunt at the poke to the arm that gets you.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like I’m going to replace you,” she scoffs with a brush of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. You swear, the guys sitting in the front row swoon. “Besides, you can never have too many friends. It’s not possible.”

You’re pretty sure it is possible to have too many friends, but you keep that thought to yourself. You suppose you have one more spot in your life for a friend, but if the pictures turn out terrible and are blasted on the Bat’s Instagram, that spot might disappear. You’re already feeling mortified enough from the public display of taking photos.

“Yeah, yeah,” is what you decide to go with. “Now, where are our seats?”

“I don’t like the look of that,” you mutter wearily, squinting to see what’s happening on the ice. You might not know anything about hockey, but you know malicious intent when you see it. It’s in the way that the Penguin’s player leans closer to the Bat’s center, nudging his shoulder as he speaks, his slimy grin growing with each jab.

The game’s been fun so far, much to your surprise. The crowd surrounding you is all for the team, chanting songs that you need to learn immediately because they’re so much fun. The music that blasts around the stadium during every break is on-point, not too old of songs and not too overplayed like at the one football game you’d been dragged to last year (also by Mor, but not because of a family member on the team, because of an entirely different member.)

“Is that my cousin?” She asks, brown eyes sharp as she examines the players. Their fronts are to you, no seeing the names painted across the back of their jerseys. You refrain from mentioning how Mor should at least know her own cousin’s number—since their written on the sleeves—but you keep that thought to yourself when her red painted nails tighten around the box of popcorn, crushing the flimsy cardboard. The strain of the muscle in her jaw matches the boy on the ice’s, you notice with a fleeing glance at your roommate.

Tension coils your gut. You find your fingers wrapping around the edge of the seat you’re perched in, gripping the bleachers so tightly that you swear you feel the cool metal warming and warping.

You’re not the only two who have noticed the shift in the moods of the players on the ice, parts of the crowd are beginning to rise from their seats, cheering growing from a low rumble to a thunder of screams, caws, and jeering.

The puck is barely a millimeter from the referee’s hand before sticks are thrown to the ice, gloves following as the two players slowly begin to circle each other. It looks like something out of an animal documentary: two predators about to snap at each other’s throats in a fight for the territory.

The anticipation of them going blow for blow lights a fire deep within your belly, your core perking up for attention.

You shouldn’t be thinking like this, shouldn’t get getting turned on by the idea of two boys about to knock each other’s teeth out. Should be thinking about your best friend’s cousin like this at all.

Shooting a guilty glance at your roommate, you breathe a soft sigh of relief that’s swallowed by the shouts of the crowd when you see that Mor hasn’t picked up on your sudden shift in mood—both mentally and physically.

All the players on the ice slide back to make room for the brawl that’s about to break out and a sick feeling bubbles in your stomach, almost overpowering the arousal as you wonder why no one is attempting to stop them.

There isn’t time to voice your concern, isn’t time to do anything except bolt to your feet with a gasp so harsh it sears your lungs when the Penguin’s player is the first to swing. Your heart is lodged in your throat, your breathing holding in your throat as you watch in anticipation. He lashes out with a curled fist so fast that by the time you blink, it’s over.

His hit doesn’t land.

There’s no time to feel the relief trying to rush through your veins because the Bat’s center is retaliating, throwing himself forward after swiftly dodging the attack. He grabs the other boy by the collar of his ice blue uniform and hauls him into his closed fist.

His opponents helmet goes flying off with the snap of his head backwards. He stumbles, but manages to stay upright, snagging a handful of the Bat’s jersey to try and steady himself.

You look to the benches flanking the ice, wondering why no one is joining the fray. It’s now that you realize it’s not that they don’t want to help their teammate who is quickly ducking away from another fist, it’s because they can’t.

There’s a boy standing nonchalantly, hazel eyes pinned on the scene before him. He looks eager almost, leaning so casually against his stick, chin propped on the edge of it like he’s watching the newest action movie from the best spot in the house.

Even the goalie seems to be unconcerned, taking the few moments he has to take a swig of water and adjust his helmet, squatting low and shooting side to side in his box, as if trying to keep limber for when the game resumes.

One of the refs is attempting to hold back a burly boy who seems much too large to be skating at all. His helmet has also been shucked off, revealing long, shoulder length wet hair that clings to his face and neck like a bee on honey. His gloves are abandoned on the ice too, and his stick has skidded to a stop upon hitting the sideboards nearby. You can’t make out the words he’s shouting, but with the feral grin you make out, you know they’re fighting words. With each bark he seems to be inching closer, like the full-grown man in the stripes trying to hold him back is nothing more than a soft breeze, and his is a twister barreling right through.

When he shakes his head, you catch sight of a bloodthirsty grin that has a shiver sliding up your spine. He’s enjoying this?

“Mor,” your worry tries to escape, only for the words to stick in your throat as more noises join the fight, loud as gunshots. Both the Bat’s and the Penguin’s players are rapping their hockey sticks against the boards separating their benches from the ice, war cries falling from their lips.

They’re all enjoying this.

“That is my cousin,” Mor screeches, her perfectly plucked brows pulled tight as she tries finally makes out the number on the back of the jersey that’s gripped so tightly in the offending players grip that you’re pretty sure the stitches are popping with the force. “Kick his fucking ass, Rhys!”

Casting a frantic look to your roommate, you realize that not even she seems to be fazed by the fact that her cousin is in the middle of a fight that could very seriously end badly, especially with the knives on the bottoms of their feet.

But, if everyone’s rooting for their player to win this battle, you can too.

As gruesome as the scene before you is, you wish you had a better seat, somewhere with a better viewpoint than all the way on the other side of the ice. You can’t to be able to hear the threats they’re growling at each other, your attention completely enraptured now that you’ve shoved your worry to the wayside.

With his newfound hold, the Penguin’s player strikes again, and this time, his hit slams across Rhys’ jaw. His head snaps to the side with the nasty hook and his helmet slips to the ice, the sound eaten up by the goading of the crowd.

They swing around, unsteady on their skates as each of the boys tries to topple the other over. You catch a glance at his face. It’s hard to see, and his shaggy black hair is splayed across his face like a spiderweb, keeping you from making out his features. You catch the blood dribbling down his chin, the anger etched in the clench of his jaw as he grits his teeth, managing to twist himself into a position where he has the upper hand on the Penguin’s player: a headlock.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Rhys pound his fist into the other boy’s face once, twice, three times before his opponent’s feet fall out from under him. Rhys releases his hold, allowing the boy to slip lamely to the ice.

“Atta boy, Rhysie,” Mor shouts, once again shoveling popcorn into her mouth with a grin so bright it could melt the ice in the rink before you. She turns to you, golden brown of her eyes glowing with excitement. “Our parents would be so proud.”

She turns back to the scene before you can voice your confusion on that statement, tucking away the information that if you win a fight in hockey, it’s a great accomplishment.

You watch Rhys as he’s escorted by referees who guide him towards the penalty box. He’s examining his knuckles, not caring that he’s abandoning his equipment as he goes, grimacing as the adrenaline begins to fade. He pokes at them, frowning at whatever he feels.

You pray they’re not broken.

The rest of the players seem to be getting back to the game, like one of their teammates isn’t being casted away on an island across the ice. Okay, so it’s just another bench and he’s not that far from them, but you’re shocked that this is the end of the fight, both players carted into separate timeout boxes away from their teams.

Rhys plops down on the bench, pulling a water bottle from a hidden holder, washing the blood from his knuckles before examining them for a second time. You watch him flex his fingers, twist his wrist this way and that. You can’t seem to keep your eyes off him, even with the game picking back up and Mor shouting cheers when the Bat’s manage to steal the puck right from the drop, carting it down the ice with a speed that rivals a racecar.

He must be satisfied with his examination because Rhys is throwing his head back, and it’s almost as if he’s squirting the water from the bottle directly onto you with the way that the apex of your thigh’s wet at the sight of him. He sips the water, holding the bottle a few inches from his face, and you watch the water cascade down his chin and over his throat, bobbing with each swallow. It mixes with the blood from his split lip and slides into the collar of his gear.

You swallow harshly, suddenly parched.

When he’s had his fill of the drink, he moves the bottle further back, using the spray to wash his hair away from his face, and your breathing shallows. It’s as if the hand he’s using to squeeze the life out of the bottle is constricting around your throat, because suddenly, you recognize the sharp of that jaw, the curve of those eyebrows and the straight of his nose. All his angular features come together in the perfect picture of hotness, knocking the breath fully from your chest when he straightens his chin, looking out onto the ice to watch his teammates score the last goal of the second period.

He's the boy from this morning: the overachiever, the one who called you darling.

Mor’s cousin.

Rhysand Cunningham.

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125

[sleekervae]

Flickers | the projectionist (johnny) x reader

Masterlist

A/N: had this idea knocking around in my head for a few days. And while still not clear on his real name in the movie, I'm going with Johnny for simplicity sake.

Pairing: the projectionist (johnny) x fem!reader

Summary: late night at the cinema and a salacious book has poor johnny in a bind for his colleague.

Warnings: erotic writing, heavy smut, oral, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 4,436

Johnny first met Sophie on the tail end of a smoky September evening, the air thick with the scent of roasted peanuts from the vendor outside the theater. She was leaning against the wall near the alley, cigarette perched between her fingers, looking every bit like she belonged in one of those French pictures he sometimes screened after hours. Her boss—a producer Johnny had worked with before—had sent her ahead to fetch some reels, but it was clear from the way she moved, slow and deliberate, that Sophie wasn’t the type to rush.

She was all sharp cheekbones and sharper wit, her dark hair pinned back haphazardly as though she’d stopped caring halfway through the task. When she introduced herself, her tone was low and indifferent, like she wasn’t used to people looking twice at her. Johnny had glanced down at her shoes—simple flats, scuffed at the edges—and wondered if she realized how much attention her quiet presence commanded.

At first, they only spoke in passing, exchanging a few words while Sophie handled errands for her boss. But over time, she lingered. She’d stay after picking up reels or dropping off schedules, watching him from the doorway as he adjusted the projector.

“I didn’t think anyone still cared about this old junk,” she remarked once, arms crossed, her voice carrying a trace of amusement.

Johnny looked up from splicing a reel, the dim light catching on her pale skin. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it runs smooth. Besides, this junk’s how I pay rent.”

She laughed—a low, throaty sound—and it hit him harder than he expected.

It wasn’t long before she started coming around on her own time, sitting in the empty theater while he threaded film for the midnight show. She’d sit near the back, legs crossed, watching the flickering images with an intensity that made him uneasy in the best way. One night, she waited until the credits rolled to ask him:

“You ever think about what’s not on the screen? The stuff they won’t show?”

It was an odd question, but Sophie was full of those. Her curiosity was sharp and relentless, poking at ideas most people shied away from. Johnny didn’t know what to say, so she filled the silence herself, telling him about the scripts she was working on.

“They’re not normal,” she admitted, the word slipping out like a taunt. “Producers don’t like ‘em. Too weird. Too… honest.”

She wouldn’t let him read them at first, claiming they weren’t ready. But she couldn’t resist teasing him with snippets. A line of dialogue here, a provocative idea there. The more she shared, the more Johnny’s imagination took off. Her writing was raw, full of heat and longing that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with desire.

It wasn’t just her words that got under his skin. It was the way she said them—leaning close, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was sharing a secret too dangerous for anyone else to hear. Her eyes would linger on him, searching for a reaction, and he’d have to fight the urge to shift under her gaze.

Johnny wasn’t sure when he started picturing her in the scenarios she described, but once the idea took root, it spread fast. He’d catch himself watching her hands as she gestured, wondering what they’d feel like on his skin. He started noticing the curve of her lips when she spoke, the slight rasp in her voice that made everything she said sound like a proposition.

He told himself it was just curiosity—admiration for her creativity, maybe—but the truth sat heavier in his chest. Johnny was down bad for Sophie, the way she embraced the messy, carnal parts of human nature without apology. She made him feel like a character in one of her stories, teetering on the edge of something raw and thrilling.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see how far she’d let him fall.

It was one of those late nights where the air in the projection room felt heavy, the low hum of the machines lulling them into an easy rhythm. Sophie had perched herself in the chair in the corner, legs crossed, cigarette forgotten between her fingers.

“You really want to read it?” she asked, her voice a little too casual.

Johnny didn’t look up from the reel he was inspecting, though his hands faltered for half a beat. “Been asking you for weeks, haven’t I?”

Sophie smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it, like she was testing him. She reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded stack of pages, bound with a frayed ribbon.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if it messes with your head,” she said, tossing it onto the counter.

He wiped his hands on his trousers before picking it up, the weight of her work feeling heavier than it should’ve. The title scrawled across the top in her loopy handwriting read Flickers.

Johnny picked the script off the counter, his fingers brushing the ribbon binding it together. The room felt warmer now, Sophie’s proximity a heavy presence that made it harder to focus. He flipped through the pages until he landed on a scene near the middle—words catching his eye like fireflies in the dark.

He cleared his throat, half for himself and half to test the waters. “Mind if I…”

Sophie raised a brow, but there was a softness to her smirk. “Go ahead... If you dare.”

The challenge in her voice spurred him on, and he began to read.

