#the way this ship has more than one ship tags is beyond me

[arttsuka]

Uhhh umm uuuuhhh

[simp-ly-writes]

Part of the Band

─────── · · Arcane Band!AU

PAIRING(S): Jayce Talis x gn!Reader, Vi x Caitlyn, Viktor x Sky, Ekko x Jinx

─ · · SUMMARY: What if the cast of arcane created a band? Everyone seems to be paired up with someone leaving Jayce as the last remaining member without a partner yet it is not without a lack of trying and you not being all that receptive to the drummer for his relationship history.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral reader, depictions of anxiety attacks and crowded scenes, emotional hurt/comfort, attempt at humour, nicknames/petnames, swearing, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,800

─ · · A/N: HEAR ME OUT ON THIS PLEASE... (taken from this).

─────── · ·

─ · · Lead Vocalist!Mel, Lead Guitar!Vi, Rhythm Guitar!Caitlyn, Drummer!Jayce, Bassist or Keys!Viktor, Tour Manager!Heimerdinger, Production Assistant!Sky, Social Media Manager and Photographer!Reader

─ · · Musical Duo!Jinx and Ekko with their Manager!Sevika being the opener for the main band. Nobody quite knows if the duo is dating- not even themselves choosing to keep it vague to the public but share many lingering stares while on stage together.

─ · · Heimerdinger and Sevika can be constantly heard fighting backstage- having different visions for how they want to production, management, and finnancials to look as they try and prove themselves to Sky who looks beyond scared standing in between the two, clipboard between her shaking hands, glasses shaking against her nose as she waits for someone to call her away from the madness of these two put together.

─ · · Vi and Caitlyn are a couple as the fans would have it no other way- rivalling Mel for the bands most popular members and holding the most combined followers as they make music together apart from the band while on breaks. The couple often preforms more for each other than the crowd, circling one another, singing along while bobbing heads and knocking shoulders- sharing the occasional quick kiss in between songs.

─ · · Viktor keeps himself off to the side of the stage, looking down at his hands to ensure he is hitting the right notes, head bobbing to the rhythm, long hair casting over his eyes that usually are looking offstage towards Sky for reassurance behind the curtains yet before their eyes meet, both quickly look away blushing and acting like nothing happened (the band has begged them to 'just get together already'- you included).

─ · · Mel and Jayce used to get shipped together a lot and dated in the past in an on-again, off-again relationship before officially calling it quits as Mel started getting serious with actor she met at an awards ceremony a couple years ago and has been going strong ever since.

─ · · Jayce on the other hand had yet to find a long-term partner like everyone else in the band and is was not from his lack of trying. Jayce was playful and a romantic at heart even though it played off as him being a "play-boy." Often having a new girlfriend or boyfriend every few months until his heart got broken by them complaining about him constantly being on-tour or in the studio. Sometimes in the worst of cases, using him for popularity as he built up quite the reputation or even caught some trying to stealing from him (not that he cared much about any of his possessions besides his drum-kits and custom noise-cancelling headphones you gifted him for his birthday- those he was extremely protective of).

─ · · You remember the day vividly, everyone was waiting in the cars to be taken to the airport for the next leg of the tour. You leaned against the black car, camera in hand waiting to capture a shot of everyone in the van together to post to their socials... the only one keeping you from completing your work for the day ahead of a 14 hour flight was Jayce whom Heimerdinger was grumbling about while standing beside you, arms crossed.

"Where is that boy? He's usually the first one out here standing by you." You shrug, unknowing to where Jayce is and now that you think about it... you turn around, glaring through the tinted widows to count the heads within... "I think Sky's missing too," you add before taking back to your position and flicking through your camera roll, double checking all of your shots from last night you had yet to upload.

Heimerdinger huffs, "we're going to miss our flight if Jayce is not here in the next 15 minutes. Can you go try and work your magic? He's not answering any of my calls and somehow always catches yours." You stare down at the tour manager with a raised brow, asking, are you serious? And by the glare and kick to your shin that you receive you are putting a lens back on your camera and rushing through the lobby towards the elevator, phone in hand only to receive no answer.

─ · · When you reach the bands floor, Jayce's door is open, his gear waiting by the door yet no sighting of the man, "fuck!" you hear a man yell and your speed-walk is now a full blown sprint as you turn into the room to find a shaking Sky with her hands hesitantly outstretched trying to soothe the maddened drummer who looks to be tearing his room apart, hair dishevelled and shirt missing as he rips through the bedcovers obviously looking for something.

"Jay?" you call out, placing a hand on Sky's shoulder, tipping your head out the door as she nods in reply, exiting the room quickly. Jayce's head snaps up instantly at the sound of your voice, his chest rises and falls quickly before his breath hitches seeing you walk closer to him, placing a hand on his arm as you look at him worriedly, "whats wrong? can I help you look?"

Jayce bits his lip, looking away from you and squeezing his eyes shut as a blush starts working over his cheeks. "Jay?" you call out again, giving his hand a squeeze, surprised to feel as he takes his away first having never done that before. "Its... stupid, well not stupid but just.. fuck..." he pauses for a minute before turning back to look you in the eyes. Your breath hitches at the sight of honey dripping with sadness, "...its those headphones you got for me and I can't find them anywhere when I knew I wore them last night," he explains.

You nod your head before slowly walking away, Jayce opens every drawer again in hope of seeing something he hadn't seen before as you walk into the hall and reach into his backpack retrieving the infamous headphones in their black-shell protective casing.

Walking back into the room, Jayce sits on the bed, head in hands, "I'm sorry for losing them, I always put them on my bedside not to forget and-" he feels something snap against his head and a song starts to play in his ears as you squat down in between his legs to catch his eyes mouthing, "found them." Before standing and wheeling one of his suitcases down the hall, Sky following after you swiftly with the rest of the luggage in hand that Jayce takes from her once joining you both in the elevator with a freshly equipped shirt.

─ · · You blink yourself back to reality as the curtain drops and you race to change the exposure settings on your camera as the band slowly walks out in a line. Even with your in-ears and sound-cancelling headphones, you can still feel the utter force of their cheers pelting against your back as they scream and shout after their favourite members, you feel as the barrier rumbles as the crowd surges forwards- a security member quickly guides you away.

─ · · You catch Jayce's look of concern as adjusts his sound pack and fixes his hair, somehow always knowing exactly where you were while preforming, nodding towards you while keeping rhythm and staring you down until you nodded back before he would smile and play harder.

─ · · After performances Jayce would walk to the front of the stage, joining everyone in a bow before throwing his drumsticks into the crowd and hastily walking over to you, pressing his face close into the lens of your camera, waiting to hear the click before wrapping an arm around your shoulders that you would try and wiggle out from underneath of- shoulder's tense, "you're all sweaty, Jayce," you complain, nose scrunched up in disgust to hide your hammering heart seeing all the veins protruding from his skin, running up his tired arms, hair sticking to his forehead as he pouts.

"But my arms tried, sweetheart," Jayce explains, eyes glittering with humour as you roll yours at the nickname and sigh, patting his arm before Jayce allows you to slide it off him. Sky runs up and provides a towel and water bottle before darting off again as Jayce slides down against a wall, legs kicked outwards as he unscrews the cap and offers you the first sip before drinking the rest.

"Was it a good performance?" Jayce asks you earnestly, dabbing off his forehead and arms, smiling underneath your stare before you seemingly see something incredibly interesting down the empty hall. "You all are in your prime and have the awards to show for it, don't think you need my voice," you answer, turning your camera back on, "smile!" you cheerily state, glaring as Jayce stares blankly at you.

"I respect your opinion, thats why I ask. Why would I give a shit about some senile board members telling me about modern music?" Jayce counters, standing slowly as he walks over to you while throwing away the water bottle in a nearby bin. You take a step back and begin walking you both in the direction of the green room where the rest of the band was already winding down and taking notes within.

Jayce saunters over to an empty chair before patting his thigh with a raised brow, you shake your head, moving to stand beside Sky in a corner who rapidly jots down notes on her tablet before showing Sevika who signs her signature at the bottom without a care.

You feel Jayce stare on you yet refuse to give him anymore attention, waiting for him to turn back to Heimerdinger and he eventually does once realizing you were not going to look back at him.

"You alright there, man?" Ekko whispers, nudging the older man's shoulder as he has his arm wrapped around Jinx who is passed out beside him. Jayce stares at the couple for a second, looks up and around to all the couples in the room, his heart aches as he nods through the pain, "I'm alright, just wearing off the adrenaline."

Ekko nods slowly, watching as Jayce shifts his head over to you for a second before looking back at Heimerdinger who is finishing up his speech for the night. Huh... Ekko thinks to himself startling as Jinx talks, eyes still closed, "bunch of idiots the lot of 'em." Ekko laughs at the blue-haired girl, squeezing her shoulder, "am I at least your favourite?"

"Nah, why would you ever think that?" she deadpans, laughing herself fully awake as everyone looks at the pair, brows raised. "What?" Jinx states and everyone goes back to their conversations.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: what did y'all think? 🤔

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123 @peachhiz @hellokittyluvr69420

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART SEVEN)

Masterlist

Time for chapter 7! The chapter I am sure that a lot of you have waited for! Hehe! I also added a few social media elements into the chapter, which I think turned out nice! But, don't worry, it's still mostly just words <3 and I'm honestly OBSESSED with this chapter! Can’t wait for chapter 8!

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 5K ↳chapters in this series: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, bestfriend!reader, fluff, smut, NSFW, 18+ content (mdni!), fingering, handjob, praising, explicit sexual content!, sex, p in v, first time together

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

The sun peeked through the curtains of Oscar's bedroom when you felt yourself slowly waking up, slowly opening your eyes, you realized you were still laying in Oscar's bed, without Oscar tho. He must have gotten out of bed earlier.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand next to the bed. Immediately noticing two text notifications, one from Lando and one from Oscar.

You clicked on Oscar's text and smiled as you read it. He texted you good morning, as well as saying he was downstairs to grab the both of you some coffee. It was cute, the effort he was putting into everything.

After you replied to Oscar that you just woke up, thanked him for the coffee and told him that you'd see him in a bit, you opened your text notification from your brother, immediately knowing something was up, so you start typing back to him

After your last text, you immediately opened Instagram, typing the designated username in your search bar. Once you've reached their profile, you click on the post to check the pictures from up close.

You honestly had no idea what to do now. The PR team was gonna be very very busy to fix this whole ordeal, because you either had to come up with some very devious lie to convince people that you were not the girl in question or you had to convince people that the boy in question wasn't Oscar. And to be fair, neither of them seemed like a an achievable solution.

You kept staring at the comments, reading them all. Some even more shocking than the other. Let's just say that this was not the way you expected to wake up after a night of sleeping in Oscar's childhood home.

Talking about Oscar, he just walked back into his room, confronted with your blown pupils and beet red face.

"Are you okay?" Oscar asked placing the two cups of coffee on his nightstand, before carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking towards you "You're bright red, are you feeling sick?" he asked, worry lacing his tone.

You shook your head and handed Oscar your phone, showing his the post you've been staring at for the past 5 minutes.

f1gossip

liked by username1, username2 and others

f1gossip Oscar Piastri spotted making out with a mystery girl right outside a nightclub in Melbourne last Sunday👀 The girl has not been identified yet, but according to a few sources, the mystery girl might be none other than Y/n Norris (featured in the last picture), considering she was seen leaving the same nightclub as Oscar and her outfit potentially matches the one from the mystery girl👀

tagged: oscarpiastri and yourusername

view all comments

username1 EXCUSE ME

f1.content.2024 Holy fuck man, we knew that Oscar was a hot lad, but him making out looks even hotter🫠

user8290 no one can convince me that this isn't y/n😱 ↳ oscarpiastrifan81 I KNOW RIGHT ↳ username2 i don't know about you, but i kinda ship it

f1addict231 i can guarantee you, that is not Y/n Norris😂 ↳ user437 hahaha are you blind? ↳ norrisgirlie290 girl, even a blind person could recognize y/n in this

username3 Oscar dating Lando's little sister, y'all are delusional🤨

user41 no clue who she is, but i'm her now😍 ↳ username9183 for real tho, when I saw this i was like: GIRL, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY DREAM

piastrisgirl21 I highly doubt that's her 👀🤔

"Oh fuck" he muttered, feeling a little embarrassed by the fact that the press had caught them. They would have been fine if it they limited their kissing to just inside the hotel room, since there was pretty much no media there, but both of them apparently were too drunk to realize that kissing outside of the club was everything but smart.

