#cause i still think this should be a thing anyway

[reflectionsofacreator]

[takes a long drink from my Arizona iced tea] so like one of the central themes for FFXV is like, growing up, sure. You know that, I know that, whatever. Coming of age, coming into your own, taking the mantle of king, whatever you wanna call it. Cool, awesome, we love a good coming of age story!

But I find the sub theme of that one to be probably the most fascinating? By and large, all the chocobros have to deal with the fallout of being lied to by the adult figures in their lives, and it's the most prevalent with Noctis and Gladio. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of it in Ignis and Prompto too, but the particularly insidious way that Noctis and especially Gladio were lied to sometimes gets me.

See I don't even really think it was actually all that intentional. Not really a conscious act by Regis and Clarus, or the society around them? More like... I dunno, the lies that you get told by your parents as a little kid and you grow up to realize that the world is a lot different than you thought.

That being said, Noctis was absolutely lied to by his father; both about the nature of the King of Light and the idea that he'd succeed Regis as reigning monarch. Regis did it out of love, knowing that Noctis would die young, and reasoned that Noctis should get to have a relatively normal life, but it was still a lie. Gladio, likewise, was lied to by his father and Regis, told that he would be the next monarch's Shield, that he would fulfill a role that's got a pretty set expectation in their society.

See, Gladio expects Noctis to act a certain way, to act as King, and he gets increasingly frustrated when Noctis doesn't, or can't live up to that. He's not precisely wrong to expect it either, given their roles and their statues, and knowing that they're taking the throne during a full blown war. The problem is that Noctis was never taught how to be the thing that Gladio was told Noctis was going to be? And that's what causes friction with them all the time. It's fascinating, watching it play out and realizing the underlying issues with their relationships actually have very little to do with them as people and instead because of what they were told to expect from each other.

Gladio is also his own kettle of fish that I don't think the narrative is quite self aware enough to articulate properly, or even get into. Gladio falls into the trap of toxic masculinity very often -- struggling to articulate his feelings, expressing most of his feelings as anger, picking fights rather than talking about what's going on, using his strength as both a character aspect and bonus, etc. The list goes on. There's also the fact that he's sort of portrayed as a bit of a womanizer and the masculine ideal; tall, rugged, strong, etc which plays into all of that. XV plays him very straight (and straight) with these concepts, and just sort of ... expects it to be fine? Which is at odds with how the other three bros interact and are more emotionally available towards each other, leaving Gladio as one of the weaker bros in canon.

It kind of sucks too, because like, there's so much to unpack with him? His DLC is about wanting to have the strength to protect Noctis on the surface, but really when you look at it... you could also argue that the DLC is about Gladio's fears that he'll end up as dead as his dad did (ha, try that for alliteration) and the crushing weight of failure. Gladio has every right to fear his mortality, fear the fact that he is, nominally, the first in line on the battlefield and the the last defense for Noctis. If Noctis is to die, they will go through him first, and that's! Scary! But the game doesn't really get into that, hardly at all, and it makes picking up the pieces for Gladio kind of frustrating. Out of all the bros, he's the one I have to dig the most to find any kind of depth despite being prime real estate for it.

Anyways Gladio and Noctis' dynamic is fascinating if you actually start to unpack it, especially because it's built on the lies that their fathers fed them as children (that they themselves also bought into). I'd go so far to argue that between the two pairs, Noct/Gladio is in much more of a dire need to sit down and actually hash out what they are to each other, outside of their king/shield dynamic. Noct/Iggy certainly has shades of that, but Ignis has decided that they are friends and that he will defy fate if he must, let the world burn if he must, to save Noct's life. That has some depth beyond king/retainer that they're presented as. Noct/Gladio are sort of just... falling into the king/shield dynamic because they're expected to, and it sort of hampers their relationship and their communication.