“'Paul's hands traced the curves of her body, firm and possessive. His voice was a husky whisper in her ear as he demanded, "Tell me how much you want me." Lucille gasped, her body responding eagerly, guiding his hands to where she needed him most.'

“'His grip tightened around her as he felt her body molding to his touch, her warmth enveloping him. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, and she shivered beneath him in response. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him as he traced patterns over her stomach and sides with his fingers. The softness of her skin sent shockwaves of desire through him, and he growled low in his throat. His hands found their way up to cup her breasts, kneading them gently before pulling on her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Lucille threw her head back with a soft moan, the sound echoing in the room. Her scent was intoxicating—a mix of sweet perfume and primal need.”

Johnny paused, his voice trailing off as he glanced up. Sophie had turned her face away, her dark lashes casting shadows against her cheeks. But she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be—he caught the faintest curve of her lips, a smile threatening to give her away.

“Keep going,” she said softly, her tone lacking the teasing edge it usually carried.

Johnny swallowed, taking a seat in the chair beside her, “You sure?”

Her eyes flicked to his, holding his gaze for just a moment too long. “I’m sure.”

He returned to the page, his voice lower now, threading through the quiet tension between them.

“‘You like watching me unravel,’ Paul murmured, his hands tightening on her waist. ‘Does it make you feel powerful?’

“She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. ‘It makes me feel alive.’

“With one swift motion, Paul pulled back Lucille's bustier, revealing supple curves that seemed endless in the dim light. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of skin, tracing patterns that made her gasp and squirm beneath him. His lips followed suit, kissing and nipping along her collarbone and down towards her breasts. They stood tall and proud under his admiring gaze, begging for attention. With a soft sigh, he bent down to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first before increasing the pressure. Lucille cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back off the bed.”

Johnny stopped again, unable to ignore the way Sophie shifted closer to him, her knee brushing against his thigh. “This is… something else,” he murmured, not realizing he’d said it out loud.

Sophie finally turned to him, her cheeks flushed but her smile unshaken. “You like it?”

He let out a low laugh, setting the script down but keeping his eyes on her. “I think you’re trying to get me in trouble.”

She bit her lip, that wicked, knowing smile from the page mirrored on her face now. “Or maybe I just know what I want,” she said, her voice quiet but sure, “Keep going,” she urged.

The room suddenly felt claustrophobic as the scene unfold. His heart raced as Paul buried himself between Lucille's legs, read how she moaned and screamed for him, their encounter brimming with unbridled desire. Every word and gesture built to a tantalizing climax, sending Johnny's mind reeling with fantasies. But it wasn't Paul or Lucille anymore; it was him and Sophie. Her seductive smirk and intense gaze held him spellbound, igniting a fire within him that he could not resist.

“You write like this all the time?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Only when I feel inspired,” Sophie replied, standing now. She stepped closer, her movements deliberate, as though testing just how far she could push him. “What do you think?”

“I think…” He set the pages down, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Do I?”

The silence between them thickened, charged with all the things Johnny wasn’t saying. The way her scripts had lodged themselves in his brain, filling the quiet moments with flashes of heat. The way she seemed to know, without him ever admitting it, how badly he wanted her.

Sophie closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touching him. “If you’re too shy to finish, I can always act it out for you,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny’s breath hitched. He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but the way her eyes lingered on his lips told him she wasn’t.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sophie smirked, leaning in until her mouth was inches from his. “Who says I can’t?”

And that was it—whatever thin thread of control Johnny had been clinging to snapped. He closed the gap, his hands gripping her waist as their mouths collided. She tasted like smoke and something sweeter, her body pressing into his as though daring him to take more.

The pages of her script fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as Johnny pulled her into his lap, her legs falling on either side of him. Sophie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath hitching against his lips. She didn’t hold back—her movements were confident, commanding, like she’d been waiting for this moment as much as he had.

For Johnny, it wasn’t just about the heat of the moment. It was the way Sophie unraveled him, her words and presence stripping him bare until there was nothing left but want. She made him feel like he was part of her story, and for once, he didn’t care if it had a happy ending.

The room was awash with raw desire and urgency as Johnny's hands fumbled to undo the intricate clasps of Sophie's bustier, the fabric falling away to reveal the soft curve of her skin. Sophie's nails grazed down his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as she leaned in to capture his lips hungrily. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as Johnny tore off her dress in a rush, his movements desperate and primal.

Sophie gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch as he explored every inch of her exposed skin. Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The air crackled with electricity between them, passion igniting like a wildfire that threatened to consume them whole.

Their kiss deepened, becoming a symphony of need and longing that echoed through the room. Johnny's hands roamed over Sophie's body, memorizing every curve and

dip, every smooth plane and luscious valley that lay beneath the surface. He traced her spine with reverence, his fingers dancing down the small of her back and around to cup her hip, pulling her against him in a desperate plea for contact.

Sophie whimpered into his mouth, her own hands finding their way beneath his shirt, tracing the muscular lines of his abdomen as she felt the heat radiating off of him. The fire between them was building, growing in intensity until it threatened to consume them both in its fervor. She couldn't remember ever feeling this way before – so alive, so consumed by a need that seemed to pulse through her very veins.

And then Johnny's lips were on her neck, trailing kisses down to where her pulse raced wildly beneath the surface. And despite herself, Sophie's knees began to weaken. His teeth gently nipped at the tender skin of her shoulder, sending shivers of desire coursing through her veins. She could feel the heat from his body seeping into hers, warming her to her very core. And as much as she tried to fight it, it was impossible to deny the sheer power that he held over her in this moment.

The room was spinning with a mix of lust and adrenaline, the two of them lost in a whirlwind of passion that threatened to consume them both. Johnny's breath was hot against her skin, his lips trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone until he finally reached the delicate curve of her breasts.

She gasped as he took one in his mouth, sucking gently on the taut nipple while running his hands down over her hips and towards the sway of her backside. Sophie moaned softly into his hair, her hands fisting in his shirt as she arched her back, the pleasure coursing through her. This was beyond anything she'd ever experienced, anything she could write—a fire burning bright within her that only he could fan into flames.

As his lips moved from one breast to the other, Sophie's breath became ragged, her body trembling with need. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer still. She felt like she was dancing on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating, and she was powerless to resist it.

Johnny's hands trailed down her back, tracing the curve of her hips before sliding beneath her, lifting her onto the chair. She let out a soft gasp as he settled her onto the wooden frame, his strong arms supporting her weight. The room was filled with a heavy silence punctuated only by their ragged breathing and the sound of fabric rustling as they tore at each other's clothes.

With an unspoken demand, Johnny lifted her gently and placed her on the small wooden table in the corner of the room. Her breath hitched as she realized how exposed she was, how vulnerable she felt. But in that moment, she didn't want to be anywhere else. She wanted him to take her, to claim her with a passion and intensity that was like nothing she'd ever known.

Johnny pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hands firm but tender as they settled on her thighs. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

Sophie blinked, her lips parted in protest, but he silenced her with a smirk that promised he wasn’t going far. He strode to the projection room door, turning the lock with a decisive click that echoed through the space.

“No interruptions,” he said, more to himself than her, before his eyes flicked back to her.

Sophie was still perched on the table, her legs slightly apart, the hem of her skirt riding dangerously high. She looked at him with a mix of confidence and vulnerability, her breath shallow as he crossed the room again.

“And here — I thought you changed your mind,” she teased, though her voice wavered slightly.

Johnny’s grin deepened, his eyes dark and intent as he stepped closer. His hands settled on her waist, drawing her toward the edge of the table with an easy confidence. “Couldn’t have that,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Not when you look at me like that.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his words a whispered promise against her skin. “Not when I’ve been dying to know how far you’ll let me go.”

Her gasp turned into a moan as his hands slid down, tracing the curve of her hips before tugging her closer. Sophie gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as Johnny’s mouth moved to her neck, his stubble rough against her soft skin.

“Johnny…” she whispered, her voice breathless and pleading.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. “You don’t want anyone hearing us, do you?”

He continued, his touch feather-light as he traced the delicate line of her stomach, her skin quivering beneath his fingers. Sophie bit her lip, her eyes closing as he marveled at the way her body arched towards him.

As she felt his fingers slide under the hem of her undergarments, she caught her breath in a sharp gasp. He looked up at her from where he knelt, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of fear. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

Sophie nodded, an array of emotions playing across her face as she met his gaze. "Yes," she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear. She wanted this; she needed this.

Johnny's eyes locked onto hers for a moment longer before they flicked lower, the heat of desire still smouldering in their depth. He took a shuddering breath, his hands steady as he pulled her underwear down, revealing the most intimate part of her. For a moment, he simply looked, drinking in the sight of her before him.

Sophie's heart threatened to burst from her chest, the sight of Johnny looking at her like that making her feel powerful and delicate all at once. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull him closer and reassure him that she was alright. But she also craved the touch of his skin against hers, the warmth of his body enveloping hers in passion's embrace.

With a deep inhale, Johnny let his fingers brush against the sensitive skin before him. Sophie let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering shut as waves of pleasure washed over her. His touch was gentle yet firm, as if he were caressing a delicate flower with utmost care. She felt herself growing warmer, her body trembling with anticipation.

Johnny's eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze making her heart flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he placed soft kisses along her inner thigh. Sophie let out a shaky sigh, her hands gripping the edge of the table tightly as she felt the world around her fade away.

There was something magical about this moment, something that she knew would stay with her for eternity. Johnny's experience and passion were intertwined with her own desires, creating a symphony of touch and emotion. His hands traced delicate patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine and causing a fire to ignite within her core.

As his lips brushed against her folds, Sophie's breath hitched. The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure and need, of their bodies speaking volumes without a single word being spoken. She could feel Johnny's warmth at her entrance, the anticipation of what was to come making her tremble with excitement.

Johnny then descended upon Sophie's slick, wet pussy like a starved animal. His tongue delved into her folds, tasting her sweet nectar, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked gently. Sophie's back arched out as a moan escaped her lips. Her fingers threaded through Johnny's hair, pulling him closer as he devoured her.

His tongue darted in and out of her pussy, fucking her with it like a little cock. He teased her entrance, tasting her sweet juices before plunging deeper. Sophie's hips bucked as she ground herself against his face, desperate for more. Her moans grew louder as her pleasure built, her breath hitching with every flick of Johnny's tongue against her clit.

Her legs trembled as she felt her orgasm building. Johnny's skilled tongue worked her into a frenzy, his fingers digging into her thighs as he held her in place. She could feel herself on the edge, ready to tumble over into pure ecstasy. With one final flick of his tongue, Sophie came undone.

Her orgasm tore through her like a tidal wave. Sophie's eyes rolled back into her head as she cried out in pleasure. Johnny continued to lick and suck at her pussy, drawing out every last shiver and shudder of her orgasm. When Sophie finally came down from her high, Johnny looked up at her with a smug smile on his face.

"Good girl," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You taste so fucking sweet."

Sophie could only blush and pant in response, still reeling from the most intense orgasm of her life. Johnny's mouth on her pussy had been filthy and depraved, but she couldn't get enough. She knew she'd be begging for more in no time.

With a smile that promised more, Johnny stood and pulled his pants down, his impressive erection bobbing in front of them. Sophie smiled up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. She reached out to him, her fingers tracing the length of his cock.

"Take me," she whispered, her voice full of desire. "I’m all yours, Johnny."

Johnny positioned himself at Sophie's entrance and slowly pushed inside. She gasped at the sensation of him filling her up, stretching her tight hole until she was overflowing with him. He began to move, his body slamming into hers with a rhythm that matched their hearts' desires.

Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as she felt Johnny's cock pound against her insides. She met every stroke with a moan or a whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held onto him for dear life. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding—skin slapping against skin, breaths becoming ragged gasps for air.

The air in the room was thick, their bodies entwined in a rhythm that left no room for restraint. Johnny's movements were deliberate yet teasing, each thrust pulling a gasp from Sophie's lips. His mouth found her ear, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered.

"Is this how you pictured it?" he murmured, his tone laced with a wicked edge. "When you wrote those words—was it me you imagined, Sophie?"

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tried to find balance amidst the chaos he was unleashing on her. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe beyond the sensation of him inside her.

"You’ve got a filthy imagination," Johnny continued, his voice dripping with mock admonishment, though his thrusts deepened with every word. "I read every line, you know. Every single detail. Do you squirm when you write it? Did you get this wet just thinking about it?"

Sophie’s moan was all the response he needed, her head falling back as she clung to him, desperate for more. Her body betrayed her, arching into his touch, meeting every movement with equal fervor.

He chuckled, low and rough, his teeth grazing her neck. "Thought so. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to stop." His hand slid to her thigh, lifting it higher to anchor her against him. "So tell me, Sophie—am I better than your story?"

Her breath hitched, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with heat. “Y-you’re better,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper, “So fucking better.”

"That’s what I thought," Johnny growled, his lips crashing against hers as he drove them both closer to the edge. Sophie arched her back as he reached between them to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

"Come for me again," he commanded, nibbling at her ear while still teasing her clit. With a cry, Sophie obeyed, her body shuddering with pleasure. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he continued to move inside her.