Oscar must admit tho, that aside from the shame he was feeling of getting caught, seeing the pictures of them also making butterflies rise in his stomach. An immediate blush creeping onto his face.

"What should we do?" you asked, sounding a little nervous.

Oscar didn't really know either, not sure at least "Well, I think we should at least call my PR manager, because I honestly have no idea what else is smart"

"What do we say to her tho?" you wondered, not really knowing how to come up with a solution that would work.

"Well, we've gotta decide if we wanna lie to her and just say that it was me with another girl" he suggested, pursing his lip a little nervous "Or we tell her the truth, and just tell her that it indeed was us. But that we were wasted and did something stupid"

Before you had the time to process your emotions and react to it, Oscar felt his phone ring. He reached inside his pocket and took out his phone "Speaking of the devil.." he began, nervously looking at his phone "What do I tell her?" he stammered, wanting to be sure that you agree with what he was going to say.

"It's okay, Osc. I'm fine with both" you replied, before quickly getting up from the bed "While you answer that phone call, I'll go to the bathroom real quick" you said, before walking towards his bathroom.

Once you were out of sight, Oscar pressed the button to accept the call, lifting the phone to his ear "Hello" he softly spoke.

"OSCAR PIASTRI, for fucks sake. Care to explain?" he heard her ask on the phone. She was agitated, that was clear and totally understandable "And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about, because it's all over social media. And with Y/n?"

Oscar sighed, knowing that they have been stupid. Still contemplating on what he should tell her. If he should be honest or if he should come up with a lie. He continued to listen to his pr manager rambling about the fact that she expected these things from Lando, but not from him. And that they were already busy enough with Lando's way of presenting himself in public sometimes, that she didn't feel like having the same issue with Oscar too.

Oscar took a deep breath, before looking down at his lap "It's all just a big misunderstanding. The girl in the pictures with me is not Y/n. They were just coincidentally wearing similar clothing" he lied, his face feeling warm, because he absolutely hated lying "I was drunk and made a mistake, I admit that in all honesty. But the girl in the picture is not Y/n.."

"You honestly expect me to believe that? Everyone that knows Y/n, can recognize her. The tattoo on the back of her arm is showing in one of the pictures, Oscar..." she said, immediately seeing right through his lie "Any random girl would be totally fine, that would have gave me a lot less work, but Y/n of all people. This could cause a big dent in both of your public images, because this is highly unprofessional. Kissing your co-worker while you're wasted. And let's not even get started on the fact that it is your teammates younger sister"

"I'm sorry" he muttered, feeling incredibly embarrassed by the whole ordeal "We were both wasted and I don't know what came over us, okay? It was stupid, we made a mistake, but it's a little too late for that now"

"You don't have to say sorry to me, you're doing this to yourself. Please just make sure this doesn't happen again, okay? " she explained, slowly starting to calm down and starting to be a little bit more compassionate "I know that you can't choose who you're attracted to and that being drunk can make you do senseless things, but please remember that you guys both have a public image that you need to keep up. You both can't afford to damage that, just because you two can't keep your tongues out of each others throats in public"

"No worries, it won't happen again. We were wasted, it was just a one time thing" he replied, defeat lacing his tone "What should we do about these articles?" he asked her, wondering if she had an idea.

"Well, regarding the press, for now nothing. The less attention we give it, the less suspicious it seems. The media will find a way to throw you under the bus anyway" she said, pausing for a deep breath "But regarding McLaren, you both better come up with a very good explanation. Because Zak is gonna kill you both, when he finds out"

"I don't even want to think about that" he whined.

"Well me neither" she said, a small laugh leaving her lips "Now, thanks for the clear up. Take some time to let this all sink in and I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Oscar sighed and agreed with her, apologizing again for the stupid mistake, before ending the phone call.

He threw himself down on his bed, opening his messages to text Logan, but quickly saw that he already had a text from him. Since you were gone to the toilet anyway, he felt like he had a little time to text with him.

Oscar put his phone down next to him when he saw you walking in, shooting him a small reassuring smile.

"How did it go?" you asked as you walked back into his bedroom, jumping onto his bed again, seating yourself down next to him, your back resting against the headboard.

He shifted his gaze towards you "Well, that could have gone worse" he said, quickly explaining to you what they discussed.

"Yeah, still mad at myself for letting this happen" you said, disappointment lacing your tone, trying to avoid eye contact "It shouldn't have happened"

Oscar felt a pang in his heart "Do you mean that you regret that we've kissed, or?" he asked uncertainly, afraid of your answer.

You shook your head "No, you idiot" you shot at him, immediate relief entering Oscars body "You know, that call you just had proved yet again that it's just smarter that we stay friends and don't date, it just makes things too complicated. It shouldn't have happened, but it did, nothing we can change about that" you explained to him, honesty in your voice "But the fact that it shouldn't have happened, doesn't mean that I don't feel what I feel"

"So, no I'm not regretting it at all, none of the things we did that night" you said softly, glancing back up at Oscar. "And to be truthful, I don't think I've ever had an orgasm that intense before," you admitted quietly.

Oscar felt a rush of heat, arousal stirring instantly, feeling himself getting hard already. It was almost embarrassing how easily you could affect him. Just a few words from you, and he was a mess, like a teenager all over again. He couldn't help it.

A small smirk crept onto his face, proud of himself for making you feel that way. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I love making you feel good," he admitted, unintentionally using the present tense. He hoped you wouldn't notice. It was true; if he had the chance to make you feel good again, he would in a heartbeat.

He looked down at his lap, nerves returning. "I feel the same way, by the way. Your mouth felt incredible. It's by far the best I've ever had," he confessed, feeling a bit vulnerable about being so candid. "I came so quickly, it was embarrassing. I felt like a teenager again, struggling not to blow my load within a minute."

You chuckled lightly, honestly feeling a little honored about it, turning your head to look at him. "I think it's cute, I see it as a compliment" your voice a soft whisper, trying to avoid looking at his lips. You really wanted to kiss him, but you knew you shouldn't. Those last few words being ignore a hand full of times already.

"I was actually a bit insecure beforehand. I really wanted to make you feel good but was so afraid I wouldn't be any good at it, you know?"

"You? Not good at it? It was amazing," he reassured you.

The whole conversation stirred feelings in Oscar that he had tried so hard to suppress, but it was no use. Seated with his back against the wall, he glanced down at his lap. He was fully hard now, the outline of his erection clearly visible in his shorts. Oscar quickly moved his hands over his lap, trying to cover his arousal, hoping to make it seem like he was just more comfortable that way. The pressure of his hands only enough made his dick twitch involuntarily.

You noticed the flush on his face getting more evident. You glanced down at his hands, obviously trying to hide his predicament.

"You're hard, aren't you?" you asked, gently biting your lip. Your sense of reasoning began to fade again, and you were on the verge of ignoring the words: 'we shouldn't.'

"Yeah, I'm so sorry" Oscar apologized, letting out a sigh. "It's just that talking about it, made the memories resurface again"

You scooted a bit closer to him, slowly moving your hand towards his, which were still trying to cover up his arousal. Your fingers carefully slipped under his hand, giving his hard-on a firm but gentle squeeze. "Don't hide it," you whispered.

Oscar let out a soft moan, the mere feeling of your hand on him enough to drive him wild. He moved one hand to grab onto the mattress. He hesitated, everything in him wanting this. But a voice in the back of his mind reminded him of your words, the hand that was still covering yours gently squeezed your hand, before moving it upwards, his fingers carefully wrapping around your wrist, trying to pull your hand away from his member.

"Y/n, we shouldn't," he said, much against his own desires, wanting to respect the boundary you had set. One that he knew you were probably only ignoring in the heat of the moment.

"Shouldn't we, or don't you want to?" you asked, using your other hand to remove his fingers from your wrist one by one, before placing it onto his abdomen, your hand slowly making its way back down where he needed it most, palming him through his shorts. He moaned at the feeling, squeezing the bedsheets tighter with his free hand. "I know you want to, Osc."

"I don't want you to regret this, baby," he whispered, putting his own needs aside, focusing on your feelings instead.

You turned onto your side a little, moving your lips close to his neck, before pressing a soft kiss against his skin. A small smirk formed on your face when you saw the little goosebumps appear on his neck, a soft whimper escaping his lips when you palmed him with a bit more pressure.

"I would never regret pleasing you, Osc," you said, your lips now next to his ear. "How could I regret being intimate with you? Look at you, you're so hot. And the sounds you make when I please you... God, you make the hottest sounds. It makes me so wet, Osc."

"F-fuck..." Oscar let out a loud moan, clasping his hand over his mouth to prevent the others in the house from hearing him. He felt his dick twitch inside his shorts, involuntarily bucking his hips against your hand. Your words alone almost made him cum right then and there.

"Just have a little fun with me, Osc. No strings attached, okay?" you suggested, your lips traveling back down to his neck, peppering it with seductive kisses.

You had found his weak spot, the thing that made Oscar lose his mind. The thing that made his self-control crumble to pieces. He caved, giving in to his strongest desires.

Without a word, he shifted his position, now sitting on his knees in front of you. His hands slid to the back of your thighs, gripping them firmly as he pulled you further down the bed, until your were laying down completely. You lay back, your heart racing, anticipation building as he climbed on top of you. Oscar pinned you down, his big hand wrapping around both of your wrists, securing them above your head, while he used his other hand to cup your cheek.

"Please don't stop. It's so hot when you talk to me like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you flustered and desperate for more. Your arousal was evident, and Oscar noticed, feeling a surge of confidence and satisfaction. The sight of you beneath him, eager and responsive, made him feel all kinds of things—powerful, needed, and deeply connected to you in this intense moment

You looked up at him, locking eyes with his. His pupils were dilated, his desire unmistakable. The intensity of the moment made you let out a soft moan as you maintained eye contact. Oscar’s lips descended to your neck, pressing against it and sending shivers down your spine.

Deciding to heed his earlier words, you began to recount the details of the night you spent together last Sunday, confident it would only fuel his desire further. As Oscar's lips found that sweet spot on your neck, you moaned, "F-Fuck, Oscar, just like that," your voice low and sensual as your hands struggled against his grip on your wrists. "It feels so good, just like Sunday night."

"You feel incredible against me, Osc," you murmured, referring to the way his arousal pressed against you as he hovered above. Both of you still fully clothed.

Oscar groaned, his hips moving slowly against yours in a rhythmic grind, seeking more from you. He slid his hand beneath your shirt, cupping your bra-covered breast. You responded with a moan, "Yes, Osc, just like that."

Oscar's moans mingled with kisses on your neck, his breath faltering at your words. He paused, then said "Fuck, baby, you're so hot"

You let out a shaky breath, fueled with arousal "You made me feel so amazing, Osc. Your lips on my neck, your fingers filling me up—you're so hot. It felt incredible."

He moaned louder, his hand moving away from your breast to the back of your neck and into your hair, tugging slightly. "You know what I loved even more, Osc?" you asked seductively.

"Tell me, baby," he almost growled, his breath ragged, his arousal throbbing with need. His teeth grazed your neck, eliciting another moan from you.

"I loved sucking you off, Osc. You're so big, you made me feel so full" you chanted as the arousal started to pool between your legs more and more, the way he was responding to your words fueling you with desire "I loved to way you pulled on my hair when I sucked you off, baby. It made me so wet" you spoke, the nickname escaping your lips, fully intentional. Knowing that it would make him go insane.

Oscar let the moans escape his lips without holding back, feeling himself getting even more turned on than he already was. The way you talked to him made him lose control and you knew it. It was exactly what you wanted "The sounds you made when I had my lips wrapped around you, god. It was so hot. The way you moaned out my name when you came, god, it made me come untouched" you said, knowing that he was about the snap any moment.