I'm gonna scramble them both like eggs, probably into an omelette. They make me Think you know

[wvyik]

you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

warnings; mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

notes; AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

words; 4420

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm�� sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

── all rights reserved © 2025 wvyik | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[scliffe]

I know most of us (including me) laughed (quite a lot) on this scene because; Earl Ciel “Sebastian-Kill-Them-All” Phantomhive of all people, is saying something like this about killing people? It sounds so fake and ridiculous right? Hypocritical, even. But I also think it’s rather empathetic of Ciel to say this in front of the Weston boys because he understands that these boys did not murder out of evil intent; it was a crime of passion, not premeditated. I’m sure that in Ciel’s eyes, these upperclassmen of his are still much more innocent than he is—and so when he speaks to them, he is speaking to “normal people”, not serial murderers. But while Ciel does not see the prefects as evil people, he doesn’t infantilize them either. He does not empathize with them trying to justify their actions; because things like school values or reputation is not a worthy cause for these boys to kill someone over. At the same time Ciel may not personally care about the lives of Derrick Arden and the others, but he does not think students should turn into murderers over such menial issues.

In comparison, when he speaks to Joker in BOC, he was unfiltered and candid—he’s speaking of something he personally believes; that deep cynicism and distrust in humanity. Unlike the Weston students, Joker’s actions were premeditated; he planned to kidnap children—knowing they would be abused and turned into some sick plaything before brutally murdered—and methodically eliminated witnesses to avoid getting caught. Joker knew exactly what he was doing when he organized these crimes to sacrifice others for his family’s lives. And yet the way Ciel spoke, he wasn’t passing judgement on Joker at all; he acutely understood the despair of facing injustice with no one lending a helping hand; the desperate wish to protect one’s family and loved ones above what’s considered to be morally correct by society; he knows better than anyone else how hell is paved with good intentions. This too, was incredibly empathetic in a strange way that only Ciel could be. Although Joker lamented their fate as abandoned orphans living in an apathetic society, Ciel does not pity them and thus did not simply reduce them to gullible victims of their circumstances. He did not justify Joker’s actions, and he did not justify his own actions in killing Joker and the circus crew either—he was incredibly self aware and fair; equally as ruthless to other people as with himself. He understood that everyone acted in their own interests. By removing complicated principles of morality out of the equation, he is able to see things clearly and act decisively without ridiculous notions of human morality. After all, what use does he have for it when his soul is already damned anyway?

Ciel keeps away from people and refrains from making personal attachments; and yet he is still very empathetic to each of them without even meaning to. In the flashbacks, he was also depicted to be a sensitive and kindhearted child. Despite everything he has gone through, he still retains a bit of that gentleness and sincerity from his childhood; which I think comes with being naturally emotionally intelligent—he has an unusually acute insight on people which certainly helps his business acumen, and ironically also helps him know how to lie and act in front of other people. While Sebastian is a “master of understanding human desires”, Ciel understands the complexity and most basic nature of humanity better than anyone else; which forms both his cynicism and his own brand of empathy.

[autistic-value]

Let's talk about Catra and Hordak

Since this is where most of the drama comes from

It's no secret that Entrapdak shippers are anti-catradora and vice versa. Why? Mainly, the issues people have within these ships are not the ships themselves, but the characters within them; mainly Catra and Hordak. Entrapdak shippers hate Catra because of the toxic relationship she had with Entrapta and other characters. Because of what she did to Entrapta, tasing her and sending her to beast island, and how she just got worse and worse in season 4.

The same could be said about Hordak, regarding the Catradora shippers who despise Hordak for most of what he's done. It's no secret he took over the scorpion kingdom, created the Fright Zone, and brainwashed and conditioned a lot of Etherians into believing the cause, just as Horde Prime did to him. And a lot of that was the cause of a lot of Adora and Catra's issues.

Here's the thing though

I really think Hordak and Catra are similar in a lot of ways. Both grew up in a abusive environment forced to portray themselves as perfect in order to no longer face any abuse from their respective "mentors".

But both Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime would never see either of them as nothing but inferior.

They both suffered years of abuse, Hordak perhaps even longer. And yes, the actions of Hordak had contributed to Catra's abuse as well, but it is a cycle. A cycle they both decided to break.