Never had she felt so alive, so desired. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex as their bodies moved as one, lost in the haze of desire and passion. Johnny's lips found hers once more, their tongues tangling in a messy dance of lust and love.

He pulled out at the last moment, his come splattering against her swollen clit. She cried out in ecstasy as he filled her up again, painting her insides with his release. And then they collapsed together in a heap on the table, their breathing ragged and heavy as they came down from their high.

Sophie couldn't believe it—she'd never felt anything like this before. This raw, unrestrained passion that burned bright between them. As she looked into Johnny's eyes, she knew that whatever words she’d written couldn’t truly capture the essence of their connection. Not like this.

Their bodies, slick with sweat and desire, lay entwined, hearts pounding in sync with the fading echoes of their passionate embrace. As their breaths slowly returned to normal, Sophie traced her fingers through the damp hair on Johnny's chest, marveling at the man before her. He was more than just a character in her story; he was real, and he had brought her words to life in a way she never thought possible.

Johnny turned his head towards her hand and captured it in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "That was... incredible," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears of overwhelming emotion. "You truly are a wordsmith, Sophie."

She smiled, the corners of her lips turning up in a knowing grin. "I can't take all the credit. You helped bring the idea to life."

He chuckled softly and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Well then, let's write another chapter, shall we?"

[losers-clvb]

mine // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x girlfriend!reader

summary: when the cassette player in the impala breaks during a roadtrip, you and the winchesters are forced to listen to the radio. however, when looking for a station, you come across a song by a certain blond singer and fall in love with it.

content: fluff, reader becomes a swiftie, dean (as a result of reader) becomes a swiftie, no use of y/n, sam is happily third wheeling, smut, oral (female receiving), making out, brief mentions of grinding

word count: 2.5k

note: happy ending for dean and reader this time! i am a swiftie, so it's no surprise that i had to write a fic with taylor incorporated. if it wasn't obvious by the title, the song mentioned throughout is 'mine' by taylor swift. there wasn't supposed to be smut, but the i was listening to 'so it goes...' by taylor and got a little carried away. this fic is very fitting because just a few days after starting to write it your girl secured the lover: live from paris vinyl!!! thank god, because lover is my favorite album. anyways, enjoy this, and look forward to more sam and dean fics coming because i am definitely not done writing!

masterlist

----

“Damn it!” You’d heard that about six times in the last five minutes. It had been a calm day of driving. Windows down, sun shining in, and Dean’s hand in yours. Sam had been in the backseat, laughing along as you told a story from your childhood. The background music to your tale had been the radio softly playing a cassette that Dean had chosen before beginning the journey from Virginia to Michigan. Or it had been the background music until the lead singer had been cut off mid word by a crunching sound. This prompted Dean to slam his hand on the radio a few times before proceeding to pull into any empty lot to get a closer look.

“I can fix this,” he had claimed as he fiddled around with random things surrounding the radio. You watched him with furrowed eyebrows, knowing he had little to no clue what he was doing. Even if he did somehow know how to fix the thing, there was no way he could do it without any tools. After the aforementioned slurry of curses, you finally put the man out of his misery and placed a hand on his arm.

“Dean, let’s just listen to the radio like normal people.” Your words brought a scoff from him and he sat up in his seat. Sam watched the two of you with amusement. It had been enjoyable to watch his brother fall in love with someone who could keep up with him. Though sometimes the stubborn attitude you shared with each other caused brief bickering, there was no one else Dean would rather spend the rest of his life with. He hadn’t told you in all those words, but everything else he had said and done had told you that much. Sam would say that his older brother would take a bullet for you if he hadn’t already watched how that turned out.

“Fine.” Dean grumbled out as he started the car back up. He let you find a station. He was confident in your skills to find a suitable station for driving in the Impala. You knew exactly what he liked and exactly what he couldn’t stand to listen to. And perhaps you did. But that day, when your fingers turned the dial through the stations and you caught a snippet of a song, you were choosing for yourself.

“-believe it?, As we’re lying on the couch,”

“This one!” You perked up as the female voice filled the vehicle.

“No.” Dean’s voice had a finality in it you didn’t like. You frowned and turned in your seat. His eyes were on the road but he watched your reaction from the corner of his eye as he flitted his attention from the road to you. You weren’t happy with him, that was obvious, and he knew you weren’t going to back down. Neither would he.

“Yes.” You pushed back as the song played on.

“No.” Dean repeated.

“Just for this song.” You offered, knowing you probably weren’t going to like the following songs anyways.

“Fine.” Your boyfriend gave in to you far easier than he would have if it had been anyone else. In the silence after, you hummed along to the song, not yet knowing the lyrics. Dean continued to watch you, smiling as he did so. By the last chorus, you could sing along.

“Who the hell even was that?” Dean asked once the song had started to fade out. As if in the car himself, the radio DJ responded.

“That was country music superstar Taylor Swift’s new single ‘Mine’ off her upcoming third album ‘Speak Now’. Next up,-”

You moved the dial again, knowing the song you had just listened to would end up being the only hit you would enjoy from the station. You landed on a station that was playing similar music as what was on the cassette. Dean grasped your hand in his and you interlocked fingers.

“Thank you, baby.” You said to him. You knew he would have given in to you no matter what, but you still wanted to make him feel appreciated. His response to you was a bright smile.

----

The next time the song was heard, it was from the speakers on your laptop. You were strictly a researcher for the boys. No physical hunting for you. There was one time you had attempted to join the boys on tracking a lone vampire. Dean was far too distracted by making sure you were never out of his sight that he had missed the vamp push past the group. It had ended with Sam almost getting his throat ripped out, which had really pissed him off. After that, it was only computer work for you. You hadn’t complained. Historically speaking, you weren’t one for running for your life.

This hunt was pretty easy. A ghost had been terrorizing the residents of town under a local bridge, resulting in car crashes and a few pedestrians being struck. Once you had narrowed down the grave of the man, you sent Sam and Dean to burn his bones. In their absence you found yourself looking for the song from the radio.

There it was. A YouTube video displayed the cover art for the album as the upbeat song played. You wandered about the room, readying yourself for the night while mumbling the lyrics. The song played then moved on to one Taylor Swift song after the next for the next 35 minutes until the door to the motel room clicked open. You looked up from your notebook to see the boys walk in. Sam offered you a smile before going to the bathroom, assumingly having won the rights to the first shower. Dean raised an eyebrow at your laptop as he sat in a chair across from you.

“This the same chick from the other day?” He asked, which earned him a playful pout from you.

“Taylor Swift.” You corrected as you placed your notebook and pen inside your bag.

“My favorite singer.” You stood and took the few steps to reach him before sitting on his lap, your arms around his neck and his hands holding you securely. You placed a kiss on his cheek and grimaced at the smell.

“You stink.” You stated but made no move to get away from him. Your words were met with a pout from him, similar to the one he had received from you.

“I thought Bob Dylan was your favorite singer?” Dean asked. You shook your head and leaned into him.

“Nope. Taylor Swift.” You felt him breathe a laugh out. He continued to hold you until Sam was done with his shower, even if his leg had fallen asleep in that time.

----

“Do you remember we were sitting there by the water?”

The voice trailed out from your phone as you and Dean cuddled in bed. You had figured out how to download the song onto your device and it just so happened the first song you had heard from the blonde girl was your favorite. The lyrics reminded you of your relationship with Dean. It was the morning now and Sam had run out for breakfast. You and Dean had taken the time alone by sleepily making out and listening to music. Your music had been the winner since you were the only one with it downloaded onto your phone and your laptop was across the room.

You could tell, despite his objections to the fact, Dean was starting to enjoy some of the songs. Sure, it was because you enjoyed them, but you could have sworn that he hummed along to some of them.

You grabbed the front of his shirt in a fist as you two kissed. He held his hands on your hips to pull you into him. Your heart was beating quickly and you rolled your body up against his. There wasn’t enough time for what the both of you truly wanted to do, but that didn’t mean you could just turn it off. His response to your movements was to groan and kiss you harder. His hands trailed to your bottom and he pulled you up into him.

“Dean,” You breathed out. The music had been drowned out by the sounds of you and your lover. It was magical. His hands, his lips, all of him. Pleasure erupted where his hands touched you. It had been far too long since you had gotten to be close to him like this.

“I know, baby, I know,” Dean’s words came out in pants in between kisses. His hands were tight on you, fingers digging into your hips. You moaned into his mouth when you brushed up onto him in just the right way.

Fuck it.

That was Dean’s last thought before deciding he would be quick. He could get you off in the time it would take Sam to make it back to the room. His younger brother would have the sense to knock before coming in anyways, right? That didn’t matter in the moment as Dean disappeared under the blankets. The only thing racing around either of your heads was the need for touch. You felt him tug your shorts down, pulling your underwear with them. No time for the usual foreplay, Dean dove right into you.

His tongue dragged along your core. He groaned when he tasted you, just as sweet as he remembered. He used his tongue to lap at your entrance, causing you to curse under your breath. His nose nudged at your clit while he moved, creating an immense amount of pleasure to build up inside you. You moaned and bucked your hips up, trying to get impossibly closer to him. Dean’s response to this was to hold your hips down, his pace never slowing. The pressure from his fingers had pleasure, not pain, rippling through your body. There were sure to be bruises in the coming hours, but that was the collateral for what Dean did to your body.

God, his mouth felt heavenly. You pressed your shoulders into the pillows, needing to move. You were whimpering his name out in between moans. The sound of his name coming from your pretty little mouth only encouraged his actions. He moved his mouth like a man starved, and there were no complaints from you.

Your hands balled into fists, gripping the sheets tight enough Dean thought you were going to rip them, but he didn’t stop. That would be a problem for later Dean. Present Dean needed to feel his girl come apart under his hands. He continued to work at you, knowing when you were getting close when your breaths became shorter and quicker. The coil of an orgasm built up in your lower abdomen. You were right on the edge, ready to fall into the ocean of post-sex bliss, and the tipping point was Dean groaning into you at the feel of you fighting his hold on you. The noise reverberated through your body, making your skin goosebump at the pure desire of it.

You were trying to catch your breath while basking in the high of what Dean had done to you when the door opened. Sam, it seemed, had not known he would need to knock before entering. It was the shared room after all. He carried in a large bag full of fragrant food and a tray of coffees. Confusion bloomed across his face when he hadn’t seen his brother next to you, the emotion only increasing at the sight of the obviously empty bathroom. He turned his eyes to you, apparently not noticing the red of your cheeks.

“Where…?” Sam had begun his question, but let the rest of the sentence trail off when Dean emerged from under the blanket. His cheeks were the same red as your own, though he tried to hide this with a flash of a wide smirk. He had pulled your shorts back onto you before making his entrance, ensuring you wouldn’t accidentally flash his brother.

“Oh, gross!” Sam exclaimed and piled the food onto the table. It wasn’t as if it had been the first time he had walked in on his older brother, but it never ceased to make it less weird for him. You and Dean let out twin chuckles before joining Sam at the table for breakfast.

----

You were back in the Impala. The windows were down and the warm air of summer streamed in the windows. You let your right hand wave up and down in the wind, holding Dean’s hand in your left. His elbow rested on his own open window as he drove wordlessly, letting the music fill the car. Even Sam was quiet as he let the air that rushed into the vehicle to swish his hair around. The song - your song, as Dean liked to call it - was filling the space around your little trio. The cassette player in the car had been fixed, (turns out Dean did know what he was doing, which he boasted about for a good five minutes), but you had been checking the country radio station in between songs in the hopes that they would play the song. After a few tries, there it was, and you had been lucky enough to catch it at the beginning.

“But we got bills to pay, we got nothing figured out,” you sang along with the radio. You looked over to Dean.

“When it was hard to take, yes, yes, this is what I thought about,” Dean was, albeit very discreetly, singing along as well. A smile broke out across your face, one that caught Sam’s attention.

“Are you singing Taylor Swift, Dean?” Sam asked incredulously, a teasing tone in his voice. Dean glanced at the two of you, rolling his eyes when he saw the looks of astonishment on them. He knew there was no denying it.

“Yes, now shut up, the bridge is coming.” Dean shot back. Sure enough, the post-chorus just before the bridge was playing.

“And I remember that fight, 2:30 AM, as everything was slipping right out of hands,”

Sam had joined in on the sing-along, having the song practically memorized from the amount of times you played it. You giggled through your singing at the sound of the two men in the car with you. You all must have sounded ridiculous, three voices, four including the radio, blasted from the open windows. It didn’t matter though, you were all happy. You were all family, even if it wasn’t through blood when it came to you. You loved these boys and knew you would never want to live a day with either one of them out of your life. Dean, your true love, your soulmate, if that was even possible. Sam, your brother, your friend.

Dean pulled the back of your hand to his lips before the last line. You locked eyes with him and the rest of the world blurred away. A smile pulled the corners of your lips up. You and Dean sang the last line to each other, and though it was just a song, you both knew the lyrics to be true.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

[leikeliscomet]

Who’s Afraid of Tenmartha? - Thoughts on Doctor Who’s Most Hated Ship 

All about attraction and desire, fandom morality and ‘ethical’ shipping, if that even exists.