Oscar couldn't hold back any longer and crashed his lips against yours, capturing you in a passionate and lustful kiss. His lips moved in perfect harmony with yours, his tongue licking your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you gladly granted. The kiss deepened, growing hotter and more intense. Your tongues intertwined, exploring each other with fervent desire.

Oscar released your wrists, and your hands immediately traveled to his neck, one of them diving into his hair and pulling gently. He moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and making your desire spike. His hands roamed your body, fingers trailing over your curves, squeezing your waist, and sliding up your sides. His touch was everywhere, igniting your skin with every caress.

You broke the kiss for a moment to catch your breath, both of you panting heavily. "Can I take this off?" Oscar asked, his voice husky as he tugged at the hem of your shirt. You nodded, and he quickly pulled it over your head, tossing it aside. Not wasting any time, you tugged his shirt off as well, your hands exploring the newly exposed skin of his chest and shoulders.

Oscar's hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, and with a questioning glance, he asked for permission. You nodded again, breathless with anticipation. He slid your shorts down, and then removed his own, leaving both of you in your underwear.

Hovering over you once more, Oscar ground his hips against yours, the friction sending waves of pleasure through both of you. He lifted his hips a little, to allow him to slip his hand between your legs, fingers teasing you through the fabric of your panties. You moaned, your back arching in response to his touch.

"Oscar, please," you whispered, your voice filled with need.

"Anything for you," he murmured back, his lips finding yours again in another searing kiss. His fingers slid beneath your panties, and you gasped at the intimate contact, the heat between you both growing unbearable "Fuck, you're so wet for me already"

"Yes, Osc, all for you," you panted, the tension between your legs quickly building as Oscar worked your clit in perfect circles. "Your fingers feel like magic, Osc."

"Yeah?" he asked breathlessly, his voice thick with desire. "You like that, baby? You like my hands on you?"

"God, yes," you moaned, your hips bucking against his hand. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Oscar's lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot and heavy. "I won't, baby. I love making you feel good."

As his fingers continued their expert movements, your hand slid down to palm him through his boxers. Oscar groaned, his hips pushing into your hand. "Fuck, that feels amazing," he whispered, his voice strained with pleasure.

"Just like that, Osc," you encouraged, your voice a mixture of moans and gasps. "Keep touching me, don't stop."

His fingers sped up, the pressure and rhythm driving you closer to the edge. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. "So perfect. I want to feel you come on my fingers."

"Fuck, Osc," you cried out, your body trembling as the tension inside you coiled tighter. "I'm so close, please."

"I've got you, baby," he assured, his voice soothing yet filled with lust. "Come for me. Let go, just for me."

With a few more skillful strokes, your climax hit hard, waves of pleasure crashing through you. "God.. Oscar!" you moaned out, your body arching as you rode out the intense orgasm. Your hand tightened on him, and he moaned in response, his own arousal evident.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his fingers slowing but still working you through your release. "You're so beautiful when you come."

As the last tremors of pleasure faded, you collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily. Oscar pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean, his eyes locked onto yours. "You taste amazing," he said, his voice rough with desire.

You reached up, pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "Your turn," you whispered.

Your hand slipped beneath his boxers, wrapping around his hardness, and you began to stroke him with slow, deliberate movements. Oscar groaned, his hips thrusting into your hand as he buried his face in your neck. "Fuck, that feels so good," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You increased the pace, your hand moving with more urgency as you felt him getting closer. "Oscar," you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction, "I love making you feel this good."

He moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. "God, the way you touch me," he groaned, his voice filled with awe. "You're so good at this. It feels incredible."

You smiled against his neck, enjoying the power you had over him. Your hand moved faster, your grip tightening slightly. "Tell me, Osc," you coaxed, "Tell me how much you love it."

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his hips moving in sync with your strokes. "I love it so much," he panted, his voice trembling. "Your hand on me... it's better than any fantasy. Better than anything I could ever imagine."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, a clear sign he was edging closer to his release. "Oscar," you whispered again, this time with a hint of praise, "You're doing so well. I love how hard you are for me."

His entire body tensed, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back. "Fuck, you're amazing," he managed to say, his voice thick with desire. "I can feel it... I'm so close."

Sensing his imminent release, you adjusted your technique, moving your hand faster inside his boxers and applying firmer pressure. Each stroke elicited a deep moan from Oscar, his control slipping with every passing second. "God, yes," he groaned, his voice desperate. "Just like that... don't stop."

You could feel his cock pulsing, his release building rapidly. "I'm so close," he panted, his voice tight with need. "I'm gonna come."

You paused your movements, your hand stilling as you looked into his eyes. "Not yet," you said softly. "I want to feel you come inside of me."

The words caught him off guard, and he moaned, his arousal spiking. "God, you have no idea how much I want that," he said, his voice filled with longing. "But I don't have any condoms here”

"I'm on birth control," you replied, your voice steady. "And I'm clean. If you're okay with it, I am too."

Oscar's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and desire. "You’re sure?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Yes, Oscar," you assured him, pulling him into another deep kiss.

After you pulled away from the kiss, Oscar looked at you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you really sure you want to do this?" he asked softly. "As much as I want to, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything. Our first time means a lot to me, and I don't want you to regret it afterward. I want it to be perfect for you."

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling with affection. "I want this. I want you," you said, your voice filled with certainty. "You mean a lot to me, Oscar. You have nothing to worry about. It's you, and that's what makes it perfect."

Oscar’s eyes softened with a mix of love and relief. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle kiss "I want this so bad," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I need you so much."

With those words, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss, his hands exploring your body with renewed intensity. You felt a shiver of anticipation as he moved, both of you ready to take the next step together. The statement of how you shouldn't be doing this, long forgotten.

As you kissed, your hands moved to his boxers, helping him slide them off. He did the same for your panties, both of you eagerly discarding the last barriers between you. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes raking over your body. "You’re so beautiful," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Every part of you."

"And you’re so hot," you responded, your eyes trailing over his toned body. "I love your chest, your arms, your abs... everything about you." your fingers trailing over every part as you names them.

Oscar began to position himself at your entrance, his gaze locked with yours as his tip teases your entrance. You moaned softly, your body aching for him. Slowly, he pushed inside, filling you completely. The sensation of him stretching you, the heat of his skin against yours—it was more than you had ever imagined.

"God, you feel amazing," Oscar whispered, his voice a mix of awe and desire. "So perfect."

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge. The sensation of him inside you, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, created a symphony of passion that enveloped you both. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You’re so amazing,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve dreamed of this moment more than I'd like to admit, but now that it’s real, it’s even better.”

You blushed, your heart racing with excitement, your hands exploring his back. “You feel so good, Osc. Everything about you is just perfect.”

He paused, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, as he halted his movements, biting his bottom lip. Closing his eyes to avoid eye contact, because he was sure that he would have blowed his load the second he looked into your eyes.

You looked at him with a playful smile. “What’s going on?” you asked softly.

“I need to slow down a little,” he confessed, his cheeks flushing slightly, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he said “Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll finish too quickly. And I really don’t want this moment to end yet.”

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “To be fair, I find that kind of hot,” you said with a teasing grin. “It just shows how much you want this.”

Oscar’s face lit up with a mix of relief and pleasure. “God, you really know how to make me feel good,” he said, his voice dripping with desire.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Oscar pulled out of you completely, just for him to thrust himself back inside you right after. The sensation overwhelming you, causing you to moan out loudly.

As the intensity built, Oscar’s movements quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. You could feel the pressure building within you, your body responding eagerly to each powerful thrust.

“I don’t think I can hold back much longer, baby,” Oscar panted, his voice strained with need.

“Then don’t,” you replied, your voice filled with determination. “Let go with me.”

He moaned, his hips bucking harder against you. The pace of his thrusts increased, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through both of you. You matched his rhythm, your body moving in sync with his as you both approached the brink of climax.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Me too,” Oscar grunted, his voice filled with urgency.

The pleasure surged through both of you, building to an intense peak. With a final, desperate thrust, you both moaned loudly as you reached the pinnacle of your shared ecstasy.

"God, I love you" he whispered, his orgasm causing the words to accidentally spill out in the heat of the moment. He instantly felt fear creeping upon him, afraid that he just ruined it all, unaware of what you were about to say.

“I love you too, Osc,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion as Oscar continued to thrust gently into you, making sure not to stop until you both had completely ridden out your release.

Earlier, you had spoken of ‘no strings attached,’ but your heartfelt response seemed to suggest something more profound.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Oscar collapsed against you, his breath coming in heavy, satisfied gasps. He looked into your eyes with a mixture of awe and adoration. “That was incredible,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “It was perfect,” you whispered, your heart full of love and satisfaction. “Thank you for making it so special.”

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff

[split-spectrum]

Concessions

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: (more to come) sexually explicit content, explicit language, edging, orgasm denial (like a lot of it - that's the whole fic)

Chapter Length: 3K

Description: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him.

The rules of the trial are very clear. You make it your personal mission to find the exceptions.

☆☆☆

"They call it the Nikkama."

"A full cycle?"

He pauses, taking in your incredulous tone. "Yes. A full Coruscant cycle."

"And you're asking me to... what, participate?" 

He shakes his head. "Of course not. This is simply a... personal matter for me."

You raise a brow even higher than it already was, not saying anything in response. He seems to be on the edge of an explanation, but never quite getting there. Your silence invites him to continue. 

"By the end of a standard year, it is my goal to come away with a new understanding of the Force, and of myself."

"That's very... respectable," you manage. "So, if you need someone as the keeper of this... trial, why not ask a master? Why me?"

His eyes search your face. He's trying to determine if you're toying with him. The truth is, you have an idea of why he wouldn't approach Yoda about this, but you want to hear him say it. 

"I had... rather thought it would be obvious."

So you had guessed correctly. But he won't admit it. 

You smirk; an acquiescence. You won't make him dance around the details any longer. You are friends, after all. Friends who happen to know one another more intimately than most friends do - the real reason he's come to you with this request. 

"Alright. Tell me the rules."

--

No sex. That's the essence of it. 'Seeking bliss through denial', as the ancient Jedi texts stated it. To complete the trial, one must deny themselves the pleasures of the flesh for the time it takes the Jedi temple to finish one full cycle. 

The rules are quite simple: The Jedi must make the trial known to one witness - the keeper. The Jedi can not bring themselves to completion through sex or by any other means. There are allowances, of course. Orgasms beyond the Jedi's control are permitted. This way, one cannot fail the trial while sleeping. Finally, the Jedi must not speak of the trial with anyone aside from the keeper. Like many other trials, it was a battle meant to be fought internally.

If he failed, Obi Wan had explained to you that he could not simply begin again. One was not allowed to attempt the Nikkama for ten more cycles. It was not meant to be taken lightly. Much like everything Obi Wan has ever done, but especially like the things he's been doing lately. 

Since becoming master of the Chosen One, it seems like all he's done is push himself, as if trying to prove he's worthy of the position. Having known him since padawanhood, his capability has always been clear to you. But with his new responsibilities, he seems to be seeking new and creative ways to strain himself. You know nothing you say will be enough to slow him down, so most of the time, you can only offer your begrudging support. 

Three months in to this latest self-imposed trial, you can already tell the strain is starting to wear on him. 

"Anakin, I've told you before," his voice carries over the crowd of padawans on the landing platform as you walk past. "The way we present ourselves is a choice."

"Yes, master," mumbles the boy in front of him, his eyes clearly more focused on the ship he's about to board than his master's words. 

"...and today you've chosen to present yourself to professor Huyang with a wrinkled robe because you did not hang it properly as I asked, did you?"

"Sorry, master." Anakin's words are contrite, but the way he shrugs Obi Wan's arm off his shoulder says this will not be the last conversation they have about it. 

Obi Wan looks around, clearly asking the Force for patience. He squeezes a blink just a little longer than normal, gathering himself, and when he opens his eyes, he catches you watching the display. You press your upper lip down into a poorly-hidden grin and keep walking, using the mug of caf you'd retrieved from the refectory in the temple's main hall to hide your smile.

Once Anakin is sent on his way with the other padawans, Obi Wan strides down the hall to match your pace.

"I saw that," he grouses. He's putting on a half-joking tone, but you can tell there's a current of real irritation running beneath. "You won't find it quite so entertaining when you have a padawan of your own."