Catra overheard Shadow Weaver telling Adora that she was a distraction to her, then leaving. Leaving, because she wasn't going to be a part of Shadow Weaver's manipulation any longer. And yes, she may have left due to that very manipulation, but eventually she stays, at the very end, together with Adora.

Then there's Hordak

Ever since meeting Entrapta again, he chooses to hide his returned memories this time and at the end, when Entrapta is being held in front of him and prime, finally he sees the error of his ways, breaking the cycle quite literally. By throwing prime off the ledge.

He does this great speech about giving himself a name, a life, making a friend. He defies Horde Prime's will and finally, FINALLY breaks the cycle and gains control of his independence. And yes, there's that whole thing that happened after, but that was Prime, not him.

My point is, we should stop hating on each other and the characters because people, it's just a show, these are fictional characters with flaws that any person in real life would go through. Not to mention, again, how similar Catra and Hordak are.

If we hate on Catra for the things she did, we have to hate on Hordak for the things he did too. And vice versa. They both had terrible pasts, a long list of crimes, but they're making up for it in their own ways. Redemption is a long road, but it's a good one.

Anyway, this is just my opinion and analysis on the whole thing, you don't have to agree, but let's try to get along alright? Fandom fights and shipping wars are never fun and I really think you guys take defending and attacking a fictional character from a fictional show way too seriously.

I still love Entrapdak so much but I'm not gonna attack Catradora or Catra Enjoyers over it. And if they say something about Hordak or Entrapdak I don't like? The block buttons right there. There's really no need for so much drama guys.

Thanks for listening 🙏🙏🙏

[elodieunderglass]

Just dropping in too say, really enjoying the Killieposting lately! As someone who was never a horsegirl but did read a lot of books about them, I love it.

Anyways, since i know you are also a Diana Wynne Jones enjoyer, I was wondering if you'd ever read Enchanted Glass? feat. an old retired jockey living with a disability caused by an injury from his racing days! It's actually one of my favorite DWJ stories but no one else ever seems to have heard of it (also featuring weredogs, vegetable growing, grief, romance, the failures of the foster system, the king and queen and queen of faerie, and a couple of slightly cringefail wizards types(for anyone interested in such things))

I’m really glad! I start to feel embarrassed but then people send me lovely asks!

I wish I’d written Enchanted Glass(2010), but she got there first.

On balance it’s decent Jockey Representation, with a joke just for me:

“Tarquin’s small, bearded face looked to Andrew to be showing agony. But he reminded himself that the man had been a jockey and that jockeys were used to pain.”

— Enchanted Glass by Diana Wynne Jones

(Killie offscreen plaintively saying that that doesn’t mean they want to be in pain)

DWJ 🤝 Dick Francis with the content, of course, but note the stylistic lack of comma!!! That’s not DWJ’s cadence, that’s a Francis signature. That is LITERALLY a joke just for me. One point for that.

Unfortunately, I do have to condemn this as Problematic, even if it’s Aidan (feral orphan failed by foster system)POV and intended to reveal Aidan’s character:

“Aidan was astonished all over again at the little man with one leg, who energetically heaved himself into the room with his crutches. He should have had the hat, Aidan thought.”

Oh Aidan no -

“He was surely a gnome, beard and all. But his greying head was bare and slightly bald. “You know my brother-in-law, Tarquin O’Connor,” Mr Stock announced.”

Do not -

“Ah, no. He’s Irish. He’s a leprechaun, Aidan thought.”

Why do English people exist? Really? I do understand that this is a feral foster child POV of course, but come on, kid.

“He had been right to think leprechaun about the brave, shrewd little man with one leg. He almost was one. He was full of gifts.”

No you were not right Aidan, that’s plain racism, argh.

I like this shoutout to the Injured Jockeys Fund:

“Tark, as Mr Stock heard it, had been lucky to live, trampled and broken in all directions as he was. He’d never ride again. Nowadays, Tarquin lived on his savings and what he got from the Injured Jockey (sic) Fund…”

Still relevant today and a nice touch. Here’s the webpage for the IJF with some up-to-date statistics.