Intro Chapter 1 - She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Chapter 2 - Bad Girls Club Chapter 3 & Conclusion - All’s Fair in Love and Shipping

Intro

‘Martha deserved so much better than that’

This is the first thing you’ll hear if the word ‘Tenmartha’ is ever typed or spoken out loud. For many, Tenmartha is a problematic ship and one of their least favourites. But Doctor Who’s known for its messiness. The Master with their homicidal tendencies is still a big contender for Thoschei. Meeting River as a literal baby and her brainwashing didn’t stop the DoctorRiver train. There’s people who overlook the platonic bond of Ten and Donna and ship them romantically regardless. People even ship Thirteen and Graham. The ‘normal’ in the idea of a normal ship with the Doctor is doing A LOT of leg work when it comes to this show. But despite all of this, Tenmartha has taken the crown for the worst ship. Or at least, is sharing it with Thasmin. Tenmartha and Thasmin are battling out for the title of ‘worst’ ship but Tenmartha still has the upper (or lower?) hand. Whilst the thassies have built up a small community for themselves with zines and collabs galore, Tenmartha seems to take a beating every week on the tl and even outranking the more ‘problematic’ ships I just listed in most hated ship polls. If Tenmartha’s lucky to rank high you can bet the ‘why would you do that to Martha’ tweets fill the quotes. But on the flipside, we’re also in a Tenmartha renaissance, with Tenmartha archive accounts going viral every other day and viral snippets from series 3 because of how interesting the dynamic was. It seems Tenmartha is a marmite ship; you love it or you hate it. In the eyes of some it’s awful and for others it's Doctor Who’s guilty pleasure.

I don’t ship Tenmartha mainly from the fact I don’t really care about the Doctor’s ships like I did when I was a kid and I care more about companion ships generally (this is strictly a Clani and IanBarbara household only!). But also from the main fact I really don’t like how Ten (and RTD) treated Martha in series 3 at all. But, when you factor in the long-existing Martha Jones hate train, the misogynoir towards Freema Agyeman, the long history of fandom’s hatred of interracial ships, society’s even longer dynamics of romance, sex and how Black people especially Black women participate, or if we’re even allowed to in the first place, plus the concept of morality when applied to Black characters, I can’t say the anti-Tenmartha wave is entirely in good faith. Especially from how I’ve already done a deep dive into how Martha and Freema Agyeman’s treatment was rooted in rampant antiblackness and misogynoir. Is the buzz around Tenmartha fully about her ‘deserving better’ or are there missing pieces of the puzzle? Is Tenmartha even being shipped in good faith? Is there an ‘ethical Tenmartha’? I’m gonna try to unpack my thoughts on Tenmartha, its fans, its antis, everything in between and outside.

It’s time to ask the question, who’s afraid of Tenmartha? And most importantly, why?

Chapter 1 ->

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | m.list | next >>

ch. xiv - demerit

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 1.7 k

a/n : sorry that this is a bit late, i'm having some crisis irl ✌️

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

You always thought that Jongho was an interesting man. Since the moment you saw him at the supermarket, struggling in the self check out counter and then struggling with using his credit card, you knew he didn't belong.

Initially, you had assumed he was probably from the countryside. Or even Amish, that's why he seemed mildly perturbed with technology. It wasn't until you saw what you initially thought was a tattoo just a teeny bit lower on his neck that you realized that he was someone who had been cursed. Having been a history major, you got severely intrigued which was why you followed him out of the supermarket and eventually wore him down to the point of getting him to employ you by simply pointing out how much he needed you to survive the modern world. Being near someone who had been around during and through historical events, often hearing snippets of how it was in the past. It was worth all of the headache of managing his estate and personal affairs. To a certain extent of course, he still wouldn't let you in too deep, especially about the reason for his curse.

So seeing him wandering about in front of your campus, trying to peek in was almost equally intriguing.

"You don't seem like you belong."

Jongho snapped his head when he heard your voice and without him realizing, his shoulders relaxed and his chest felt less heavy.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, arms crossing in front of your chest to shield you from the evening breeze which Jongho mistook as you trying to seem tough. "I came to see you," he said, shoving his hands into his pocket, as if what he said was the most normal thing he could say. You nodded slowly in acknowledgment, "I can see that. You have been asking around for me to random people? Why?"

At your question, Jongho's fingers felt slightly tingly. He had prepared to say what he wanted to say after his talk with Hongjoong and he knew he needed to, it was just rather hard, to say the least. Jongho didn't know if it was pride, shame, or a sense of ridiculousness, but any or all of it made him slightly lightheaded and so he took a seat on a nearby bench.

Seeing this, you slowly sat next to him and waited.

"I... I don't think I'm human anymore," Jongho started, idly looking anywhere but you.

"What, do you think you're a vampire or something?" you joked, causing Jongho to give you a deadpanned look before he sighed, "No, nothing like that, it's just..." he paused for a moment, thinking of a way to share his point. "I've been living far longer than humans meant to live, I've seen more things than any other person has, and trust me when I say that it was mostly bad and I can't get out of this state. Trust me, I've tried. I'm human but I live as if I'm not and it still boggles me to this day so at some point, I decided to just... Not be. I decided, that the thing that made me human was emotion and attachment and they were the things that made it hard for me to move on, go forth with the long sentence I have to endure so I let it go. I let the human side of me go and it didn't occur to me until you came along that it was wrong of me to let that happen. However long I have lived, I'm still human after all, nevermind the company I keep. So... (y/n), I'm sorry for the way I have treated you. You were so patient and so understanding with me, not to mention very helpful and yes, while I reward you with a fair wage, I did not reward your proactive kindness whatsoever so please, please come back to me so I can prove to you I'm not a complete monster and that I can make it up to you."

To say that you were surprised was an understatement. You were flabbergasted because you wouldn't expect to receive such confession from Jongho. Out of all the things you imagined, this scenario would not even make it to the brainstorming session.

You shifted in your seat before opening your mouth, "Jongho, what... What made you say this?" you asked, genuinely asking and your voice conveyed pure curiosity, no hint of mockery or suspicion which Jongho didn't fail to recognize. "Not seeing you after leaving just like that made me uneasy. I hated the thought of me subconsciously hurting you and forcing you away and even pushing you to quit working for me because I was just... A big idiot," he stated, looking away from you so he could maintain his composure and not say anything stupid to preserve his... dignity?

"So... You thought that I wasn't gonna come back and the thought was so bad that you actually come here to hunt me down even if you don't know if I was gonna be here?" you couldn't help but crack a grin at the notion. Jongho sighed exasperatedly but there was a slight redness dusting his cheeks that was conveniently hidden by the dark. "Well, it wasn't like I didn't have any plan. You kind of announced your whereabouts on social media and I just... I had to try," his voice got lower and quieter nearing the end but you caught everything perfectly thanks to the quiet surroundings. "Uhuh, but you still came out here JUST to look for me, right?" Jongho seemed to be even more embarrassed and when he turned to look at you, you had to admit that his annoyed face was adorable, like a sulking bear cub. "If you're just gonna mock me, I'm just gonna let you be and find another history enthusiast to help me survive or something. Or maybe I'll just suck it up and ask Yeosang hyung or something because believe me when I say that it took courage and preparation to come here, you hear me? I didn't even-"

You knew that Jongho rambles when he's embarrassed and he tends to not stop until someone stops him so you had to take action. You grabbed his arm which effectively stopped his rambles. "Jongho, I never planned on quitting work. I left a note on your desk to let you know that I had to take some time off because I have finals. I initially thought about sending you a text or something but after our last interaction, I was feeling petty so I decided to just leave a simple note. I swear it's there, you must've not seen it," you pointed out. Slowly, Jongho's face changed to confusion and you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning before he answered, "B-b-but I didn't see any note, at all! I checked my desk and hell, not just my desk, I checked everywhere because Wooyoung hyung went to Seonghwa hyung's library and I had to make sure in case he-"

The look on both of your faces was priceless as the possibility dawned on you two. For a moment you both could only stare at each other before you broke into a fit of chuckles as Jongho face-palmed himself. "I'm gonna kill him," Jongho muttered to himself, dragging his hand down before he stopped grumbling to look at you. It was odd, he was usually annoyed with your antics but this time, after he bore himself to you, he realized how much he liked the sound of your laughter. Even after your laughter died down, your smile seem to make him feel lighter.

"So... You were always planning to come back?" Jongho asked, this time seemingly less... Animated. You nodded at his question, "Yeah, of course." "So... I was worried for nothing?" he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm again. Luckily for him, you giggled and shook your head immediately, "Hey, it wasn't for nothing, Jongho. Had you not worried, you wouldn't be here right? You wouldn't have made the realization, conclusion, and determination, and we wouldn't have this talk which I'm so glad for. I've always wanted to be closer to you not just because you're an interesting person, Jongho. I also wanted to do it because I don't just consider you as someone I work for, I want to be on a more personal basis, you know? So I'm super glad this happened," you grinned, giving him assurance.

Hearing your response made Jongho glad and with the same determination, he nodded to himself, "I'm glad this happened too I guess. But, I promise, once you're back, I will try to be more open with you. I can't promise anything instant, but I can promise to try. Does that... Does that sound okay?" It came as no surprise that you enthusiastically nodded but the reassurance that you were okay for him to try with you felt really nice.

Remembering reality, Jongho cleared his throat and stood up, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants, "W-well, I should let you get back to... The inside?" he glanced at the building. Realizing that you still had to go back to studying for your test, you let out a huff but nodded and stood up, "Yeah, I guess I have to go back now." Jongho nodded and motioned for you to go in. You nodded at him and waved as you walked backward to the entrance, "Bye Jongho, thank you for coming. If you have anything to say, you can text me and I'll make sure to answer you." Jongho didn't even notice that he was smiling when he nodded at your offer, "Sounds good. Good luck on your test, (y/n), I know you'll do great," he waved.

Truly, having the talk with Jongho made you feel giddy. So as you turned and jogged back inside the study hall, you felt even more ready to tackle your test. Maybe because you wanted to do well, but maybe because you wanted to get it over with so you could go back to work. Either way, you had Jongho to thank.

network :

@cultofdionysus @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@dinossaurz @redzie02 @stayatinykatsy @tinyelfperson @allisonleannn @yukichan67 @phenomenalgirl9 @dawn-iscozy @aestheticsluut @krustycangrejo @teenyfinds @kirbrary @thedistractedwriter @gxlden-bxbyy @huachengsbestie01 @charreddonuts @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict @velvetskize @do-you-remember-summer-127 @borahae-reads @domfikeluva

@roronoas-wife

[eemamminy-art]

My art process, more or less

Hey, so a lot of people have asked me before to share some of my art process. So when drawing a recent quick personal piece I decided to finally take screenshots as I went to make a write-up. This is the artwork:

And below the cut is all the steps as I drew this. I wasn't counting the time but I think it was something like ~5 hours between two sessions.

This is less a tutorial and more just showcasing how I draw. You know how writers sometimes call themselves a planner or a pantser? I'm a pantser with art. When I try to plan stuff out too thoroughly I get stuck in the mindset of like, it HAS to be one way and I can't improvise. Improvisation and pivot is kind of essential in how I draw, and I recommend everyone trying to not be so rigid when drawing if you can help it. I'm kind of all over the place and winging it through most drawings so I hesitate to call it a tutorial as I feel it would be hard to follow for beginners. I can only manage to draw this way because I already have some classroom training, thousands of hours and artworks under my belt, and a pretty strong sense of visual recall that gives me a good sense of how to eyeball proportions and the like. Okay, disclaimer done, let's jump in I guess

I had an idea to draw my OC wearing a layered shirt combo that I saw in a cat video and I thought suited him. You'll see the snippet I took of it in the corner of the canvas throughout, but that's where the idea spawned. I began with just trying to get the basic gesture and flow of the pose. I was constructing it from my head, as I most often do (I don't recommend this, but I am usually too lazy for finding pose refs)

I flip the canvas and use the lasso tool all throughout and just continue to push and pull on the body shape and gradually add more substance to it until I'm satisfied with the undersketch

Once I feel like the undersketch is what I want it to be, I lock the transparency and reduce the opacity to 15%. You could also just change the colors on it if you'd prefer, but I've done that and then drawn on the wrong layer too many times lol so I prefer to just lower opacity. Then I make a new layer at 100% opacity and start to draw the clean sketch on top.

I'm making changes to the pose and expression as I go, as you can see I ended up shifting his head away from where it's positioned in the undersketch

I achieve some of the effects in my art, especially the line weight, through setting the colors to transparent and continuing to use my sketch/line brush so that it now acts as an eraser but maintains the same texture and size as my brush strokes. I use it to cut away excess lines, and also add transparency to stuff like having the eyebrows be a suggestion beneath the bangs

I redrew parts of his face, neck, and hair several times and questioned what I was doing with my evening (normal part of the process) and eventually ended up with this:

I realized the hands were way too vague in my undersketch so I went back to it to try and figure out the hand pose better

And here's the finished hands. Well not really finished, I continue to mess with line weight later, but this is basically their final form

And this was basically the finished "lines" (it's still a sketch to me because I use this rougher brush, but people always refer to it as line art. So I guess it's line art), with the undersketch on and with it off

Of course I took one look at the art above and said "something's wrong" lol but I was in a bad mood and it was late so I went to bed. I came back the next day and began tweaking it, using my beloved lasso tool to adjust his face somewhat which helped a lot

I then proceeded to add some more line weighting, adjusted proportions further, and toned down the folds on his jeans because there was WAY too much focus on them lol. Side by side to show the differences:

Okay now we can start colors. And I know this is the thing you're all here for, the skin rendering. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but it's mostly just magic with textures and layer modes! I make a flat color layer for the skin base, and three layers clipped above it (clipped meaning, they lock to the alphas of the base layer). The first layer clipped above is set to 100% opacity with a normal layer mode. This is for color variations on the skin like blemishes, freckles, lips, tattoos, hickeys, and in nude works, nipples and genitals. In this artwork though, it's just his lips.