You let your grin loose. "That's the beauty of volunteering for the most distant and dangerous missions. They can't keep me at the temple long enough to assign me one."

It's an exaggeration you're putting on for him, but it's partially true - you do tend to volunteer for the most exciting assignments you can find. That's where you and Obi Wan differ the most. Part of you craves adventure in a way that's almost unbecoming of a Jedi. Obi Wan starkly contrasts your eagerness, content with whatever duties he's given. He always has the serene air of a proper Jedi knight about him. And you truly enjoy pushing his buttons until his calm demeanor breaks. 

"You look like you could use one of these," you tell him, changing the subject by pointing to the mug in your hand. 

He looks down at your hand, then glances dejectedly out of one of the windows as you pass it. "Oh, I could use something much stronger than that. If only I had the time. I promised Master Sinube I would help him question some suspects for an investigation this afternoon."

You click your tongue against your teeth. "Poor thing."

"Yes, no rest for the wicked, it seems."

"More like 'no rest for the stubborn'." 

He gives you a look. 

"No rest for the decidedly overbooked," you go on, pushing those lovely buttons of his. 

He sighs, shaking his head in annoyed bemusement and not rising to your bait. 

You turn to face him before your path peels away, dropping your antagonizing grin. "If you're too busy this afternoon, what about this evening? We could meet up in my quarters for 'something stronger' if you'd like. I have a bottle of Alderaanian red that's been gathering dust."

"Hm. Dusty wine; how very tempting," he sniffs, crossing his arms at you. 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn't give you a chance to retort. 

"It's a kind offer, but-"

"But, Anakin is gone for the week and you'd rather be alone in your quarters, falling asleep early?"

"Well, yes, in fact, I would."

You shrug. "Do as you please, then. My charitable offer stands, if you decide you'd rather enjoy yourself than become a hermit at the ripe age of twenty-seven."

You turn down an adjacent hallway, leaving his mood behind you without another thought. 

--

Later that night - very much later, in fact - you had almost forgotten about your offer when a knock at the door to your private quarters reminds you. 

"Obi Wan."

You won't spoil the surprise by gloating, though you sorely want to. You just smile instead, glad to see him despite his dour expression. 

His lifts his eyes tiredly. "Might I request that you hold off on any clever commentary until I have my promised drink?"

Your grin broadens as you step to the side, inviting him in. "You might request it, but my cleverness won't be silenced." 

Passing you, he manages to flick up an eyebrow despite his otherwise muted demeanor. "Oh, dear. If I had known you'd started without me, I'd have-"

"You'd have come sooner?" you finish for him, sweeping up the bottle on your counter and topping off your glass. 

He drapes himself over your couch, sinking into the cushions as he spreads an arm over the side. 

"I may not have come at all. I would have gone to my quarters and gotten some well-deserved-" You hand him a filled glass. "Thank you. Some well-deserved rest." 

He finishes his statement with a long sip, then swirls the glass and closes his eyes, pinching his brow with his other hand. 

You just roll your eyes, nudging his boots to the side and sinking into the couch next to him. "Master Sinube really putting you through your paces, then?"

He sighs through his nose. "Master Sinube is a wonderful teacher in the art of... patience."

Your lip quirks upward. His patience has never been tested before by the kindly old Cosian. And it's rather odd for Obi Wan to admit it. You consider pointing it out, but seeing him so worn out by the experience dampens your desire to wind him up. You turn on the holovid screen instead. 

"After a few more glasses of this, trust me, you'll feel better."

--

When you awaken, you feel something soft and warm beneath your face. It's the cloth of Obi Wan's tunic. 

Your head is buzzing faintly as you press your nose into the fabric, breathing him in. You only marginally care that what you're doing is inappropriate. It's been a long time since you've been this close, and you can blame the drinks if you really must.

You swallow, blinking slowly as you register that the room is filled with the sound of some holodrama you've never watched before. The music is swelling, and you reach over Obi Wan's chest to press the volume button on the remote. His head turns, following your movement though he's still half-asleep. 

You feel his breathing pattern change below your cheek, and you look up at him. His long eyelashes part slowly. His body shifts so that he's facing you, though he removes the arm that had fallen to your shoulder. He puts a hand on the back of the couch. 

And he looks at you.

The moment where he should have moved away - where one of you should have - comes and goes.

You lift your face, staring at his lips. You know you're caught in his gaze. He's watching you, not saying a word. 

The idea of leaning up to press your lips onto his is so far removed from your mind that it's basically an impossibility. You aren't padawans stealing moments in the temple anymore. Your heart doesn't pound with the fear that you'll give into your baser instincts. You're fully aware of what you're enjoying - the look in his eyes; the space between your mouths. Holding your faces so close that it's almost another kind of kiss. 

Then you shift your hips, just slightly, and you feel it. You feel the way his clothes pull tight at his center. Your leg brushes the taught line of fabric just below his stomach, running up his thigh. 

Considering his circumstances, it's a normal reaction. You tell yourself this as you feel a blush spreading over your face and down your neck. It's a physical response to repressing his body's urges. You try not to take it personally. You won't mention it. 

You blink, lowering your gaze from his and starting to extricate yourself from his side. He swallows, pulling away from you.

"I'm sorry-" His voice is throaty and a bit slurred. "I-"

The inner side of your hip brushes against him as you turn to get up, and a soft, almost dejected moan pours out of him. He snaps his mouth shut. You freeze, looking up at him.

That noise will not be so easy to avoid taking personally.

Suddenly he's sitting up. "Terribly sorry, I- I don't know what came- came over- "

You force a smile, though your heart is racing, and you pat his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Only nine more months to go, right?"

A slight look of relief passes over his wide eyes. "Yes," he agrees, clearly grateful you've decided to blame the trial and not him. "Yes. Quite right. My apologies."

When Obi Wan finishes his many further apologies and excuses himself, leaving you alone in your quarters, you are grateful for one thing: As you lie back in your bed, imagining the way his hips had twitched at the slightest brush, you thank the stars that the Nikkama doesn't go both ways. 

--

You'd had your fun. 

That's what you keep reminding yourself. When you have to keep your eyes from lingering a little too long during a shared smile. When your heart kicks up a little faster anytime you see that he's returned safely from some far-off world. When you kiss someone else and it doesn't feel the same. 

The Jedi are not forbidden from physical pleasures. There's no reason not indulge in sex, so long as attachment isn't involved. But when you'd both realized as padawans that kissing and touching was swiftly turning into longing and wondering, you'd agreed it was for the best not to continue. 

That conversation was so long ago, and the boy who'd made that promise was so far removed from the man who was currently pinning you down on the training room floor. 

"Yield," he pants, teeth glistening in the fading sunlight. His breath is hot, and you're swallowing it with gasps of your own. 

You flex your thighs, using the Force to lift both of you off of the ground. "Not until you've beaten me."

Huffing an exasperated laugh, he looks over your head in disbelief. Then he tightens his grip on the hand that holds your lightsaber and feels where your thumb is located. He stills. You're holding the empty hilt against his side, and your thumb is just below the pressure sensor. You grin, open-mouthed, sweaty, and undefeated. 

"In a non-lethal match, I have indeed beaten you."

You're just about to reply when he crushes your wrist in his palm, wrenching it upward and holding both of your arms harmlessly above your head. You yelp in surprise and no small amount of pain as he presses the weight of his body onto you, holding himself up by pinning you down. 

"But just for good measure - there," he says, digging his knees onto either side of your hips to hold you still. "Now yield."

You struggle against him, but it's like trying to break out of a durasteel cage. Then you catch sight of a dewy patch of golden skin and make a move that neither of you are expecting. 

Your teeth sink into his neck before you can catch the impulse, and the muscles there vibrate when he gasps in shock. He releases your hands, but catches them again quickly. His face is suddenly flushed when he pulls away.

"There can be some honor in defeat, you know," he scowls down at you. 

You smirk, pleased at getting a rise out of him. "A Jedi doesn't accept defeat with any reasonable chance at victory."

You lift your hips again, this time sending a concentrated pulse through the Force to try and wriggle out from under him. He holds you steady and you rock to one side, attempting to flip him off and reverse your positions, but to no avail. You take a few deep breaths, then try rolling your hips one last time. 

"Stop that."

His tone snaps you out of your concentration. You look up to see him glaring down at you, looking unsteady for the first time in your match. You hesitate, then decide to take the opportunity he's giving and make the same move again. You grind your body against him and watch as his eyes widen. He releases your wrists and rolls off of you, standing up. 

"I yield."

His turns his back on you, stalking over to where you've left your water canteens, and takes a long drink. 

You lie there a moment in stunned silence, then shake it off and stand up, following him. "Are you... okay? What was that?"

"It's nothing," he snips back immediately.

Then you see his shoulders soften and he turns to face you. "Forgive me. I'm not... feeling very well."

He gives you a forced smile, then reaches to pick up his robe from the floor. "Perhaps we could continue this later?"

You shrug, at a loss. "Sure."

"Very well," he answers, heading for the doorway. "Thank you."

You frown, his sudden formality making you uneasy. "Obi Wan... did I do something wrong?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I just need to get some rest."

You take a beat before pressing him again. "I'm sorry about the bite."

He sighs. "There's no need to apologize. The fault is mine. Perhaps... it would just be best if we hold off any sparring sessions for the time being."

"Oh?" you ask quietly. "For how long?"

"Just... just for now."

You furrow your brow. Then it clicks. "Until the end of the Nikkama?"

He looks caught-out, sending his gaze past you.

Of course. It's been six months, now. He hasn't mentioned it, but you might have known by his mood.

Now you're the one struggling to make eye contact. You pick up your own canteen, drinking, then wiping your mouth. 

"Is it that bad?" you finally ask.

He lets out a soft laugh. "Well, it's not meant to be easy."

There's a long, unbroken silence as you wonder how to approach this. Or whether to approach it, at all. 

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. "It's simply a matter of discipline. There isn't much to talk about."

"Well," you tell him slowly, carefully. "I've read the texts. And I want you to know that if you need... help, getting through to the end, I'm here for you."

His face drops. "What does that mean?"

You take a step closer, your heart pounding as you try to put the words together. "The trial has rules against you seeking pleasure. But, everyone has needs. And if you aren't seeking it... if it- it just happens..."

He looks down at the space between your bodies, and it's like you can see every thought running through his head. He doesn't answer for a very long time. 

"Anything that were to happen," he says in a low tone, nearly a whisper. "Would need to be without my request."

Your breath is shortening with every word he says. "You asked me to help you with this," you reply. "And we are friends, are we not?"

He nods. "Of course."

"Then if you need it, let me help you."

Your hand tingles as you reach out to touch his side. He gently takes your hand and lowers it, almost grazing between his legs, and holds you there just a moment too long. 

Your fingers lift from his hand to unclasp his belt, but he pulls you back. 

"No," he says, swallowing and letting out a few slightly labored breaths. "No, I wouldn't- No."

You wait for an explanation, but he doesn't finish his thought.

"Well, as long as you know the offer stands," you tell him, straightening up. "If you change your mind..."

"I won't," he cuts you off. "There is no- no need."

Smiling for his benefit, you nod. "Of course. My mistake."

You can feel his gaze follow you as you bend over to pick up your own robe and brush past him out the door. 

In any other situation, Obi Wan would hold his own in a debate. He's quite well known for having opinions that aren't easily swayed.

In this matter, against your better judgment, you find yourself wondering if you might be the exception. 

--

A/N: I'm planning for this to be a short multi-chapter, maybe 3-5. Completely self-induglent. I want this man to be edged within an inch of his life. I want him whimpering, your honor.

On a side note, forgive me for this interruption in posting Water and Rock! It's been challenging because I've needed to basically write the full ending before I can be sure the plot/pacing is right for this chapter. It will be up soon, promise! In the meantime I've been using this side fic as a bit of a creative outlet lol.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged for this fic, feel free to comment or message me. :)

[bloomeng]

I'm a little nervous to talk about this because the internet is truly the place where nuance goes to die but fuck it I'm going to do it anyway.

So misogyny in fan spaces. There's so much that can be said here, but I want to focus on a trend I've seen in fanfiction for years. This isn't a call out to anyone in particular or a fic that I read recently, it's just something I want to talk about.