Quick edit to show how DWJ is very good with POV here in Andrew POV:

“Though the life of a jockey was something Andrew could barely imagine himself, he could tell it had been as thrilling and absorbing as his own work on his book.”

Yeah I reckon it might be Andrew lmao. Lmao it is as thrilling as writing an academic text for SURE. So empathetic of you to notice that.

(Love a good DWJ unreliable narrator)

on the whole, not bad Jockey Representation and a book that contains competitive flower and vegetable growing.

Me 🤝 Tarquin having to console ourselves for winning prizes for our cakes instead, due to blatant FUCKING AROUND FROM THE JUDGES. I saw you, Tark, you deserved that win, and I completely understand that cake prizes ain’t shit really, anyone can bake a cake. I don’t care that the fucking king of the elves himself is fucking us around in some kind of climactic scene or something, trust me, that kind of thing takes care of itself, narratively speaking. it’s the fact that you look back at your records for years afterwards and have to remember that ONE year, that ONE YEAR where they DELIBERATELY DICKED YOU OVER - “oh that’s the year that the elf king guy or whatever got mad” FORGET THAT? SO WHAT? GEOPOLITICS?? - I’ll be noticing the blank spot where my prize should’ve gone for the rest of my LIFE?

On balance I do appreciate this book! Thank you!!

[earthmoonz]

WIFEY. PT 2 | EP TWO (2.1)

start / previous / next [haven’t read part one?]

[click for hq]

(transcript below)

(estate agent): So what are we thinking?

(cleo): It’s nice! isn’t it max?

(max): Maybe. What's the rent again?

(estate agent): £1395 per month.

(max): And there’s no parking right?

(estate agent): There’s not. But there’s timed free parking on the roads nearby and the flat itself does have top of the range white goods and a brand new dishwasher. so it’s not a bad trade off. 

(max): …I see.

(estate agent): Why don’t I give you a moment to think? I'll head downstairs and we can reconvene in ten.

(cleo): That'd be great. Thank you. 

[The estate agent leaves]

(cleo): What’s the problem?

(max): I'm just not sure. it’s too…white. and the no parking thing’s shit too.

(cleo): Babe, it's modern! your last place barely had central heating! plus, you don’t even drive!

(max): Okay one: it had character, and two: I know I don’t right now but…I want to learn!

(cleo): Max be serious. this place has great transport links, it’s almost double the size of your old place and on a selfish note, it’d put us back in the same city again. …is it a money thing? ‘cause i'm happy to help you out until you’re back on your feet.

(max): No! i’ve still got the money rita gave me…and I have a job now anyways.

(cleo): Sorry? where?

(max): [Sighing, quiet] I got my old job back at the dollhouse.

(cleo): Seriously?

(max): Cleo-

(cleo): Max you know I love you but sometimes I just do not get you. you were only meant to be a bartender for a few months and then suddenly you’re a manager, which like fine, okay- at least you’re being a boss bitch but now it’s gone, which must be awful I know but instead of trying to move forward you’ve gone bloody backwards! What was the point of working your arse off in uni if you’re just not even gonna try?

(max): Oh for fuck- look, cleo i’ve got enough shit to deal with without you judging me on top of it. just because my life doesn’t look like you think it should, it doesn’t mean i'm not trying to do what’s fucking best for me. 

(cleo): Max I-

(max): -Maybe if i didn’t have to keep burying people I care about then I could stop for a while and properly get my shit together but for now-

(cleo): -Oh babe. i’m not trying to fight with you. i’m sorry. it’s just- I think you deserve the world and that you shouldn’t have to settle for shitty jobs or…too white flats with no parking for your future car. 

(max): …I know.

(cleo): [Pulling them into a hug] Come here. 

[abattre]

Nah cause why are shikamaru fans so obssessed with comparing the mf to Sasuke?