The top-most skin layer (three above the base) I set to 40% opacity and hard light mode. This is important, but can be adjusted. You can use multiply or soft light if you want, or adjust the opacity, really mess with it. But this is fore the texture on the skin. I use a custom airbrush that simulates skin pores, and I use a saturated orange color and dust it all over his skin

Next is what I normally like to call blush but it's all over, so it's really like. Definition? People call it rendering and I suppose it's kind of like that but in my head I'm just being lazy to make my flat colors look better and not have to actually do proper shading on the piece! But this is below the pores layer (so it's two layers above the skin base) and it's also set to 40% opacity, hard light. Again, use your discretion and play with it. I use a dark red color for this, it leans slightly pink but it's still fully red I'd say. Like a wine red I guess? And I just start defining shapes of the body, and deepening it in areas that actually would have a lot of blood flow (like the cheeks or ears)

I basically do it like this: I use the same brush that I use for blending when I am doing actual rendering (it's just an oil brush with a chisel tip that I got off the assets store, though it is currently unavailable last I looked) and I block out the area darkly. Then, I swap my color to transparent once again and I use that to carve out the midtones. I use a light touch so I can blend it out really nicely but I do leave some hard edges where it feels appropriate.

So satisfying, so beauteous (★ ω ★) Then I just add in the rest of the colors, putting them in their own layer so I can easily edit them later.

And edit them I did. What is this color scheme?? Whack lol I color picked the shirts from the video I was referencing.. and realized I didn't like it. So I tweaked the colors to better match Mal's earthy color scheme. I also colored the lines by locking transparency on the line layer and coloring over it in a deep red.

Lastly, I made some little edits to line weight, gave him his fuzzy arms (essential, and also? Charm point) and used a deco brush from the clip studio assets store for the background. Here's the finished artwork:

And here's the deco brush, if you wanted to download it:

[but-wait-theres-vore]

I've had this story in my head for a long time, so until I finally decide to write it, I'll share it here!

Imagine a zombie apocalypse setting, where a magic user has been desperately trying to find a cure for this zombie plague, but eventually the zombies catch up to them. They're bitten, and make one final plea to please not let them hurt anyone, and then they black out.

A group of survivors find this zombie wandering, looking lost, but they still look somewhat human. They find it's able to speak, or at least try to speak, they may need to work on reteaching it English. They also find out that it has no memories of its life before being bitten.

It acts repulsed when they ask why it doesn't want their brains, but it's stomach still growls. They figure out that it can eat normal food, which just further cements that this thing isn't quite a zombie, but no matter how much it's physical hunger is met, it's still hungry.

One day, the 'zombie' tries to run away from the base camp in the middle of the night, but one of the survivors notices and goes after them. The zombie begs them in broken english to get away, but they don't listen, and in a flash, they're shrunken down and swallowed whole by the creature.

The zombie starts to panic, not wanting to hurt their friend, but their friend.. isn't hurt. They're pretty shaken up, but they're perfectly safe. Still, the zombie lets them out almost immediately and continues to run away, not stopping to realize that the gnawing pit in its stomach had went away just a little when they had someone tucked away safely inside of them.

Since the zombie still has to recover their memories, they don't realize that their last breath as a human, their undying wish to never hurt someone once they change, came true. They weren't able to get rid of their hunger for people, but they were able to make their stomach safe, and redirect that hunger so that it was calmed by having someone safely inside of them.

Eventually, the other survivors catch up to the zombie, who's still scared of what it had done, despite the fact that it was safe. The person who had been eaten walked forward and tried to calm their friend down, telling them it was okay, and they weren't scared of the zombie, despite what had happened.

The person that was eaten had initially been scared, but once they were let out (and subsequently brought back to their normal size), they started to think about what had happened. This 'zombie' didn't hurt them. It still hungered for people, yes, but it was somehow able to not only shrink people and eat them whole, but do so with no harm to the person whatsoever.

They start to try to get their new zombie friend to remember life before being bitten, hoping to get some answers, and maybe the starts of a cure.

Slowly, the zombie remembers small things, like pointing out which weeds can be harvested and used as an emergency food source, only to stop and wonder how or why they know that.

The zombie has nightmares, occasionally, where their last pleas are played on repeat in their head. Sometimes they get flashes of faces, people they tried to save but couldn't, snippets of spells and rituals that they once performed.

One day, they're walking through the woods with some of their friends, showing them which plants are edible after rations got low, when they come across something oddly familiar.

An overgrown cobble tower surrounded by lush gardens, filled with all types of herbs and plants, all ones that the zombie remembers.

"Rumor has it that a wizard used to live here back before the plague." One of the survivors told them. "If you ask me, it's a load of bunk." Another person in the group disagreed, saying that no one had been able to open the doors, as there was no handle, but instead a strange glyph engraved in the stone.

Sure enough, as the zombie walks over to the door, placing their hands on the familiar grooves of the carved sigil, it creaks open...

[quiet-cabin]

Omamori PostMortem!

Here it is folks! The final Omamori devlog 🥹. In it we'll be taking a look at how everything began, some of the ups and downs we had along the way, including some looks at behind the scenes work, and finally, what's next for the studio!

I'm going to try something a little different here. Normally I link back to the devlog on itch so you can read it there, but I'm wondering if people might be more inclined to read the full thing if they don't have to leave to another tab lol (Although I also worry that tumblr just isn't really great for really long post reading..) But! I shall put the choice in your hands. Here's the link to it on itch.io! Or you can click the read more below to see it here!

I'd be really interested to know what Y'ALL are interested in seeing next 👀

Hello everyone!!

It’s been one month since Omamori released which sounds incredibly fake but here we are! As of posting this, Omamori is sitting at 454 downloads!! Which is really, REALLY exciting and so much more than I ever thought to hope for. Thank you so much!

Today we’re going to be talking a little bit about the process, how things went, what we learned, and what’s next! This is going to be a bit of a longer post but some of you have been with us since the very beginning, and it might be nice to look back, and some of you are new, and have no idea how it all went!

HOW IT STARTED

(The original mock up I made to help Rob visualize what I was thinking for the main menu screen.)

In the beginning of April 2023 I started telling Rob about a 'totally not real' idea I had for a serirei dating sim. It was very much in the 'haha jk wouldn't that be fun, but it'll totally never happen' category. Then I thought, since it won't ever happen, it could be fun to do a little mock-up. Just a fake screenshot of a character and some dialogue. Then I thought, maybe I could try to animate it to show some additional dialogue. THEN I thought, well if I'm going to do all of that, I might as well just put together a slice in a game engine and just do a screen recording.

So I sat down and installed an entire game engine, learned how to navigate its interface and how to use its visual scripting language, how to create & use variables so that you could enter your character name, how to put in a dialogue choice screen, even made a tiny pixel art takoyaki... all to create a 20 second screen recording of a game that was totally not going to exist.

Totally.

I even shared it on Tumblr! It uh, as of typing this, still only has 3 notes lol. You can see the original post here, but here's a screenshot of it.

I won't lie, it was actually really disheartening to see basically no engagement with it. I know there wasn't much info on the concept itself, since the game wasn't going to be real (I thought), and maybe that would have helped, but it definitely did a blow to the ol' self esteem. (Although I can say, looking at it now, I really like this! I'm really insecure about my visual art and style, but y'know what, this is pretty cool! )

I didn't let that deter me though. I was really excited about this game and the story, and at the end of the day, it was a silly little project with my silly little blorbos. So I kept thinking about it and poking the idea and pretty soon the fixation was churning full blast. I was developing the plot, I had snippets of dialogue in mind, I was thinking about GUI elements. And all the while I was yelling all of this at Rob. Eventually I worked up the courage to ask him if he wanted to do the art, only to discover he was working up the nerve to ask if he could help out! After that, it was just a lot of excited yelling about this project.

Looking back at this original mock-up, I think it's really great to see how Rob took my original concepts for layout and design and breathed some actual life into them. At some point I'd done some additional iterations on the dialogue boxes:

And from there we got:

Which ultimately gave us:

HOW IT WENT

There were definitely some ups and down on this, for sure. Getting the demo out was a huge accomplishment and we were both eager to just keep working on it. In fact, the original plan, after releasing the demo October 2023, had been to release the full game by the coming March, for Serizawa's birthday. Ambitious? Without a doubt lol. Obviously that didn't happen, and our next hope was to release it for Reigen's birthday 2024. This way it'd be full circle. Then we hoped to release it for Valentine's day maybe. (This is why we didn't announce a release date until it was well and truly DONE.)

Some of you may remember that Rob injured his hand in early 2024 and so we took quite a bit of time off to let him heal. We're not about that crunch life. Even if this wasn't entirely a passion project, there's absolutely no reason to crunch. So we took a step back so he could heal up. While that was happening.. we had the Great Engine Switch.

The demo for Omamori was originally made in GDevelop. An open-source, no-code engine. And it worked great for the demo! But once I started adding in features that people would come to expect in a visual novel, like saving and loading, or a history of the text, things got a little more complicated. It reached a point where I was essentially building a visual novel engine within the Gdevelop engine. Which, while incredibly fascinating and a great mental challenge, wasn't exactly the best use of my time. Not when there are engines specifically made for creating visual novels, like Ren'py. Which has things like saving & loading, dialogue history, text size options and dyslexic font options, all ready to go out of the box. So, I changed engines.

Changing engines was a long process, partly because it took me some time to finally come to terms with the fact that I just needed to do it, and partly because while some things did come out of the box, I did still have to re-do other things all over again, like entering all of the dialogue and choice options for the prologue and part of chapter one that was used for the demo. I was also learning a whole new engine, which isn't no-code (although it IS really streamlined), and I had to find my way around.

We had a lot of plans for some things that ultimately had to get cut. Early on we planned to have more splash screen images for pivotal moments, which would also be accessible from a Gallery page on the main menu. We even toyed with the idea of reaching out to other artists in the community to see if they would be interested in doing guest art to be featured in the gallery! But as we made progress we had to decide what was essential to the game, to telling the story, and what was a Nice To Have. Learning how to nip that scope creep early is an essential skill in gamedev!

Still, all things considered, as a team of two people we made an entire game in only two years, even with the obstacles we faced. And I think that's pretty damn impressive.

Q&A

What was your favorite part?

ROB:

Getting to work on a passion project with Jace! Getting to see this through to the end with them was very rewarding. Like, did you know you can just make cool things with your friends?? It's awesome and makes for a unique blend of cheerleading, flexing, and teamwork. Definitely recommended.

For the art, I got a kick out of trying to develop a visual identity that was as much our own game as it was a Mob Psycho fangame. The first season opening sequence was my main touchpoint. This poster was a source of inspiration too, notably for the paper cut out look for the sprites. It was fun and a nice way to appreciate the series from a different perspective.

JACE:

This is actually a tough one lol! Part of what I love about being an indie dev are all the different roles you play. Jumping from writing to programming to creating mockups to resource sourcing for background music or sound effects, I think that's the part I enjoy most. It's hard to get bored when you're wearing so many hats and that really appeals to me.

If I had to pick a favorite part, I would say sharing the original drafts of the script with Rob and getting to see his reactions to Reigen's impressive levels of fumbling was a lot of fun. Also, figuring out a piece of code that had me stumped for days is nothing short of euphoric.

What was the most challenging?

ROB:

Mostly mental hurdles. Like, accepting that “good enough” IS actually good enough was sometimes a challenge. On top of wanting to tweak old sprites (we started this two years ago after all!) I had wanted to make more splash art and character poses, and add silly details like giving the face on Reigen’s pj outfit different expressions. But as it turns out, if you want to finish something then at some point you have to stop working on it. Great lessons for battling perfectionism.

JACE:

Changing engines and learning an entire new one was definitely a challenge. I'd dabbled with Ren'py before so I wasn't completely in the dark, but I hadn't done more than dialogue and some choices. With this I had to learn how to navigate Ren'py's screen language so I could build my own screens, I had to learn how to create and manipulate variables in the engine, I watched a LOT of youtube tutorials and got real familiar with the Ren'py subreddit lol.

Something that was really, really challenging for me was learning, and re-learning, how to start. I would work on the game for weeks and be doing great, really have a nice groove, and then Life would happen and  I wouldn't touch it for a little while and suddenly the thought of opening up the code was terrifying. I was convinced I couldn't do it, I had no idea what I was doing, and that I was going to get stuck. And it got harder and harder to just start. Even when all signs pointed to that I maybe DO know what I'm doing!