There's a range in which I see misogyny displayed in fanfiction. The most subtle version is when a fic has a large cast, but despite this, the female characters just float in the background as accessories. Writing big casts is difficult and I understand that (it's part of the reason I tend not to like big casts) but despite this all the female characters will remain less developed than their male counterparts. The other version is they will exist only to advise or prop up a male character, which isn't to say that a female character can't play that role in a story. On an individual level, it's not an issue, but when it's the only role over and over it becomes an issue. My solution to handling big casts is to break them off at times into pairs/smaller groups and allow everyone to have their moment. It doesn't need to be perfectly balanced but even small moments could go a long way.

The next step up is literally ignoring them altogether. I understand not every character is going to feature in every story. Time and place and all that jazz. But it's telling when they're so clearly written out of a story for the sake of not addressing them. If we can cram in all these male character cameos we can do the same for the women. Personally I feel writing is stronger if you only include characters for a purpose beyond them just being there (and it would be two birds with one stone bc that would automatically allows for more depth), but this is fanfic that I'm discussing, where fan service rules everything.

The third trend and arguably the most egregious I refer to as the “Sakura Effect.” The Sakura Effect is when an author will include either a pre-existing female character or an original female character for the sole person of villainizing her to extreme proportions. It’s scary to me because as much as media can be misogynistic this is so much worse in my opinion. As fans I would hope we would be better but then I see characters flattened or created simply to be awful. And yet “no one” sees the issue in that.

I’ve seen authors go far as to say apologize in the notes about mischaracterizing female characters for the sake of the conflict. Like we’re so close to recognizing the issue yet so far. Also for some reason it’s socially acceptable to add character bashing tags to fics?? I see this the most with Naruto fics, but to this day I will never understand why people feel the need to establish how much they hate a female character in a fic that doesn’t even touch on them. Or they warn people that they made her evil bc they hate her??? Like ok so we’re recognizing the problem and doubling down. Cool.

I once saw someone create a female character for a fic who was described as ugly and with a ton of acne and a bunch of people called the author out for the description and its subsequent streotypes. The author responded by basically being like I hear you but I don’t care. But I was also concerned that no one else in the comments was concerned that the character was female as well.

I see this trend with people to make these super creepy stalker female characters as conflict for their mlm ships and it’s just like…. do we not see the inherent issue in this. We complain about the treatment of women in the source material and then we (fan culture) turn around and make arguably more offensive characters.

This is a fairly ranty non-nuance, doesn’t even touch on intersectionality, look at misogyny in fanfiction but that’s all I have the capacity to discuss today.

[olderthannetfic]

I found AO3 pretty intuitive. Took me like 5 minutes to realize how all the little buttons work. They're pretty straightforward. Apart from the AND filters - took me a while to realize what type of filters AO3 used. Beyond that, I'm not sure why people have a hard time? Wattpad and FFnet are way more of a pain in the ass.

--

It's all about familiarity.

I mean, look, AO3 works how my brain works. When we first set it up, it was what we were all used to, more or less, but an upgrade. It was hard to even see how it could ever be unintuitive because this was just How Things Were. From the style of trope tags to the fact that there's an index of fandoms by media type, it was all familiar.

But that thinking is a trap.

It's easy to say "Oh, well, that person's just an idiot", and sometimes, the problem really is laziness or sleep deprivation, but a lot of the time, it's different cultural context.

By the time we were designing AO3, I'd had many rounds of formal instruction in how to use library catalogues of various sorts, familiarity with Delicious, years in LJ slash fandom whose assumptions form the metadata structures of AO3, etc.

There's nothing strange about going "Why are ship types a top level system of organization?" or "How do I search for genre X in any anime fandom but not in non-anime fandoms?"

It's strange to me, but it's not strange in the context of people who read fanfic overall.

It's not just about learning the search features that do exist: it's about unconscious assumptions about what metadata must exist.

If you don't know to look for something and you aren't coming from a culture where poking buttons is encouraged, you're going to take a lot longer to find things than if you already have a good idea of what's probably there somewhere.

To pick two very obvious examples:

If I were designing a gen-focused archive, I'd make genre a top-level organization system, like on FFN.

If I were designing a more x-reader-focused or One True Character-focused archive, I'd make the ship searches work like Character X/Anyone instead of having to click on each ship of your blorbo or each ship with Reader.

If someone has years of experience searching for some bullshit 'trickyfish' style nonsense ship name because they're on sites with garbage searches, they'll go to AO3, plug some words into the search bar at the top, and then feel like they can't find any relevant results because everything that turns up is just that word in author's notes on an irrelevant fic. They might even go to advanced search...

...and then totally miss that the sidebar filters are the best part of AO3, and they don't appear when you do a search search as opposed to starting from a tag.

Isn't Advanced Search the most... well... advanced search? On every other website, it is, but not on AO3.

--

Each new site/technology/culture/etc. a person has to learn takes time and attention. If you're exhausted and burnt out, that's hard. Even if you're not, it takes at least some effort. It doesn't Just Happen, not for every person and every new thing.

We should tell people to read the damn FAQ, yes.

But I can't say I always do that myself on every site unless I'm both having a problem and invested enough to care about solving it.

--

On an average day, most of us don't need to care why some people have a hard time figuring out AO3.

But if anyone is planning to design a site or needs to teach a bunch of kids how to use the library or something, it's worth keeping in mind just how many unconscious assumptions are hiding behind the idea of something—literally anything—being "intuitive".

[ivanttakethis]

For context, this a follow up to @crustyfloor’s great addition to my post about wanting Ivan to live for Ivan and not just for the sake of IvanTill.

My response just got so long, I thought it’d be better to make it a separate post so here we are!

“‘I wish Ivan lived for Till’ His relationships aren't all there is to him.”

THIS. RIGHT. HERE.

There is so much more to Ivan and it pains me that people don't see it or don't care.

And I get it, like @rockwgooglyeyes said there is a fair amount of focus on shipping in fandoms, and relationships are an integral part of the larger narrative of Alien Stage, but there's more to these characters than that.

Ironically enough, even Ivan views himself as nothing more than someone in service of Till. Ivan doesn't think he's much of anything without him.

Having Ivan live and be rescued by the rebels is the perfect opportunity to change all of that.

He would be completely cut off from his previous life (the aliens, Alien Stage, Till, etc.) and forced to reckon with who he is as a person when nothing is demanded of him anymore.

Let him finally drop the mask and get more comfortable showing his true personality.

Let him get his hands dirty with the rebellion, build his self-esteem from the ground up, and grow to live for himself.

Let him reconnect with Mizi! Have him realize that there are people who care about him and would miss him if he was gone. That there can be more to his life than always chasing, endlessly giving, and never receiving.

I would LOVE to see him have an arc of character development like Mizi. I’d pay for it, even.

This is probably controversial for me to say, but one of my main criticisms of Ivan canon-wise is that he doesn't grow much as a character, if at all.

From the beginning to where we are now, Ivan has always been laser focused on Till. Everything we learn about Ivan is tied to Till in some way. Even in the comics or art we get involving him, they almost always include Till.

I was joking before with my tags about Ivan not thinking about anything other than Till. But what do we know about Ivan that doesn't have anything to do with Till?

We learned that he's the only character that wasn't bred and lived his early years on the streets as a stray, but nothing beyond that???

Like that's such an interesting story idea to include and we know next to nothing about it!

And then Ivan sacrifices himself for Till. Something he would've done at any point in the story.

Nothing changed. His arc is flat. His character is static.

(And to be honest I kind of feel like this was done just as a means to further Till's character development—*runs away*)

There's still a chance to show people who Ivan is.

Not Ivan Unsha. Not "Till's lover boy".

Ivan.

I hope we get to see him.

Shoutout to everyone in the notes of the original post, your takes are all incredibly based! @unshallow-feelings @nottoonedin @paradisedisconcert @atrophiedemotion @m1zisua @hoisinblackcat

[alaskasmonsters]

𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖜𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖞 | 𝖕𝖙. 2 (gojo satoru)

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

content: reader has amnesia, pining, oblivious reader, not actually unrequited feelings, misunderstanding, clown behaviour (gojo IS in it after all), fluff, gojo being a softie

w/c: 7.069

summary: your amnesia still wasn't getting better and your confusing feelings for satoru, a man you didn't even remember, didn't help at all. and why did he keep acting so...weird?

a/n: happy april fools! instead of pranking you with a not funny joke like the majority of the internet i decided to give you a gift! the second part you’ve been waiting for for months haha…🥲 i hope the word count makes up for it a little as this did end up long!! i completely underestimated how much work this would be so forgive me for the v long wait 🙏🙏 i hope i didn’t forget to tag anybody!!this time i also can finally say that this is being posted on April fools because gojo is a jOKE! peace and love on planet earth ❤️ alsoo i coloured the header myself as a little extra hehe.

part 1

So. You were in love with Satoru. No biggie. 

You had fallen in love before, maybe even times that lay beyond the reach of your current memories. Loves that weren’t him. Loves that had been lost in the darkness of the six years you couldn’t remember anymore. Years that you feared you would never get back again.

Six years. 

You stared back at the reflection in your mirror, hands absentmindedly picking at your hair. You’ve been trying to make it look nice for the past half an hour but whenever you felt like you were happy enough with how it looked you made up your mind and started tugging at it again. 

You just couldn’t decide how to wear it, whether to smooth it down or mess it up, or maybe use any product. You couldn’t remember how you used to wear it. This haircut wasn’t familiar to you. Hell, not even your face was familiar to you. Your cheeks used to be rounder, your eyebags weren't as prominent before and you couldn’t tell whether you looked tired or you were just growing old. 

“26 isn’t old, you dork”, is what Satoru had told you when you had complained to him about it. It was, though, when you couldn’t remember anything past twenty. 

You sighed, dropping your head against the glass of your bathroom mirror, the glass fogging where your warm breath hit it. 

Yeah, that you were in love with a man you couldn’t remember was only the tip of the iceberg your ‘life-past-amnesia’ ship was steadily heading towards. It was already a mess by itself, sure, but things were worse, way worse than they seemed at first glance. At least they were in this new life that included curses and amnesia spells.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t remember Satoru. Not how you’ve met or how you’ve fallen in love with him. All the moments that had slowly tipped you over the edge or maybe. Maybe there was only one moment that had made you fall for him. Brutal and quick, like a punch to the face. You had a few pictures, the doodle and the promise of the bowl of rock candy. The candy that you were allergic to but Satoru loved. Candy you probably bought just for him to grab handfuls of it and stuff it into his pockets when he came over to visit. 26-year-old you must be helplessly in love. 

The tip of the iceberg though? You didn’t think Satoru returned your feelings. Or the 26-year-old you's feelings at least. Considering how he’s behaved after finding out about your amnesia you were certain that the man only saw you as a friend. Sure, maybe he’s been trying to distance himself from you emotionally, because you not remembering him was hard for him, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, if Satoru felt the same way, if the both of you had been more than friends…wouldn’t he have told you? 

Yeah, he was very strict with the “Don’t tell Y/N anything about the past 6 years” rule but certainly, this would be an exception.

Which meant your love wasn’t just helpless, but also unrequited. 

You sighed, burying your fingers in your hair again and suppressing the need to rip your hair out. 

26-year-old you was such a loser. 

You gave yourself a minute to grieve the loss of your nonexistent coolness, then you straightened up again, carding your fingers through your hair to fix the mess you just created.

You’ve been losing your mind about this issue for way too long already. It’s like you couldn’t think about anything else anymore but Satoru and your feelings for him. Which was ridiculous.  You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this since last week when you’d first realized that you had liked him, back in your living room when he’d confirmed to you that it was him who drew that ugly sketch for you, the one that looked like the drawing of a child.

Well…it wasn’t ugly…it was kinda cute. Knowing him you could imagine he was doing it to annoy you…or maybe because he tried to make you laugh? When thinking of the little sticky note you could almost picture his wide grin and the way he must have praised himself for drawing such a wonderful masterpiece just for you. Maybe he’d poked your cheek and made fun of your annoyed expression. Maybe he had kissed your cheek right after you’d told him to stop being a menace, giggling against your skin, breath warm and tickl…

Not that he’d done that before. Kiss your cheek. Why did you picture him doing that?