"shikamaru is hotter, shikamaru is the better freind, shikamaru is cooler, shikamaru is the real sigma bla bla bla..🤡" They literally can't praise their fav without mentioning Sasuke's name. Just say you think Sasuke is hot and cool and move on

I think the anime fillers really skewed people's perception of Shikamaru, like specifically his relationship with Naruto because No they were Not hanging out in the academy, that never happened canonically. We get that whole thing about how Shikamaru didn't expressly avoid Naruto, but he didn't like him or try to interact with him either. It's stated explicitly, multiple times, that Sasuke was Naruto's first friend Ever. I guess Naruto and Shikamaru were friends during the Shippuden run but like,,, I don't really know what would categorise Shikamaru as an outstandingly better friend to Naruto than Sasuke was before he left. Maybe it's the leaving itself, which, fair enough. Frankly I've never understood the entire rhetoric of people condemning Sasuke for having priorities that don't involve his friends, so I don't really care about that to be honest. Shikamaru could afford to be around because he didn't have anything else going on, that's kind of it.

There's also that whole thing with comparing Shikamaru and Sasuke's revenge arcs. People like to bring up how Shikamaru didn't abandon Konoha to get his revenge but like,, he literally did? Tsunade told him no and he still went off with his team and Kakashi to kill Hidan anyway. The only thing that kept him from not becoming a rouge was the fact that the people around Shikamaru supported and helped him carry out his revenge. The same people that villainised and tried impeding Sasuke for,, doing the exact same thing. I don't think their situations are really even comparable at the end of the day though,, Sasuke's involves a lot more political and emotional nuance considering the state sanctioned genocide and all,,, Asuma literally just died doing his job. Trauma's not a competition or anything, but you can't say Sasuke should have just forgive and forgotten after going through what he did while also calling Shikamaru cool for his whole 'I'm your God' thing. It's one or the other sorry.

Your fav isn't Sasuke and that's okay! Stop projecting <3

[l-1-z-a]

Updates info from April Black:

Hello old and new Sims 2 players! This video got WAY more traction than I was anticipating, and I got a lot of valid points & questions in the comments, so I thought I'd write a pinned comment to hopefully clear some things up.

The main point of this video was two-fold. Firstly, I wanted to stress out that the reported issues with save file corruption in the Legacy Collection are due to a newly introduced bug, and that doesn't mean that all of the info in my Technical Deep Dive is now outdated - and definitely it doesn't mean that old myths such as "deleting Sims causes corruption" are now valid! Secondly, I thought that it's important to talk about the issues that people have encountered, even if they have been fixed by recent patches. If I had my save file corrupted, I'd definitely want to know why! I also decided to throw in the (now outdated) info about Manage Inventory function being broken, because I've noticed the object errors being incorrectly put in the "corruption" category. Also, I thought it might be useful for people to understand why these "random" bugs kept happening.

However, the point of the video was NOT to scaremonger or to make people afraid of playing the Legacy Collection. The last thing I want is to instill more panic in the community! I still think that you should err on the side of caution and back up your saves as often as you can, though.

I am getting reports that the recent patches have fixed the bulk of the issues, including the disappearing Sims. I'm glad to hear that EA is not ignoring the issues and trying to fix them! I've also had some reports from people never experienced any issues whatsoever, which is great. However, a number of people have reached out to me saying that Sims are still disappearing in their games, even though they have updated the game to the latest patch. So, whilst it would be wise for me to download the Legacy Collection and investigate the issue myself (which is something I'm definitely considering), I am also not surprised to hear those reports, and I was worried that something like this might happen, which is why my video basically says "Yeah, EA says they've fixed it, but be careful anyway".

Why is that? Well, perhaps not all of you know that I am a software developer IRL - that's my main job. I can't pretend that I know what causes the character files to disappear, but I can definitely tell you from experience that intermittent data corruption issues are notoriously difficult to fix. They are usually very hard to reproduce (which is often the first step to fixing the bug), and also you can't account for all variables, such as hardware used or the user's individual setup. Plus, the disappearing Sims have been mentioned in two patch notes in a row, which suggests to me that it's probably not a straightforward bug. The comparison to pink soup was due to a fact that it's an equally complex issue and also highly dependent on many variables, such as hardware.