What helped a lot was that I kept a mini-devlog. Every day that I did gamedev work I journaled about what I worked on, how long I spent on it, and what my next steps were. This helped in SO many ways. For one, it was just really nice to see a calendar view of my productivity. Time is fake and its easy for me to think I haven't been productive "enough". Then I look at my calendar and see this:

Not every month looked like this of course. There's a couple where it's pretty damn barren. But that's where the other data points came to help. It was really helpful to see how long I worked on something as well.  For example:

It took me literally twenty minutes to create all of the idle and hover images for the icons on the corkboard. I remember I did this quickly before running out to work. And this became a point of constant reference for me. Every time I felt myself getting caught in the swirl of, I can't do this, opening the engine feels scary and overwhelming, or I only have .. two hours... three hours... before I have to go to work or go to an appointment or go to bed, what could I get done in that time, I would think of how much I got done in just twenty minutes. Because ultimately, any time spent on the project is productive! But having these little reminders helped a lot. And each mini devlog also had a section for my reflections and what I hoped to work on next. So if it was a few days, or a month or two, before I was able to get back to it, I could reread the most recent devlog to see what Past Me was planning to do!

What might you do differently?

ROB:

Oh man. Organization. I frequently moved the working files between tablet and desktop and ended up with duplicates all over the place. It was a pain after we came back from that long break for my hand injury because I had different expressions and sprites spread over a mess of nearly identical files.

The worst part is this was not the first or last time this happened. Why? Don't live like me.

JACE:

Well, if we're talking about Omamori specifically, knowing what I know now, I'd of course just start working in Ren'py from the start. I'd had the thought that I could learn one engine (to rule them all). Because I have ideas and plans for other games, and had hoped to find one engine that could do everything, and I wouldn't have to jump around, potentially learning a bunch of different coding languages. But, there's something to be said for using the right tool for the job, and in this case it was definitely Ren'py.

If we're talking about future projects and what I might do differently, that's a toughie. I think every project is going to require different set up and preparation. If I were to do another visual novel, I think I'd start tackling any special screens or gameplay mechanics as early as possible. Writing is one of my strengths and I know I can do that. And I'm familiar enough with the engine that I know entering in my writing and dialogue is pretty straightforward. But making those custom screens and troubleshooting them always takes much longer than I think it will.

In terms of organization, I have a Notion template I created for my game projects, and Omamori largely served as the trial run for what I would and wouldn't need. The mini devlog calendar is absolutely a keeper. But the way I organized the programming vs writing task lists definitely got reworked in the final month of Omamori, and I've already started updating my template and other already existing projects to reflect the new workflow!

I think with every new project I'm going to do things a little differently and, for me, that's part of the fun!

Do you think you'd work on a game again?

ROB:

Yes! I'm currently taking time off from commission work, but I really enjoy creative collaboration in general, so I would definitely work on a game again in the future.

JACE:

Oh honey, I already am 😏.

What's next for you?

ROB:

I’m looking forward to diving in to some original work this summer. Not sure where it will take me yet, but I've been itching to get back into making comics, so that might be next! If you'd like to keep up with my work, I update my Tumblr most frequently.

JACE:

I'm so glad you asked! While Rob moves toward exploring comics, Quiet Cabin is also going to shift gears. I'm going to focus on games with original characters and stories. I don't have any plans to make another fangame but I do have a LOT of other ideas! (Some of which were hinted at in Omamori 👀 .)

So what can you expect? Stylistically, I've always had a love for pixel art so there will be some of that going forward. Depending on the project I might seek out another artist to collaborate with for things like backgrounds or character sprites, especially if I do another visual novel. So if you're an artist and have read this far and would be interested in collaborating on a future project, definitely reach out! I have a lot of ideas, a lot of different vibes and genres, so don't worry if your style is different from what you see in Omamori! And who knows, I'm finally reaching a point where I'm happier with my artistic abilities so maybe for one of these projects I'll attempt the art myself!

As far as genres go, I've got more romance, some horror, some fantasy, maybe some monsters you can date.. 👀

I know we all came here for the blorbos but I truly hope you'll stick around for my next projects, I've already started writing one of them and I'm really excited about it!

Up-Coming Projects include (in no particular order):

Garage Sale Skull: A short, in-browser text game where you find a weird skull at a garage sale. It’s fine, it’s not real, it’s just some weird art project. …right? (Romance with a sprinkle of horror.)

Untitled Dating Sim(?): A visual novel dating sim. Maybe. The dating part is up in the air. It's VERY fresh conceptually and I'm still ironing things out so I don't want to say too much but I will say: time loops. Sorry. Wait. Maybe you didn't hear me. Time 👏🏾 Loop 👏🏾 Visual Novel👏🏾

Apartment 102 : There is something wrong with your apartment.. A very short top-down pixel horror game.

Reyna's Remedies: As a young potion and remedy maker, you open up a new shop on the side of a busy road in the kingdom. There's a lot going on, there's a monster in the Deep Woods, a monster the Princess went missing trying to hunt, there's a constant flow of adventurers in need of healing potions and everyday townspeople with mundane needs. With the help of your animal assistant, you have one month to raise enough money to secure another month of rent, to prove you can do this, and in the process help the different people that knock on your door. (A time & resource management game with an overarching plot. Queer romance with a bit of horror.)

My hope is to release Garage Sale Skull this summer. Untitled Dating Sim(?) is new and uncooked, but rattling around my head pretty loudly. Meanwhile Reyna's Remedies and Apt 102 are games I've been brainstorming on for literally years..  Either way, there are two more steam next fests this year and I'd really love to submit a demo for ✨ something ✨for at least one of them. We'll see!

Once a new project launches I will of course be posting devlogs here on its project page. I'll also be sharing quick updates & general gamedev thoughts on ko-fi, bsky, and tumblr. At the end of the day I'm still just one person, and I may forget to crosspost to a platform, but itch.io will always be the first place to get updates. I'm also considering making video devlogs in the future that will showcase more art and gameplay, especially as I shift toward games that have more action, so you can also follow the YouTube channel!

Again, I cannot thank everyone enough for their continued support and enthusiasm!! I'm really grateful to Rob for jumping into the abyss with me on this one. The game wouldn't be what it is without his help! All the cheerleading from followers as we worked on it and now, all of the comments about how the game has touched or inspired folks has been so, so amazing to hear. Thank you everyone!!

Finally, one last Ekubo for the road.

Thank you everyone, see you next time!

[triistitia]

Getting Used To It || Oikawa Tooru

— just an old snippet. post-breakup. 700+

Letting people go is easy. But what is not is getting used to their absence in your life. Getting used to the fact that they won't no longer be in your schedule and day to day normality. 

You know it. 

Because, for you, this truth clenches, much synonymous to how your heart do with each morning you wake up to this illusion that the right side of your bed is not empty and Oikawa is there, breathing too close to your face like it used to be the case thirty days back in time. 

Working upon this realization that you don't need to rush to the bathroom to fight for the space before the washbasin to brush your teeth only after opening the door... this truth roars to you the thing that the color of the walls around you is not the same lightest shade of blue as it was the case with the walls of his apartment that's cities away from yours.

"He always liked it without onion."

It has been a month. But still, you haven't gotten used to this mere reality that you don't need to take out two juice glasses and plate two sandwiches when you're the only one sitting at the table.

How am I supposed to deal with it?

You questioned. To the air. To your own self. To the memories that are still alive in you.

Because it's not easy...

Getting used to it...

And Oikawa, too, knows it.

As, for him, this truth snarls, much synonymous to how the remains of his love for you do when each morning he wakes up to the sound of his alarm clock and not to the beating of your heart close to his chest like it used to be the case four weeks back in time.

Working upon this fact that the coffee which he made himself will never taste like yours used to do against his tongue, Oikawa on daily basis finds himself getting haunted by the smell of the detergent you always preferred to wash his clothes in with over the others.

He, every day, pulls out, never less than two single strands of your hair from his clothes and from his couch and from the places where they should not be and chuckles. For no particular reason but to crack some lame joke into the unknown.

"She would have rolled her eyes."

He mutters. Remembering how you never shied away from scoring his performance in negative.

What he shared with you, Oikawa believes is more precious than the stone on the ring he eyed at a jewelery shop down the way to his office one day. under a pastel sky, he dreamed of sliding it in your ring finger as you would say 'yes' like it's the last word you could manage out of your strained lungs.

In your teary eyes, he dreamed of seeing his future gleaming clear. Promises whispered to each other under the sheets, over the phone calls, and across the miles, bursting into reality and mingling with yours and his part of forevers.

Because, there before these thirty days plus some very rough weeks ago, was a time when today was just a laughable possibility. And you and him had more than several reasons to peer into the hours and think back on each other and fantasize about returning to home.

But now, with this reality cruel and unchanging, all there is this massive hole absence created to take care of. All there is waking up at odd hours and writing "I miss yous" in the air and wishing it will carry the message without distortion to the right person.

All there is looking sad in all the nice places. Driving with nowhere to go and picking the phone and scrolling through the gallery littered with images before time turned sour.

And getting used to friends telling that it'll be okay.

Parents telling you'll find someone better, so just smile for now. 

Nights telling it's getting late.

Work demanding to be completed.

Hearts feeling more stray than dogs or cats on the street.

That ring looking obnoxious in the display.

Forevers snickering in the background.

And dreams shattering.

To bits.

And pieces.

For, today's going to be another day. 

The second sandwich will not be eaten, and the second glass of juice will remain untouched.

Another day with the taste of the coffee not like how the taste buds prefer.

Finding your hair in the mug. 

Finding his lost watch blithering under your clothes.

Playing your smiles over the shouts of the crowds.

Craning neck into the direction of the road that can carry you to his home.

Watching the day set into soft colours as your eyes.

Waiting for the nights to turn rough like the scars on his hands

Missing you.

Missing him.

And getting used to reality.

[nondelphic]

nondelphic writing tips: unconventional (but super fun!) ways to work on your story when you’re not writing

hi lovelies! (｡♥‿♥｡) time for another serious post!!

i'd like to share some of my fav unconventional, but super fun, ways to deepen your plot, characters, and world-building on those off-days when you're not actively writing. because let's be real, sometimes the most creative breakthroughs happen when you’re not staring at the blank page! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

♡ incorrect quotes for characters

okay, this one is my absolute favourite!! even when i'm not writing, i love coming up with totally out-of-context or incorrect quotes for my characters (think “they would say this” energy). they don’t even have to be lines you use in the story, just little snippets of dialogue that fit their personality and vibe! it’s such a fun way to get to know your characters better and explore their quirks.

bonus: it’s also super entertaining when you assign hilarious, offbeat quotes to your more serious characters (≧◡≦). trust me, it works!

♡ acting out dialogue

confession time: i suck at acting but i love to act out my character’s dialogue to myself (ಥ‿ಥ). yes i do have a problem with daydreaming BUT walking around my room and speaking the lines really helps me figure out if they sound natural and realistic! if it feels awkward to say out loud, it might need tweaking. plus, it’s a great way to channel your inner actor for a little while (〃＾▽＾〃).

♡ using ai to brainstorm ideas

i love using ai tools as a sounding board to help with world-building decisions! like if i’m stuck between two options for how something should work in my world (magic system, politics, etc.), i’ll type it into an ai and ask, “what would be more realistic, option a or b?” ai can give you that nudge in the right direction and spark ideas you didn’t think of! it’s like brainstorming with a friend, but faster (￣▽￣)ノ

i have another post on using ai responsibly for writing here !!

♡ character playlists and mood boards

this one is so fun for those “off” days when you’re not writing! create playlists or mood boards for your characters or setting. find songs that capture their personality, struggles, or even the overall tone of your world. or scroll through pinterest and make a visual mood board that reflects the vibe of your world. it’s super immersive and helps you build your story’s atmosphere without writing a single word! ♫(◕‿◕)

♡ role-playing conversations between characters

this is one i like to do when i’m really feeling stuck. it's similar to acting out dialogue but rather than focusing on how realistic it sounds, it's about the characters themselves. i’ll imagine my characters just… hanging out and chatting. not even plot-related stuff, just normal conversations they’d have in their everyday lives. how would they talk to each other when they’re relaxed, annoyed, or excited? it’s such a fun way to build chemistry and relationships between your characters! (*≧ω≦)

♡ build “what if” scenarios

sometimes, i’ll brainstorm totally unrealistic “what if” situations just to see how my characters react! what if they were stuck in a completely ridiculous situation? how would they handle it? even if these scenes never make it into the story, they give me so much insight into how my characters think and behave. plus, it’s ridiculously fun (≧◡≦).

the key to all of this is to keep it light, fun, and creative on days when you’re not in the mood to do “serious” writing. storytelling isn’t just about the words you put on the page—it’s about the world, the people, and the relationships you’re building. so don’t be afraid to play around with it in unconventional ways. ♡＼(￣▽￣)／

happy writing (and daydreaming)!

[carigm]

Theory: the Ratliffs’ Apparent Fate and Poison Imagery

Buckle up cause this is a long one. Also, I'm sure this has been discussed before but I wanted to share my two cents on the Ratliff family's possible ending.