You shook yourself out of your thoughts. This was getting pathetic. Now that you remembered your feelings for him it was almost like they were trying to rush back into your body, like a wave being pulled back to land with force. And with the feelings, the wishful thinking, the yearning, came.    

Not that any of it was real. Your feelings were just a projection of your subconsciousness because you knew you were supposed to have them! And your thoughts were just you being a hopeless romantic, imagining sweet moments between you and Satoru that never happened. 

You barely knew the man. After all, it's been three weeks now, since that day you’ve woken up without your memories. Three weeks. And nothing. Your memories hadn’t returned and you were unable to recall anything from the past 6 years. There was only this stupid feeling of deja-vu you had when Satoru had shown you his eyes and the instinct to call him by his first name when you scolded him. And now those lingering romantic feelings. 

But that didn’t count. It was not enough. 

Why did you like Satoru? Why were you in love with him? You wanted to know so badly you felt like you were going insane. It couldn’t be just because he was pretty, right? You weren’t that shallow, right?

Not that he hadn’t displayed any good qualities so far. He was funny and attentive, he knew your favourite foods and paid attention to what you told him. At the same time he was one of the most annoying people you remember ever meeting and a little infuriating about 50 percent of the time…okay maybe more like 70 percent. And he thought it was funny, too, when he was being an annoying asshole. He always laughed at your sour expression. 

But…his laugh was kind of cute. Even if he was being a prick, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long when you heard him laugh because he kind of snorted when he did and it was ador…Stop.

You grit your teeth and spun around to leave your bathroom. You’ve been spending way too much in there trying to fix your hair, anyway. You were starting to behave weirdly, thinking about Satoru’s laugh and his eyes and his everything. 

Fuck. This was bad. Were you actually in love with him now? Not 26-year-old you. But this you. Even without your memories of him? Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. 

You stomped through your bedroom, glancing at the clock on your nightstand, the time reading 2:30 PM, before ripping open your closet. You had another 10 minutes. You can’t believe you’ve wasted so much time just being distracted with your hair and thoughts. You were sure that when you had entered the bathroom it had only been around 2 PM. 

You quickly grabbed some pants and a shirt, deeming both acceptable before slipping into them, almost stumbling over your feet as you tried to climb into the pants and then almost hitting your elbow against the closet door as you pulled your shirt over your head. One look in the mirror and you pulled the shirt over your head again. It looked stupid. Not a good fit with the pants.

You started rummaging through your closet again, internally scolding yourself for even bothering that much. You were only going out to grab food with Satoru. It wasn’t a big deal, you were sure you’d done that all the time.

Satoru had told you he’d pick you up. He hadn’t told you where you were going because it was supposed to be a “surprise” but knowing him it wouldn’t be anything too fancy. At least you hoped it wasn’t. He would have told you if it was, right?

You stopped and looked down at your pants. They would work, right?

You shook your head. Again. You did that a lot now. 

You finally decided on a button-up shirt, a little bit too big on you but the material was soft and it looked good. You had to roll up the sleeves a little but then you only had to slip into some shoes and you were ready. 

Just in time, because that was the moment you heard your front door open and Satoru’s voice calling your name in a sing-song voice. 

You groaned, having half a mind to stomp out of your bedroom and throw him out of your apartment. 

“Just because you have a key doesn’t mean you can just come in!” You called through your closed bedroom door – you had expected him to wander into your apartment unannounced.

His laugh was just as cute when the door’s wood muffled it.

“I told you I would be here by 2:30, Yn-chan. I’m on time!” 

You looked back at the clock to find he was right. He was on time. Didn’t mean he didn’t have to knock. This was your apartment, after all. He didn’t live here. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror one more time, giving your outfit a once-over and letting your fingers smooth down your hair one more time before you opened your door and stepped out of your room. 

“One day you’re gonna walk in on me naked and you will not survive that because I will kill you,” you scolded Satoru, waving your finger at him in a warning. 

The man just snickered at your comment, grinning widely as his eyes fell on you. His eyes were neatly hidden behind his sunglasses yet again. Still, you didn’t miss the way they looked you over, studying you with badly concealed amusement. 

You frowned, tensing. Did you look weird?

“Any special occurrence I don’t know about?” Satoru asked innocently, cocking his head at you.

You blinked. “What? Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately but his grin didn’t waver. 

You looked down at your outfit again, wondering if it was too fancy. You knew this wasn’t a date or anything but you couldn’t help but put a little effort into your looks. Maybe it was a little more than you’d usually wear but you didn’t think it was too on the nose. 

When you didn’t seem to understand what Satoru was referring to he took pity on you and stepped closer. 

“Where did you get the shirt from?” He asked, tone light, as he reached out to tug at our sleeve.

You looked down at it, wondering why he wanted to know so badly. The shirt looked like any other. There was nothing really special about it. Maybe it was a little bigger on you but you had plenty of oversized clothes.

“I don’t know. My closet.” You shrugged.

Satoru rolled his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Try to remember!” he insisted, tapping your forehead.

You sighed, tired of this specific game. Still, you knew you had no choice but to indulge him. He was only trying to help you, after all. 

“A gift,” you suggested.

Satoru smiled.

“Very good.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised but excited.

He hummed. “It used to be mine.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. Well…that was something. 

“And you gave it to me? Why?”

Satoru cocked his head to the side, looking at you expectantly. 

You groaned and hit his arm lightly. “I don’t know! Just tell me.”

The grin that snuck on his face was mischievous with an edge of…something. Something that made you feel a little dizzy. When he answered his voice was deeper than before, an edge of huskiness to it. 

“You look cuter in it than I do, Yn-chan.”

You caught yourself before your mouth could drop open, and you could do something stupid like actually swoon. Instead, you scoffed and turned your back to him, pretending to reach for your bag, giving you an opportunity to hide your reddening face from his prying eyes. 

Why did he have to say it like that? Was he trying to be a little shit?

Satoru chuckled as if he knew what you were doing. It didn’t help at all with the warmth in your cheeks. You grind your teeth as you slung your bag over your shoulder, then decide against it, only grabbing your keys and wallet to stuff into the pocket of your jacket. You let out a quiet breath to collect yourself before turning back towards the man. He waited patiently with a small grin on his lips.

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

You hummed and moved past him to step towards the door. You reached for the handle, then you paused. Feeling Satoru’s gaze linger at the back of your head, you touched a hand to your hair again, fiddling with a strand in the back you felt was not sitting right. 

Your lip jutted out in frustration and you had half a mind to excuse yourself to the bathroom to return to your earlier attempt at making your hair sit okay. Before you could do it, you heard Satoru approaching. 

Turning back, the apology you were about to mutter died on your tongue as you saw him leaning over you. His expression was serious as he caught your wrist between your fingers and moved your hand to the side before he started softly moving his fingers through your hair instead. You froze, standing still as he combed down once, twice, giving a harsh tug to one of your strands before he pulled back with a satisfied smile. 

“Here we go. What would you do without me?”

His voice sounded so so soft. 

You swallowed, trying to calm your fluttering heart down as you blinked up at the man who was regarding you with warm eyes. Oh no, oh no no no. 26-year-old you had a point. They had a good point. 

“Does it…look better?” You asked nervously, your hand moving up to touch your hair carefully before Satoru batted it away and chided you for trying to mess with his good work.

You glared at him, knowing full well your gaze had lost its heat, and he just chuckled.

“Your hair looks beautiful as always, Y/n chan, I just helped improve it,” he soothed you, waving his hand with a silly grin.

You bit your lip, averting your gaze.

“I guess it’s just different from what I remember.”

He hummed noncommittally. Then he opened the door wide, waving his other hand to motion you to go first. The crooked smile resting on his face at that moment did not leave your mind all night.

—

“You’re such a chicken, Yn-cha,” Satoru teased.

You gasped, offended. “Am not!”

He poked your cheek with a soft chuckle. “Such a chicken!”

You batted his hand away, contemplating for a second if you should just bite it. You had quickly noticed that Satoru drove one to measurements like those. Would you ever consider biting anyone else’s hand? No, not in a million years. But the man was so infuriating sometimes it just awoke this urge in you.

Satoru grinned like he knew exactly what you had thought, wiggling his fingers in the air between you as if to dare you to do it. Sometimes it really seemed like he could read your mind. You blamed it on your apparently close friendship before the whole amnesia thing. 

When you didn’t actually attempt to sink your teeth into his skin he let his hand fall to the side and stuck out his tongue. You punched his arm with a huff, leading him to let out a dramatic whine.

You couldn’t believe you actually liked this dork. It was still a mystery to you, even now that you’ve finally accepted your fate. After the not-date, it was hard not to. The night wasn’t very eventful, you had only visited a little ice cream parlour and walked around the city a little. 

Satoru had been an absolute menace and dragged you into all kinds of souvenir shops – like he didn’t live here in Tokyo…

But he’d been funny and charming despite everything. He had opened doors for you and had insisted you linked your arms together. “So I don’t lose you,” he had joked but it had sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach regardless. You had even ended up sharing a milkshake because Satoru had insisted. 

It had felt like a date. It really had. But it couldn’t have been. Satoru would have told you. If there was anything going on between the two of you he would tell you. He wouldn’t keep something as big as you two being in a relationship to himself. Amnesia rules be damned. 

But even if it wasn’t a date, it had only made you understand 26-year-old you’s affection towards him more. How were you meant to not fall in love with Satoru if that was how he treated you all the time?

Didn’t mean you could let him know about that, though. 

The man was still pestering you, digging his finger into your side and making you squeal and squirm away.

“Come on, tell me,” he urged you with a whine, “Who is the better-looking sorcerer? Me, and you know you want to tell me, you have to  follow your heart, or boring businessman Nanami?”

Yeah…that was what Satoru has been annoying you about for the last five minutes on your way to Shoko’s office. Five minutes. And only because you had passed Nanami on your way there and Satoru had noticed your eyes following the man after he had nodded politely at you in greeting and given Satoru a deadpan stare before he walked past you. 

Since then Satoru was relentless in his quest to find out if you thought Nanami was more attractive than him because well…Satoru was a menace. And his ego was apparently very fragile. 

“And I told you, I cannot answer this question honestly because your ego wouldn’t survive the fall, now cut it out, you big baby,” you teased him and pushed his hand away.

Satoru shook his head, not ready to give up yet. If the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by. 

“You’re such a chicken, Yn-chan. You’re just too embarrassed to admit how attractive you think I am. You think I’m gorgeous. It’s okay to admit I am the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes, hating that he was right. Nanami was a very attractive man. Unfortunately, you’ve found yourself more drawn to pretty men with gorgeous eyes and annoying personalities and an ego the size of all of Tokyo. Skill issue on your part.

“Sure, that’s it,” you deadpanned and Satoru hummed with delight.

“Admitting this takes strength, I know.” He gave a solemn nod and reached to pat your shoulder but you shoved him and sent him stumbling to the side, laughing.

You had to hide your smile.

You arrived at Shoko’s office only a little bit later. Satoru knocked but barely waited until the woman told them to come in before pushing the door open and sticking his head through the gap, giving a cheerful greeting.

You heard Shoko groan before being dragged into the office by Satoru, his grip around your shoulder as he pulled you in front of him. The woman’s features softened at your sight, the lines in her forehead smoothing out again. You waved at her with a small smile, understanding the annoyance Satoru was able to awaken in people. 

“I’ll leave them in your hands,” Satoru announced, grabbing both your shoulders and pushing you forward like a mother presenting her child.

“They’re not a child, you idiot,” Shoko sighed.

The man’s only reply was a smile, as he patted your shoulders innocently. You glared at him and called him a jerk and Satoru laughed. Before he finally let go of you again he gave your shoulders a squeeze as if to ensure you he’d be back, then he retracted towards the door. 

“Remember! No memory discussion! Alright, bye. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” He waved at both of you before slipping out of the office and closing the door behind him.

“I feel like I was just handed off to daycare,” you sighed and Shoko snickered. 

“He’s very protective of you.” She said it in a voice that sounded neither like she was excusing his behaviour nor like she was scolding him.  “Could be less annoying about it, though.” 