I still think that EA have not sufficiently play tested the game before releasing.

The structure of the video is probably not ideal. I normally don't do unscripted videos, for a good reason: I am not yet 100% comfortable in front of the camera, I tend to ramble, I struggle to get my point across. However, for this particular subject it was much easier for me to sit down and speak my mind rather than follow the script - maybe because the issue is still very recent. I probably should have started with clarifying that two patches have now been released, and then provide more context to the situation. It's been pointed out to me that in its current form the video might come across as scaremongery, and that's the last thing I want, so lesson learnt here. The next time I record a similar form of video, I will make sure to at least gather my thoughts in bullet points to hopefully make it more structured.

I hope this makes sense to everyone, and please keep asking questions & keep talking about your experiences with the Legacy Collection

📺 The Sims 2 re-release is a mess - Corruption Update

From video description:

Marticore's video (introduction for new TS2 players):

FakeGamerGirl's video:

Tumblr post with Manage Inventory speculation:

I forgot to mention the fact that EA devs have heavily inspired themselves with Nopke's shadow fix lol. More info about it here:

[mbat]

i think people should be fully allowed to opt out of working jobs and still be able to live comfortably no matter what their situation is and im not fucking kidding

[licorishh]

no way she's alive ?? yea those mental health breaks because social media makes people suck are wild huh

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[ratwithhands]

Read Right to Left (Manga Format)

I have returned to watching demon slayer after a year and it came up while I was having a serious late night talk with my big sister. I was talking about the relationship between Michikatsu/Kokushibo and Yoriichi and it turns out we both see each other in Yoriichi's shoes and ourselves in Michikatsu's place. Definitely surprising, but really relieving to know that we both worry too much and we are not so far apart in skill as we believe.

This is technically the first piece of fanart I've ever made for the characters in Demon Slayer, I have made OCs before but I never drew an actual character from the story. For context this is mostly just a fun "what if" scenario with them meeting in the afterlife. I like to think Yoriichi's love would reawaken Michikatsu's humanity.

[likesdoodling]

Spent a lot of the afternoon doodling~ I love these two :D

Rozemyne definitely has more methods, but this is a ~sample~ :D

The bottom half of that first panel is an example of what my sketchbook looks like 😂 (absolute chaos)

[fluffydice]

Pew pew it's been a lot longer than two hours but i had to finish up the worst lab report in existence. anyway it's not a lot rn but i'm too tired so there'll have to be a part two tomorrow lolol

Raph told himself that he would let Donnie out—if and only if he didn't scream for a day.

Because he knew that the prank, on a certain level, was cruel. He knew that every joke and cackling laughter about putting Donnie in "time-out" held a pointed bite to them that Raph's little brothers usually never had. Yes, the prank was mean—but Mikey and Leo didn't get enjoyment simply out of being cruel. Not unless they felt i t was deserved.

Donnie drove them to this point. He only had himself to blame for Mikey and Leo picking on him.

And yet... Raph hated to think about the role he'd played in this, letting his little brother behave this way for so long: bratty and temperamental, self-centered and apathetic—

Selfish. So very selfish.

Raph had let it go on because he didn't have it in him to say no to one of his younger brothers, didn't know how to. But in doing so, he'd forced Mikey and Leo to put up with it alongside him. Raph had only hurt his family in the end—and even if Donnie should know better, Raph was still responsible for him.

So, in the spirit of being fair, he'd let Leo and Mikey have their fun—Leo especially, so eager to finally have his birthday to himself again. Raph left Donnie in the closet, and promised to only let him out if his little brother stopped screaming. Because, Raph hoped, that would mean he finally realized that he couldn't rely on his big brother to bail him out. It would mean he'd finally been forced to confront the truth about his shitty behavior. It would mean he'd realized that his machines weren't enough to make up for his... everything.