I already made a post before about how it’s possible all the kids come out alive (based on a spoiler-y bts pic posted by Jason Isaacs), so if you want to read about that, here’s the link:

Now let’s get into more detail about why it’s possible they survive, but also why, if they do, they’re still going to go through it in the finale. This entire season has been constructed in such a way that it poses the Ratliffs as the central emotional narrative of the story. All these storylines are messy, but we have spent 7 episodes seeing Timothy unravel and become actively suicidal, with Mike White beating us over the head with murder fantasies regarding this family, leading us to believe he plans on at least taking out half of them. Then there’s the synopsis for episode 8.

This basically implies that he might want to take ALL of them out, including his fave Piper and I guess Lochlan too, just to cover all his bases lol. I mean, Piper and Lochlan are coming back from that monastery, so it’s not like he can avoid their presence while actively planning to murder the other two.

Then if this wasn’t enough, in the preview for episode 8 we are shown Tim talking to Pam about the poisonous pong-pong fruit. We know he doesn’t have the gun anymore, so he has to find a new method. Then we see Chekhov’s blender, well, blending a smoothie. I have no idea how Timothy plans to get his entire family to drink that shit, or if he just wants to make it for himself. Perhaps he’s reached such a delusional state that he will genuinely try to talk his family into committing a murder suicide.

That’s not the point, though. The point is that all of this feels very heavy handed. We knew that fruit and that blender were coming back, they’ve basically had neon signs pointed at them the entire season. I’ve sort of been on board with the theories that someone, or some, from the Ratliff family could die from ingesting it, but the constant promo around it, to the point where it seems like they want you to know it’s happening, it’s leading me to believe none of them will actually die. The snippets/scenes they include in these previews tend to be misleading (the Piper and Lochlan snippet from the monastery had people thinking they were going to hook up in episode 7).

HOWEVER, while all of this is true, I cannot ignore the incest-shaped elephant in the room, because for better or worse, it’s sort of been the highlight of the season.

And oh boy, is there poison imagery all over those two.

Lochlan and Saxon are 100% going to be at the center of some type of incident regarding the poisoned smoothie.

In episode 1, Saxon is the one to first pay attention/pick up the poison fruit. He says, "what am I supposed to do, eat fruit all week?", followed by the immediate reveal from Pam that the fruit he had picked up was poisonous and could kill him.

He’s constantly seen drinking protein shakes, and making Lochy drink them. In fact, there’s so much imagery of Lochlan drinking. Drinks the protein shakes Saxon makes and complains about the taste, Saxon assures him that it’s normal that they taste bad. He’s constantly shown drinking from bottles. There’s the scene of him and Piper at the monastery where she signals for him to eat, and he does, and basically chokes on the food.

There’s the shot of Saxon throwing up on the yacht the morning after what happened with Lochlan, and then it immediately cuts to a dead puffer fish washed up on shore. Puffer fish are poisonous.

Like you truly cannot make this up. I'm pretty sure this whole symbolism is also tied to the concept of "forbidden fruit", considering their incestuous tendencies.

The "forbidden fruit" refers to the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden, which God forbade Adam and Eve from eating, and is a common metaphor for anything tempting but potentially dangerous or immoral.

“Today, the phrase "forbidden fruit" is used to describe anything that is tempting but considered wrong or undesirable to pursue.

Examples:

Unethical or illegal actions

Unsuitable relationships

Desires or pleasures that are considered immoral.”

Well, well, well…

The wonderful @samsayswhatever , whose post inspired this one, did some investigative work on the matter, and tried to figure out (by process of elimination and comparing all the Ratliff family actors’ necks lol) who is the person shown swallowing in the preview, and they've come to the conclusion that it's Lochlan, because of the shape of the chin, the super smooth skin and a beauty mark on the neck (These are her captures but I’m attaching them here for demonstration).

I think it’s fair to say this is Lochlan. Now is he swallowing a poisoned smoothie in this particular shot? Maybe, maybe not. For the sake of my theory, let’s go with “yes”.

I think it's possible Lochlan takes a sip/drinks some of it but is prevented from finishing it because someone stops him (or something…the shootout?), or that he drinks it and becomes quite ill but doesn’t actually die.

Yes, when the fruit ripens it turns from green to red, resembling an apple. Again, you cannot make this up lol.

The most interesting part here though, is the fact that it’s the huge large seed in the middle that’s highly toxic. Ingesting the actual seed can kill you in 3-6 hours. Eating the rest of the fruit will probably make you quite sick, but I don’t think it can kill you. I wonder if Timothy will blend the fruit, but not the seed. I doubt he’s very knowledgeable on the matter. In any case, it doesn’t kill you instantly and you can be treated and survive if taken to a hospital.

I think whoever drinks the smoothie (Lochlan imo) will ultimately be treated, and will be fine. If you can call being almost poisoned to death by your own father “fine”.

Also, Saxon will play a significant role in all of this because like I said, he’s also fully tied to the poison imagery.

I don’t know if the Ratliff family will lose all their money, or they’ll magically be fine, or if they’ll end up moving to some non-extradite country (Taiwan anyone?), but I think their ending won’t be the “sweet relief” of death, but rather the permanent reminder of all the fucked up shit they’ve done to each other.

Can you image them leaving the hotel with the notion that the father tried to kill everyone, their entire wealth was based on corruption and lies, and some of the bonds between them are purely transactional, highlighting how toxic and dysfunctional their family dynamic is.

The icing on top is Lochlan and Saxon being unable to evade the guilt of their little incest game, and just like Adam and Eve, (gotta love this normal, wholesome Christian family) having to deal with the ramifications and suffering brought on by their actions.

I think death would almost be kinder lol…

but this is just a theory, perhaps Mike White is going for a more literal interpretation and he’s planning to actually kill Lochlan, or Saxon, or both (very Romeo and Juliet I guess).

[tkwritesdumbassassins]

Shameless Self-promo Sunday

Thank you to the lovely @rookinthecrownest for the tag 💕

The idea: We make a post and show off, what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselve's and other's confidence. No matter what form you choose, whether you reblog your initial post, or create a new one with teasers, you decide!

Let's see, what did I do for this week? Well, thanks to a great and much needed vacation, I wrote a LOT for Caveat's next chapter, and knocked out some of the more troubling scenes beating me up. I still haven't finished the chapter I intended to finish *insert it's over 9000 meme here* (but hey! I wrote things! Small miracles.)

Good news is: I managed to knock out the entire beginning! I am SUPER excited at how this is coming along. Although, keep in mind it may need some editing haha

I no-pressure tag @hedwigoprah, @redhairedmuses, @dell-amor-te @novarunestone @ttrevelyan @poetikat @hannahmationstudios @jammerific and anyone who wants to show off

Happy Sunday and Easter for those who celebrate! 💐🌸

And please enjoy the snippet!

The man who sat opposite of Nonna wasn't exactly what Isotta would imagine when she had been informed at breakfast a Crow would be coming to visit. Not like the fanciful (and often blood-stained) stories the other children would spin about the infamous guild's assassins. Sure, he wore fancy dark clothes made of imported silks with silver crow skulls as cuff links and polished black boots, but beyond those, he seemed...typical. Normal, if not painfully so. Just another face amongst many in an evening crowd.

His wavy dark brown hair had been cut short and slicked back in typical Antivan fashion. He had recently shaved—she could smell the thick and cloying aftershave from the other side of the room. Even his nails were smooth and well-maintained as he set his tea cup down, folding them politely in front of him. However, Isotta spied something dark on his left ring finger before it disappeared out of view: a black and gold ring molded to look like a corvid skull intertwined with that of a glittering red-eyed snake.

The domestica behind Isotta quietly announced her presence, and then immediately departed. The door to the salottino shutting behind her with a click that sounded louder than a death knell.

It was the stranger who moved first with poise and precision. Pale eyes—the exact shade as her own she realized—pinned her where she stood, Not unlike the butterflies presented behind glass that her father used to collect. The same ones that had been consumed by flames not three months ago.

Three months since her mother and It had burned with them.

Isotta's chest constricted, but the hands hiding behind her back balled into fists. Her thumbnails pressed against skin so tight she wondered briefly about the possibility of the skin breaking. Yet she did not avert her gaze for her great-grandfather used to say, "A drake does not shy away from a wyvern."

"My condolences for your own loss, messere," Nonna consoled, bringing the man's attention back to her, and finally, Isotta felt safe to let out the breath she had been holding. She blinked rapidly to offset the sudden dryness in her eyes before switching to the other person in the room: her grandmother.

Dolores Belmonte was a woman barely in her fifties, and already her carefully styled pale hair had adopted the sheen of woven silver. Up until this exact moment, they had passed like ships in the night with most of Isotta's interactions being her grandmother's requests projected through her domestica's mouth. The grief too great an abyss to find a way across let alone share words. "Do not take it too hard, signorina,"Ada had once said, escorting her to the extravagant yet soulless room that had been prepared for her. "Your mother's loss has affected us all. Some more than others."

Now, they were in the same room together, and the tension descended heavier than any theater curtain in an opera house. It surrounded Isotta, thick and choking, as Nonna set aside her plate of crumbs. Her words had carried no true sincerity within them for they were an expected formality as hollow as her mother's empty urn that sat on the mantle. In fact, they carried a chipped yet still sharp edge to them. Isotta didn't have to add two and two together to realize she had walked into the cindering aftermath of a scathing argument. Her grandmother's face was drawn so tight to the point of her lips becoming nonexistent.

And yet, a single black manicured nail tapped against her porcelain cup as Nonna expanded: "Losing not only your children but your wife as well—"

The Crow said nothing, only sipping from his tea again. His only real acknowledgment of the sympathy a slight incline of his head. The man's ethereal eyes flicked her way again, and Isotta resisted the urge to shudder. She had looked into the literal eyes of madness, and yet an unnamed cold fear coiled itself around her throat, nearly choking her when he looked over—no, inspected—her. "How old is she?"

"I'm twelve," Isotta interjected, already not liking the man. Not when a sneaking suspicion wormed itself into her mind. She ignored Nonna's withering stare as she jutted out her chin in quiet defiance. "…Ser," she tactfully added, remembering her spoon-taught manners at the last minute.

But the Crow remained unmoved, unoffended. In fact, a corner of his lip ticked up before he sipped from his cup. "I see she's got spirit. That's good."

"A trait she shares with her late mother," Nonna remarked quietly, a subtle note of fondness flavoring her words before she shut it down again. Propriety and custom demanded for it after all. She smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her sable shawl as she murmured, "Maker rest her soul."

She then straightened, beckoning for Isotta to come closer. Which she did, coming to a stop just shy of the small coffee table, its wood having recently been polished to the point she could see her drawn reflection. "This is Nicolò of House de Riva. He has come all the way from Salle to give his…" Her eyes flicked then, and a scathing fire enveloped them as they landed on the man. "Respects."

Isotta's lips pursed, but obediently responded with a respectable curtsy. "You are my father," she remarked upon straightening.

A break in his carefully crafted façade showed muted surprise. "And just like her mother: sharp, too. But yes, I am." His mask slipped back as he folded his hands together and leaned forward, pale eyes narrowing. "And do you know why I'm also here?"

"Now?" Nonna suddenly hissed, hands gripping her cup so tight, Isotta was sure she would shatter it. "You wish to do this now? The girl has lost not only her mother but the only home she's ever known has burned—"

A dangerous glance cut her off, and Nonna sat back in her chair, although her face had a sharpness to it that could cut glass.

"I am taking her home," Nicolò replied coolly. "To Salle." He cocked his head, those eyes becoming icy daggers as they narrowed. "Should I remind you of the details to our agreement again?"

"No," came the curt reply as she raised her cup. "You do not."

[omppupiiras]

my long & rambly thoughts about People's Champion the album 🍄‍🟫

Ready To Go.. ahh, first I have to make a confession that my first impression of this song was basically "..that's it?". But in my defence it was in the middle of the night & I was not maybe in the most receptive mood. 😂

but then over the course of a few days I went from "ok maybe i like it actually" all the way to "WAIT. it is a bop and also WHY AM I GETTING EMOTIONAL OVER IT? 😭���" I could write a whole ass post about all my ready to feels and thoughts. It is, of course, about how Jere's ready to go. He doesn't care if the shoes he's stepping into are too big for him, he doesn't care that people don't believe in him. He knows that people only want to see him fail and are waiting to say "I told you so" when it happens. But he doesn't care about any of that because HE believes in himself. He's not giving up and he's going to give it his all and hell, this whole thing COULD blow up in his face but he doesn't care. He's ready to GO.

(and there's also something very naive and bittersweet about ready to go to me, he's giving this thing his all and throwing himself into it with eyes wide open, believing and trusting and full of expectations, but he doesn't actually know or understand where this road will take him. he will actually succeed beyond his or anyone else's wildest dreams, but there's no way he could have known before it happened how much it would cost him)

and ofc CCC coming immediately after ready to go is absolutely PERFECT placement!! I immediately became obsessed with the idea of the story this album was going to tell when we got the album art and title, and OH BOY. They did not disappoint!!