You hummed in agreement, taking a seat on the small sofa in the corner of the room. Shoko watched you quietly from where she was sitting behind her desk, tapping her fingers against the wood.

“I can imagine you’re getting frustrated by being asked this so much, but do you remember anything yet?”

You sighed, having expected that question. It’s been almost a month, after all. You knew that this was probably going on longer than any of them had expected. “No? I mean. Other than a few deja vus, if that counts.”

She nodded, staring thoughtfully at the screen of her computer. 

“Any other symptoms? Headaches? Nausea? Blackouts? Any physical pain? More tired than usual? Numbness?”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “No, Doctor, no other symptoms.”

Shoko blinked, looking taken aback. Her eyes darted back towards you, then she burst out into quiet laughter. 

You frowned, confused.

“You’re still calling me out even without your memories,” She mused to herself when she calmed down, “Can’t help it, really.”

You leaned back into the cushions of the couch, feeling warm at the sound of Shoko’s laugh. For some reason, you felt incredibly pleased. 

“So you do this a lot then. Turn on the doctor mode,” you asked her with a teasing tone, wondering if you could get any information out of her without Satoru being around to shush her.

She rolled her eyes. 

“You complain about me mothering you too much when you get sick. But wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a difficult patient.” 

You lightened up, grinning. “Mh, yeah, I like to ignore my illnesses until they go away.”

Shoko gave you an unimpressed look, seemingly displeased by how unashamed you were about it. You just shrugged. The woman decided to let it go, only muttering something to herself you couldn’t hear from the distance but were sure was about you being a brat. 

“Has Satoru been pestering you a lot about the memory thing? I bet he is, that idiot.”

Your smile fell. 

“No, actually, he barely asks about it,” you admitted, your eyes falling to your lap. “I feel like he’s pretending to be less bothered by it than he actually is.”

“Oh?” Shoko asked, but she didn’t sound surprised by your observation at all. 

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You know.”

“Why Satoru is holding you at arm’s length? Take a guess.”

“I don’t know. I barely know him.”

Shoko shook her head, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“You know him quite well. You just don’t remember. At least consciously.”

You frowned, sitting up. “What do you mean?”

Shoko leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, regarding you with a calm gaze. 

“You said you were having deja vus?”

You nodded, telling her about when you had called Satoru by his first name for the first time and the feeling you’ve had when the man had pulled off his glasses and showed you his eyes. How you’d felt like it hadn’t been the first time. 

That last part brought an amused smile to the women’s lips. “Of course, he’d try to copy that.”

You perked up at her words. “So that did happen before!”

Shoko hummed. “Which just proves my suspicions. Subconsciously you still remember the past six years.” She raised her hand and motioned towards you. “You instinctively know how to engage with your environment and with the people you are close friends with. You recognise familiar situations and you still seem to feel the same way towards us. You just fail to consciously access your memories.”

You frowned, not quite understanding what the woman was saying. Were feelings connected to memories? Could you being in love with Satoru be a sign that your memories weren’t as removed as you had first suspected? 

Shoko, who noticed your confusion, explained further, “Y/n, I remember when you first got here. It took you months until you opened up to us more and started warming up to Satoru. Even though you are now affected by amnesia you didn’t revert back to that state. You still act as you did a month ago before you lost your memories.”

So the loss of memories wasn’t really the issue, you just couldn’t access them.

“So…what do you think I should do?”

She shrugged. “Trust your instincts.”

You sighed. Right. Your instincts. Like you could trust them when they were so ridden with your wistful yearning. What if you told Shoko that your instincts were screaming at you to wrap your arms around Satoru, bury your head in his chest and stay there? That your instincts were screaming at you to grab his face and kiss him. That your instincts were telling you that the two of you should be dating and that it was unfair how you were stuck with those feelings instead of 26-year-old you who actually knew how to deal with them.

Shoko clicked her tongue and let out a snort, making you look up with panic. Had you said any of that out loud?

“What?”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe that jerk pulled the eye move but not that stupid hand thing with Infinity on you.”

“Infinity?” you questioned, feeling like the word felt familiar to you. 

“It’s one of his curse techniques.” Shoko looked up to the ceiling, pursing her lips.

Then she started to explain to you, as simply as possible, what Infinity was and how it worked. You listened to her with wide eyes, feeling yourself grow a little dizzy. 

“Infinity?” You echoed.

“Infinity.” Shoko repeated again, raising an eyebrow at your pale face. “I know you don’t remember anymore but there is no need to look so terrified.”

“So no one…can touch him?” 

“Without his permission, yes. The jerk turns it off sometimes when he pleases.” She rolled her eyes.

At your silence she turns to you, a frown twisted her face. “What is wrong?”

“I just…we’re kind of touching all the time.”

Shoko gave you a look and you blushed, cheeks exploding in warmth. That sounded…not like you had wanted it to sound.

“No…not like that, it’s just- casual, I guess. But…”

Shoko grinned. “I see.” Then she burst out into laughter.

You felt yourself blushing even more, lips jutting out in a pout. “What’s so funny?”

“The asshole always turns it off around you. It’s probably subconscious at this point.”

You blinked. “He does?”

Shoko lifted a brow, giving you an amused look. “Surprised?”

“I- of course!”

Why wouldn’t you be? You wouldn’t put it past Satoru to turn on Infinity whenever you hit his arm or shove him just to annoy you.  

Shoko just shrugged, eyes twinkling with mirth as she told you, “Some motivation to remember I guess.”

“Shoko!” You whined.

The woman just chuckled again. “You could try to surprise him. Touch him when he doesn’t suspect it. Just to test the theory.”

Yeah…maybe you’d do that. 

—

You sighed, watching Satoru empty the bowl of rock candy you’d just restocked the other day, grabbing a handful of them before throwing himself back down on the couch. Your eyes followed his fingers as he skillfully unwrapped each candy with one hand before Satoru stuffed them into his mouth. He hummed appreciatively every time. 

You couldn’t believe a 26-year-old you was so desperately in love with him to be indulging this behaviour. 

“I didn’t stock them up just for you to eat all of it within a day.” 

Satoru turned his head a little in your direction but his glasses were hiding his intended side-eye. 

“But you got them for me, didn’t you?” 

He grinned as you stayed silent, knowing he’s seen right through you.

“You’re so sweet, Y/n-chan.” 

You huffed. “Shut up. Who says I got them for you?”

“You’re allergic and as you’ve said before I am the only one who’s shown up to your apartment the past few weeks. Who else would you get them for?”

You leaned back in the chair, eyes resting on the bowl on your desk. “My secret boyfriend obviously.”

Satoru hummed. “I thought you came to the conclusion he didn’t exist.”

You bit your lips, glad he has turned with his back towards you again so he couldn’t see your conflicted expression. Maybe you’d just come to the conclusion that you wished Satoru was the secret boyfriend…

You couldn’t stop thinking about that conversation Shoko and you had had that day. About Satoru’s distance, about your lingering feelings despite the memory ‘loss’ and about Infinity. Especially that last part hadn’t left you any peace. What reason was there for Satoru to shut it off around you? Even when you threatened him with your chopsticks? Or was it just another amnesia rule? Did he want you to remember Infinity by yourself?

You frowned, eyes gazing towards his seat on the couch. He was still happily munching on his candy, his back exposed to you.

What had Shoko said? You should try to test him by touching him when he didn’t expect it? This way he couldn’t just shut it off at the last moment. This way you’d know for sure if he automatically disabled it around you.

Your fingers itched and you balled your hands into fists to stop yourself from tapping them against your thighs. You were sitting close enough that if you leaned forward you would be able to touch him. He was still busy with the candy, making happy noises.

Your eyes zoned in on the uncovered patch of skin on his neck, a pale stripe peeking out between his hair and his collar. 

Satoru made a questioning sound in the back of his throat and you realised he was still expecting an answer. 

“How do I know you’re not just keeping him away from me? Maybe it’s just another one of your amnesia rules.” You tried to joke, keeping your voice steady. 

He snickered, shoulders shaking as his head fell forwards a little, exposing even more skin of his neck.

You stared at it, feeling your heartbeat out of your chest.

“Though I definitely have the power to do that I don’t think-”

You pushed your finger against the skin of Satoru’s neck.

The man stopped, neither flinching nor moving away. He just waited.

Your eyes went wide, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your finger. He hadn’t activated Infinity. He couldn’t even have known that you would touch him. Your mind was reeling.

“Sorry, you-uh-there…there was a hair!” You yelled out, voice rising an octave, as you swiped your finger down his skin to pretend like you were brushing it away.

Then you quickly snatched your hand away.

“I see. Thank you.” Satoru’s tone was unreadable again. And he still didn’t turn around.

Not that it would have helped ease your mind to see his expression, not when the glasses were hiding his true feelings by covering his eyes. 

“Of course.” You laughed awkwardly, now wanting nothing more than to bend forward and press your lips to the spot you had just touched. 

You shock yourself out of that thought. Get a grip.

You cleared your throat. “So you have… the power to keep my secret boyfriend away, huh?”

It was meant to lighten the mood, maybe get rid of the sudden tension you felt between the two of you. But Satoru stayed quiet for a while.

“I’m the strongest.” He said it like it was a fact and for some reason, you didn’t doubt him. 

You smiled. “Maybe he’d get very upset if he found out you ate all his candy and would try to fight you.”

“I’d win,” Satoru insisted, finally turning around to look at you, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. 

And then with one smooth move, he bent over the back of the couch and snatched the bowl of rock candy from your desk. You gasped, watching in shock as the man dug his hand in the contents and fished out even more candy than he had before.

You jumped up, reaching for the bowl.

“Give it to me.”

“Nope.” Satoru laughed, holding his hand out of your reach.

You bent over the back of the couch, stabilising yourself on his shoulder as you climbed half over the backrest, Satoru’s laughter filling the air with your annoyed yells.

“Satoru stop being a little shit. I just bought these. That’s way too much sugar for you.”

You reached over him, catching his wrist and almost losing balance and falling but were able to catch yourself in the last moment, luckily not smashing your foreheads together in the process. Wait…foreheads?

You froze, hands still holding his wrist as you realized that you were now sitting in Satoru’s lap. 

Like actually sitting in Satoru’s lap. Butt on thighs. Sitting. 

You…what? 

You couldn’t move, you tried to will yourself to do something. Anything. But your body didn’t respond, too overwhelmed that you were sitting on Satoru’s lap. 

The man looked unbothered, eyes twinkling with mischief as your cheeks exploded with heat and you kind of wanted to slap him because what the fuck? 

You let go of his wrists and quickly tried to move back and out of his lap but had to have Satoru save you from losing balance and almost falling backwards in your attempts. Which he did by grabbing your waist with his hands and pulling you back in his lap, letting go of the candy still in his hand. The sound of them clattering to the floor filled the following silence. 

“Careful,” he chided you, voice playful. 

You stared at him, eyes darting between the dark lenses of his sunglasses and across his face as you tried to work out what was happening. 

“See something you like?” he teased, hands still comfortably resting on your waist.

That’s what you noticed suddenly. He hadn’t let go of you. No, he was keeping you in his lap, like he wanted you there. And what he just said…was he flirting? 

Seriously flirting? 

You reached forward, not knowing what possessed you as your fingers traced the frames of Satoru’s glasses before softly plucking them from his face. The man didn’t stop you. He remained still, unblinkingly staring up at you with those blue eyes that mirrored the sky. You folded the glasses absentmindedly and clipped them to his shirt before your hand reached for his face again. The cap of your finger brushed the skin of his cheek, barely able to notice the softness of it when you came back to yourself. What the fuck were you doing.

You reeled back, almost falling out of Satoru’s lap again if it wasn’t for the man’s grip around you.

“Why are you fighting it?” His voice was suddenly serious.

You blinked, overwhelmed by what had just happened, what was still happening.

“Fighting what?” You breathed out, flexing your fingers in his grip.

Without much explanation, he pulled your hand back to its previous position a few inches away from his face before letting go again.

“Trust your instincts and stop fighting them, otherwise your memories will never return.”

You swallowed.

“What if it’s not instincts?”

He cocked his head. You didn’t continue your sentence.