It would mean Donnie had started to learn his lesson. At the end of the day, even with how angry he'd been making Raph lately, he could admit—in the privacy of his head—that he would always try and do what was best for his younger brother.

Even if it made him cry. Even if it made him scream. Even if it meant they had to leave him out of things. Donnie had been in desperate need of some tough love: for his own good.

So the morning after Leo's birthday, the first thing Raph does after his morning routine is head to the kitchen; because even though Donnie had finally started behaving, Leo had been so disappointed at the thought of the night ending with Raph having to focus on something else. He'd had to put up with Donnie being greedy for so long: Raph thought Leo deserved to have at least one day where it was his turn.

For a moment, he pauses right outside the door, listening. It's quiet: Mikey and Leo are still conked out, sleeping off the excitement of the day before. But if he strained, he thought he might be able to hear intermittent, near-inaudible coos—the kind Donnie would make when he was much younger, and still behind on his emotional-regulation. He wasn't not crying for help anymore; he'd figured out that he's on his own, and reverted to an old, pitiful attempt at self-soothing as a result.

Raph should be glad. This was proof that Donnie deserved another chance, that he wasn't a complete lost cause. Or maybe Raph should be irritated. Because Donnie knew he was supposed to handle his own shit instead of pawning it onto everyone else, but simply refused to.

Instead, a feeling he didn't recognize welled up in him, so fast and clogging he thought he might suffocate. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, that caused it—all he knew was the click of the lock and the cold, oppressive press of the doorknob on his calloused hand, the way the door slammed into the wall as he yanked it open and the tightness of his throat as his baby brother mewled in surprised terror.

His baby brother, shivering and small, smaller even than the space he'd been locked away in. Whimpering like a frightened little animal while he curled up in Raph's shadow. Arms and hands and fingers and nails bloody as he gouged his limbs with his claws.

For a moment, Raph swayed. There were no words to describe the overwhelming press of emotions that washed over him in an instant. It bore down on him like the weight of the sky, pushing and pushing and pushing until his legs seemed to buckle and it drove him under the earth.

And then, Donnie finally managed to mumble his first coherent word, eyes glassy and staring up at him in fear. Or maybe something like reverence.

"Rah— Raphie?"

The words were a rough little whisper. Something about them, about the nickname, set the world back on its axis. The heavy burden digging into his shoulders seemed to disappear, and suddenly, Raph could think again.

"Donnie," he said steadily. "Are you ready to come out?"

For a moment, Donnie didn't say anything. He simply stared as his breaths slowly came faster and faster. Then, he was pitching forward to prostrate himself with a soundless cry, the whistle of air from his throat the only sign of the scream it might have been.

"Raph, Raphie, yes, yes, out please," Donnie warbled. It was hard to understand him through the hoarse edge to his words, or through the thick desperation in his voice. "Please, please, want out, wanna come ouh-out. 'M sorry, I'm sorry, won't— won't do it a-guh-again Raphie, please please please—"

"Okay," Raph sighed, stepping out of the way. Donnie continued to chant, please please please, even as he cautiously crawled out on trembling, jerking limbs. Raph turned away as his brother began attempting to stand. The sound of his tiny pants of effort, little hiccups of pain, his desperate scrabble against the door as he pulled himself up—all of it rang stubbornly in Raph's ears.

It was enough to make his head hurt.

is there a timeline for when raph leo and mikey check up on donnie in the closet before letting him out after those four days

no but wouldnt it be fucked up if leo and mikey went to taunt him about the birthday thing on the day of

[kingofanemptyworld]

the other thing I really love about grimmichi as a ship is that you cannot separate Grimmjow from Ichigo no matter who you actually like him with romantically (if anyone). it’d be one thing if he came back in TYBW and either snubbed Ichigo or had moved on but no he is very much still gunning for a rematch. it’s been like 2 years. maybe not a lot of time for a hollow but I mean. c’mon. I’ll never be over Grimmjow trying to butt into the call with Urahara because he heard Ichigo’s voice on the other end. man was desperate for attention you can’t convince me otherwise