Because speaking of this album telling a story, next we have Tavavoltti. On first listen it's kind of a light-hearted funny song with fun sounds. But it following CCC makes one realize that hey. Wait. Oh. It's actually saying so much about his experiences after CCC. Like with ready to go i could write a darn essay about this song but.. it's about him being unable to say no. It's about him being the funny guy, and hey, funny guys can't not be happy, right?

(Täst roolista ryydyn, mut hymy ei hyydy

Oon syypää suun hymyyn, siks rooliini tyydyn

Everybody wants something from him and they don't mind tearing him apart to get it. And he's got everything a person could want, right? Surely? He's definitely not supposed to complain, so he resigns himself to the role of a circus monkey, the masochist that he is, and pushes himself to his absolute limits. (not to say that this song is all sad bc it's not! the chorus IS hopeful though maybe in a slightly melancholy way) but ONCE AGAIN a song that sounds like a bop is actually way more deep and meaningful than it has any right to be!! 😭

playing this role exhausts me, but my smile doesn't slip

i'm the reason for your smile, and that's why i accept my role)

and whew speaking of being a masochist, next we have ruoska. damn. DAMN. this album, man. i love ruoska moving on

Kot Kot, kot kot. This song boldly starts off with "mayday", and isn't that a choice? To me Kot Kot is about Jere needing help but he hasn't admitted that to himself yet. He has given away so much of himself yet he doesn't understand why he feels so empty now. The partying and drinking don't really help but it's all he knows how to do.

Skit immediately following Kot Kot kills me DEAD. It makes both of these songs desperately sad. In Kot Kot, he needs help. In Skit, he's asking for it and being dismissed. My theory is that the therapist in Skit represents how difficult it was for him to reach out for help or even to have people who understand. How could he even explain to someone how something so amazing can be so terrible? Does anyone even care to hear that, to listen to him talk about it? His problems aren't normal people problems, anymore.

Autiomaa, autiomaa, autiomaa. I loved Autiomaa from the first snippet he shared and the full song did not disappoint. Bye bye my old favorite Käärijä song Menestynyt Yksilö, Autiomaa has taken your place. 😭 Seems like I have a theme going on lol, I love songs where he gets real and personal, and in Autiomaa he does that on a whole new level.

I love that he was brave enough to write Autiomaa and bold enough to make sure people understood Autiomaa is a big deal to him. He wanted to share his feelings and be understood and heard. The music video is such a piece of art and besides being so emotional this song is just so damn GOOD. He's such a master of the finnish language in the way he writes lyrics.

I love sex = money and of course in true käärijä style it's a bop but it also says something very real with its lyrics. but hey! sex sells! better get selling then

bananas is the song i have the least feelings & thoughts about haha. I like all the foodstuff lyrics but that's about it 😂 maybe i will have more feelings about it when i hear it live

next we have Huhhahhei and I must confess.. it's not for me fam. I don't like it. 🙈 I can't put this into words in any way that makes sense, but to me Huhhahhei is different to every other Käärijä song. The lyrics are generic in a way that almost makes it feel like this song is about nothing at all. I don't see it as a love song either, to me the lyrics are just saying words to say them without really meaning anything. so for that reason to me Huhhahhei is the song that fits on this album the least.

icip kind of feels like a breath of fresh air in the album - it's crazy it's party, life is life. things aren't so doom and gloom anymore. with its placement in the album it feels like jere accepts all the good and the bad and now he has learned to enjoy being an artist again. he's had a hell of a party that he couldn't escape, maybe he lost his mind a little along the way, but he made it out to the other side. ta-da, ta-da, ta-da...

and lastly, People's Champion. It's a lovely song and a perfect song to end the album with. but i have written so many words now i dont have much left for people's champion dgdfgldf but i love it a lot and im so glad jere won the battle for this to be included bc truly, what would this album be without this song??

[letsgobarbs]

I'm the greediest bitch when it comes to WIPs so....

First things first do tell me more about the next Chapter of Homecoming because I'm actually missing Maryam and Dave so much and I need to know how he gets those cameras in her house!

Also...

Sari In A Bar... This is the Javier Peña one yes? Yes? With the bathroom fucking? If so, more information at your earliest convenience please and thank you and I'm being absolutely normal about this one I swear, this is not at all my reaction rn:

LOVE YOU ❤️💕❤️💕

O-EM-GEE how did you know i was writing the scene where he gets the cameras in her house??? lemme give you just a teeny tiny snippet:

It was far too easy. The lock didn't put up a struggle, he hadn't expected it to. The chain on the door wasn't attached because neither of them were home. He frowned at the security alarm, the steady beeping completely stopped under his fingers. The code was her birth year— probably chosen because it would be easy enough for them both to remember. He'd need to teach her more about how to secure her house. So it wouldn't let people like him in.

...

He was always careful with his work. But he knew this was different— this place was sacred, somewhere he had only looked in from outside.

Dave should have approached this with the precision of a soldier completing a mission. Because that's what this was— recon, a way to gather information on how to best lure Maryam right where he wanted her. Feelings were never good for the outcome of any mission but they lingered anyway, simmering under his skin— thrill, joy, and some stupid semblance of hope. He needed to get rid of that last one.

He placed every camera and audio device like someone might decorate a temple— a devout worshipper in pursuit of some higher power.

Of course, this isn't the final draft, might need him to linger a little over her things.

But you know me, I need my plans and plots charted out!! And you won't believe it but I discovered the most outrageous plot hole in my own initial planning 😭😭😭 so now i gotta rework that final, main conflict of theirs.

Sari in a Bar is def the Javier Peña one based on that moodboard 🤭 but I haven't added anything to it since I shared the snippet. Howerever 👀 I've got ideas... and it's gonna be longer because she takes him home after too.

He's like we're gonna do this here? And she's like I don't follow strange men to their home... I'd take you to my place, but what if it's not worth all that fuss. And he proves to her that it's worth all that fuss and then some 😏

BUT YOU KNOW I'M GONNA BE SHARING MORE DETAILS IN YOUR MESSAGES HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

LOVE YOU BABY 💞💞💞💞

[jedisupernova]

🩷 update! (good news + sneak peek!!) ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

hello everyone! i hope you're doing well! i just wanted to stop by and say that i'm making progress on my next subong fic (him x wealthy fem reader) and i am so excited about it!! i've made progress on it these past couple of days and let me tell you, this one's going to be LONG. like all of my fics are long, but this is something else 😭 and i can't wait to share!! 🫶🏼

thank you for your patience and kind words of encouragement. they mean more than i could ever communicate through a screen :'D please enjoy an additional sneak peek under the cut of snippets of the reader & subong's first meeting, date, and night together in that order!

with sincerity,

honey ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

first meeting:

subong couldn't help himself. "rough night?" "what?" you looked to your right. "oh god, you just heard all of that." you pinched the bridge of your nose. "some parts." subong said truthfully. "but enough to know someone's being really fucking annoying." you exhaled through your nose. "you could say that." subong brings his gaze back to the trees in front of him, raising his puff bar to his lips. "come here with somebody?" he kept the conversation casual. "a friend." you answered. "she's somewhere downstairs, i think." you shook your head; another goddamn thing to worry about. "she's—she's much better at these things than i am. we separated almost instantaneously once we arrived." "'these things,' as in parties?" subong asked, looking at you to his left. "yeah, that." you nodded, arms crossing over your chest, looking at the trees. in your movement, subong not only noticed the van cleef bracelet and watch stacked on your wrist, but also your dark grey blazer paired with black slacks and matching loafers. he smirked. "i figured. you look like you don't belong here." he said. that's when you looked at him for the first time, met with his side profile. "excuse me?" you asked, offended. "i mean," subong exhaled, a cloud of smoke whirring past his ears when a subtle gust of wind flew by. "at a normal party, people don't dress like they're at a business conference. they would dress like me." not seeing his point, you took him in impatiently: a boxy, oversized yellow graphic tee with some indecipherable graphic of the sun, cargo denim shorts, and scuffed sneakers. "but i guess i'm not at a normal party, so i'm the odd one out." subong chuckled to himself. "my bad, my bad." he put his hands up in faux-defeat.

first date(s):

you walked into the club at 10:36 pm. it was dimly lit with shades of neon pink and purple, washing over the couches and bar top with a surprisingly cinematic glow. people were huddled with their friends around the small tables scattered throughout the club, booming music not being able to mask a contentious conversation an apparent bachelorette was having some feet away with the bartender. you blended into the crowd standing before the stage, looking up when the music abruptly changed to an edm trap beat. subong came onto stage with three men differing in age but similar in aura; domineering with their own verses, riffing off of one another towards the end. it went on like this for twenty minutes, through various instrumentals and at some point one of them started beatboxing. subong built a sweat under his hoodie, letting it trickle down his temple as it was his turn to talk his shit into the microphone. you were floored, peering over people's shoulders to get a better view. your eyes never wavered from the unmistakable head of purple hair no matter how many times he changed positions on stage; bobbing his head to the beat, holding the microphone akin to personal munition, walking around the stage like he's got the biggest dick on the block. can't forget the lip curl he does when the beat drops, or upon hearing someone pull a clever bar out of thin air during their respective freestyles he puts his hands up in surrender; insincerely putting his microphone on the floor before hoisting it back up, laughter ringing out of him. oh. i want him. you thought to yourself.

he came into the crowd after the set wrapped, dapping up familiar faces and not-so-humbly taking compliments from whomever offered. "subong!" he felt a tap on his shoulder, turning around. his eyes widened at the sight of you, his boyish smile making an unabashed appearance. "you came!" he yelled over the music, turning to face you. "of course i did! how could i not!" you said back. your hand rested on his shoulder, standing on your toes to reach his ear, subong leaning in to hear you. "like you said, i wanted to see you perform!" you beamed, making him smile even harder. he leaned into yours: "what'd you think?" "i thought you were great! honestly, i'm a little speechless!" "good, good!" subong laughed. "c'mon, i know somewhere more quiet!" he took your hand without thinking, leading you to the other side of the room; the far-end of the bar. the music was still loud, but not the point where you risked losing your voice to hear each other. the lighting was also brighter, allowing subong to see your much more lax outfit than the one you met in. "you look different." he said. "hm? oh." it took a moment to register what he said, glancing down at your jeans and t-shirt after taking a sip of your mojito. "don't get used to it. i have a change of clothes in the car." you joked, making subong smirk. "my brother's home for his birthday." you explained. "it's my one chance to not be the designated center of attention just because i'm within arms reach of mother and father." "you're not celebrating?" subong asked. "dinner ended just in time for me to come here, funnily enough." you stirred your drink with your straw, looking up at him to your left. "so i dressed as fast as i could and made my way here. i've been waiting all week, if you could believe that." "i can." said subong. "i've been waiting, too." your eyes stayed on each other's until your flustered state gave you away, turning back to your straw. "good to know." you said.

you went to dinner two days later. you met him at a ramen shop close to where he lived, tucked away together in a booth in the corner. this night you did show up accessorized with van cleefs, although different ones than before, and now stacked with a cartier love bracelet on your left wrist. not to mention the matching taupe blazer and trousers paired with a creme white blouse, all the while subong showed up in aged sneakers a year past retirement, jeans, his rings he never takes off, and an oversized graphic tee he last washed maybe six months ago. even so, you were the one clearly overdressed, and he didn't miss a beat in pointing it out: "did you fix the stock market before coming here?" he asked without looking up from his steaming bowl, slurping the soup off his spoon. you caught his drift, grinning. "i did, yeah." you played along. "you've never heard of a woman with a work-life balance before?" you said back in a mocking tone. "ha ha, very funny. feminism, new world, yeah yeah yeah." he descended into mutters, making you giggle, his face feeling hotter.

first night:

when you said you'd send a car to pick subong up for dinner, you weren't fucking lying—he set the ramen shop where you had your first date as the pick up site, fucking bewildered to find the black rolls royce waiting for him in the street. subong unceremoniously knocked on the tinted driver's seat window, his other hand holding the last bouquet of daisies the neighborhood florist had; cheaper than usual from how some already wilted, but were well-hidden. the window rolled down, subong seeing a different man than the one he saw sitting there when walking into the lodge. "choi subong?" the man asked. he was older than subong, but subong himself was too busy staring at his earpiece to gather an answer quickly. "y-yeah. that's me." he nodded, inhaling through his nose, trying to keep his cool. "i have a date with—" "yes, with ma'am. please find your way inside. we will arrive in about twenty minutes. there's refreshments, too, for your leisure." refreshments? the fuck? "alright, thank you." subong said curtly, opening the door and sitting inside the car. subong froze when the car moved and the lights turned on, slowly lifting his head, seeing the headliner lit akin to a constellation. he marveled at how wide the seats are, his right palm running over the shiny black leather whilst the fingers of his left traced the dark wood accenting the car door. she rides in this every fucking day? just when he thought he could begin to process, his eyes found it: the champagne. he slid quickly to the other side of the three-seater, grabbing it, nearly knocking down the flute glasses in the cupholders in front of him. he brought the label closer to his eyes, squinting to read the french name. "louis roederer . . . cristal vintage . . ." his voice trailed, pulling his phone out, typing into the google search bar with his thumb. "holy shit!" he whispered to himself—he was holding 20 million won in his hand, just casually in this luxury fucking car, and by the feeling of the golden foil wrapped around the top of the bottle keeping the cork in, its collecting dust.