What if it was merely your feelings for him? What if you messed things up for 26-year-old you?

Gojo sighed, shoulders falling and for a second you saw disappointment fleet through his gaze before it was replaced with a feigned expression of amusement.

“You’re such a chicken.”

He straightened up and you realised that he was letting you go, that you could get out of his lap now. Instead, you did something stupid. 

You grabbed his face with both of your hands and waited long enough to see him perk up in surprise, eyes wide as they stared up at you, and then you leaned down to press your lips against his. 

Satoru didn’t even wait until your lips were fully connected before he pushed forward, head tilting until your mouths could slot together perfectly. Something in your chest fluttered as he pulled you closer against him, your chests being pressed together. You gasped into his mouth. He used that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips and you followed his guidance, letting yourself sink into the sensation. You shuddered against him, overwhelmed with the feeling of him but at the same time, it felt normal…a little bit like you were coming home.

You both pulled back to catch your breath, not moving far away, noses still close enough to almost touch. This was insane. You couldn’t help staring at him, his eyes looked so bright and a little crazy. You just noticed how impossibly blue they were. Bluer than the sky even, like they contained a whole other universe in them.

You swallowed, tongue darting out to wet your tingling lips, the taste of sugar lingering there.  You didn’t pay any attention to it, too distracted by the excitement that bloomed in your chest when Satoru’s eyes darted down to follow the moment. 

A laugh bubbled past your throat at the absurdity of it all. Only yesterday you wouldn’t have thought it possible that Satoru would let you kiss him, much less kiss you back. That you’d been sitting here in his lap, all because of…well…

“You deactivated it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Mh?” 

“When I touched your neck. Infinity.”

His eyes widened, finding yours. “You remember that?”

You gave his cheek an apologetic squeeze, “Shoko told me.”

He visibly deflated. “So you still remember nothing?”

Yeah…there was still that. Your memories. You swallowed, eyes darting down to his lips again and you remembered what Shoko had told you. What Satoru had just told you. You have to trust your instincts.

“I can’t tell if it’s a memory or more of a feeling. But I think we’ve kissed before.”

“Oh yeah?” Satoru teased, visibly brightening up again. 

“Satoru.” 

He hummed, fingers squeezing your waist as he pulled you closer against him. Your thumb brushed his cheek and your noses brushed. 

“Do feelings count as memories?”

Satoru lifted an eyebrow.

“You’re getting philosophical with me.”

You softly pinched his cheek.

“Would you let me kiss you again?”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Would that help with your memories?”

“Would you let me even if it didn’t?” You whispered, already leaning closer. 

“Are you asking these questions to figure me out or because you want to kiss me?” he asked, but his voice sounded hoarse and you could tell that he wanted you to kiss him just as badly as you wanted to kiss him.

“I’m following my instincts,” You muttered and leaned back in to connect your lips again.

Yeah. This was like coming home. 

—

After that afternoon you became bolder. Pulling Satoru down for kisses, reaching to hold his hand, sitting close enough your legs were touching, snuggling up to him when you were watching a movie. 

To your pleasant surprise the man was accepting your touches with ease, Infinity still shut off around you. You didn’t talk about it at first, happy to just enjoy this new but somehow familiar dynamic you had. But there was really just one explanation for this. 

“We’re dating.” 

Your statement didn’t seem to surprise Satoru at the very least.

“Is that a question or a statement?” he mused, not even turning around as he prepared your food at the counter of your kitchen.

You closed the distance between the both of you and slung your arms around him, testing, and just like you’d expected, he let you. Not just that, it almost felt like he was leaning into your touch.

“I’m pretty confident,” you hummed, tightening your grip and pressing your face into his side.

“You’re remembering?” Satoru asked but he didn’t sound convinced.

You scrunched your face. “Did I ask you out?”

Satoru tensed and peaked down at you, eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Are you guessing?”

You grinned. “I asked you out but you kissed me first.”

His eyes widened. “Y/n…”

Your grin softened into a smile at his hopeful eyes. 

“It’s not really remembering, I think. It just…feels right. It’s like I just know it.”

He sighed, reaching out to twirl your hair between his fingers. 

“Are you even trying?” He sounded so whiny. It made you giggle again.

“You’re such a jerk. Why didn’t you just tell me we were dating?”

“You need to remember yourself for the curse to wear off,” he justified, but then admitted what you had already suspected, “It was also very funny to watch you squirm and be all flustered around me. You were so embarrassed for wanting to see my eyes.” He giggled to himself. “And to hear about that secret boyfriend of yours you buy those candies for was very entertaining. “

You rolled your eyes. “And you were that secret boyfriend the whole time.”

Discarding the food at the counter the man turned around in your grip so he could sling his arms around you as well. He rested his head on top of yours.

“You never told me you were allergic.”

You shrugged. “You would have made fun of me for being so smitten with you.”

“Because you are! You love me so much!” he sing-sang, rocking you in his arms, making you laugh. 

“Yeah, I do,” you agreed softly.

taglist:

@crystal-lilac @duf3h6237 @hufflefluffslytherin @chucky-26o1 @lordbugs @patchi-chi @chewymoustachio @enesitamor @yourbloodyqueen @lady-cryptstone @iwatobiswimbros @kite11 @kurookinnie @spacedaddydinn @nishayuro @cinaiel @marblesphere @zhah-zu @olaf9086 @oriontingz @bloobrryktty

[scoobydoodean]

I was wondering if you, as a Dean fan have opinions about the different writers? Mostly because I see a lot of Dean fans really strongly dislike Dabb for some reason and I don’t really understand why. I’ve never seen a concrete explanation beyond “he can’t write Dean/doesn’t understand Dean/actively hates Dean” but with no examples as to what he does that’s so bad. And I see this in every shipping lane. I don’t have a strong opinion about him as a writer one way or the other.

I'm exploring this more as I rewatch the show (currently on season 6) so I'll speak mainly from that perspective on my most recent thoughts. I am not a big fan of Dabb or Loflin, but have tried to be fair about things so far when talking through each episode. I am a fan of "Alpha and Omega"—it's my favorite finale (it's also... a finale for a season Carver started as showrunner? So I don't know what the implications are there as far as storyboarding). Also points for having demon Dean stab a guy through in 10.02.

I'll focus on the negatives you asked about in this post, but in the links you'll find me moving the narrative this way and that toward much more charitable readings... I think. (I do have a tag #dabb disk horse which you can either peruse or blacklist at your leisure). What I can tell you is something almost always strikes me as a off about Dabb/Loflin episodes so far in this rewatch in terms of character work.

Dabb/Loflin's first ever episode was 4.06 "Yellow Fever". In the aftermath, Kripke felt the need to release a definitive interpretation of their episode to the public, stating, "Dean is not a dick... he's a hero." The whole episode toyed with, to an extent, the idea that all the victims of the MotW were bullies. You can take this other directions—for example, queer meta, or meta about Sam as the real bully. However, the story a lot of fandom latched onto was that "Dean is a jerk and deserves to be humiliated and punished for that" which obviously didn't make Dean fans watching live in season 4 happy—and this theme of Jerk!Dean continues into their next episode, "After School Special", where they once again parallel Dean with a bully literally nicknamed "Dirk the Jerk" by Sam, and throw what I think is transparent shade at Kripke's issued statement from before the Christmas break (post here)... or maybe they mean to throw shade at the Dean fans who got angry. In this episode, they also make illusions to Dean wanting to have sex with barely legal high school cheerleaders, which also did not ingratiate them to Deanfans at the time. I said on my last rewatch, "In After School Special, Dean seems more unlike himself than any episode ever in the history of Supernatural up to this point" (post explaining that here). I carry similar sentiments about portions of 5.06 "I Believe The Children Are Our Future". Yes—I am aware of performing Dean meta. I just... feel like they try a little too hard. It feels hamfisted—desperate. To the point it doesn't feel like Dean anymore sometimes. In 5.06, they also have Dean (guy who is generally very protective of kids) suggest to Jesse that he'd be good to have in a fight???? I can see how they got there, but again—it just feels... off. The last episode I rewatched that they authored, 6.04 "Weekend At Bobby's", also leaves a bad taste in my mouth—not in what it's trying to do with Bobby or what it's trying to do on a meta level—but once again, with dialogue from Dean that just makes me think "he would not fucking say that" (post here). I think looking at all of these, you can probably see deangirl ire toward Dabb has a long history. It's been around as long as he's been around, whether he deserves as much ire as he gets or not.

I haven't circled back yet on this rewatch, but Dabb and Loflin also penned season 7's "The Girl Next Door"... do I need to say anything specific? Maybe I'll just link my entire #amy tag. What narrative did they want you to get from that episode? Who the fuck knows. And that's often the problem:

When you watch various episodes I've mentioned, you can work around to a meta that tells you something different than you might at first think the page conveys—something hidden and maybe contradictory. The thing is... you could also... not do that? And that wouldn't be so bad, except that sometimes the two narratives you can most easily grasp completely contradict each other. "After School Special" can be an episode that points to Sam's envy of Dean and John deep down and foreshadows Sam becoming a bully, but on a meta level, it also just as easily says Sam becoming a bully is somehow Dean's fault, and Sam is some poor captive baby. Dean is a creep and a bully and a cheater but we should all coddle him because he saw his mom die when he was a child and he's sooo sad. "Yellow Fever" can be a queer meta story and might also foreshadow approaching Bully!Sam in 4.14, but it also very much does call Dean a jerk (should we take that seriously? should we not?) and implies Dean should be punished for the outcome of three decades of reality-bending torture. Even if it's a queer meta underneath... it's just as easily one about how closeted men should be humiliated for cowardice or how being closeted turns you into an asshole.

Jumping way ahead, I have to mention 15.10 "The Hero's Journey" just because. Yes, it is full of jokes and Garth goodness, but also tries to sell you the story that nothing about Sam and Dean is real, to a degree that feels like you are being flipped the bird for ever watching this show. And again—you can make meta that it's all a ruse! But is it? Or is Dabb actually just telling you to go fuck yourself? Like he totally wasn't when, after the SPN finale when fans were Not Happy™️, he tweeted a sign reading, "Don't feed the baboons"? Yet again—we play into the motif of the "hero" who isn't a hero at all but some pathetic loser who deserves to be publicly humiliated, bookended with Dabb's opening episode in his opening season. I'm not saying that's what it is on purpose—but I am saying you can make these arguments easily, and that leaves me consistently annoyed with Dabb for being fucking sloppy and leaving me to deal with some of the most insufferable meta imaginable that carries little support outside of episodes written by Dabb or the Dabb/Loflin writing team.... Yes—I am in fact saying that Dabb and Loflin's hamfisted episodes (regardless of their intentions) are largely responsible for some of the most insufferable, loathesome fandom metas about Sam and Dean's relationship around.

Look at 5.16 "Dark Side Of The Moon", and 7.08 "Time for A Wedding!" and 8.14 "Trial and Error", 11.17 "Red Meat", and 15.20 "Carry On". Along with 4.13, while they might or might not say something deeper or contradictory on a meta level, on a surface level, every single one of these episodes sows the narrative that Dean is needy and clingy and needs Sam more than Sam needs him—something I intensely disagree with for a multitude of reasons... but I'll just link this. Many of these episodes also follow a surface level narrative of "normal life obsessed Sam" (and here I'll link my entire #sam the hunter tag and #in which sam is not a helpless little waif with his hands cast over his eyes being carried along by the tides of the immutable sea). When I look at this episode list, I also don't find it at all difficult to believe that Dabb wanted Dean to die in the finale. There is nothing at all shocking about that. And yes—you can argue he's pointing to the opposite—that this fate should be subverted and that's what makes 15.20 the dark ending, but I think you can just as easily argue that yes it's a dark ending and yes Dabb has always dreamed of this ending. A "tragic" ending where Dean dies and Sam goes on to have a white picket fence... while also leaving you little hints along the way that maybe it's all a big ruse because how could he not? He never has to explain anything. Someone else will pick up the story and make it make sense. He's already fucked off to piss all over fans of Resident Evil.

That said, when I mention what I feel is off character work, I mainly mention Dabb/Loflin episodes from my recent rewatch, which suffer from the two of them being newer to the series (coming onto the writing team in season 4) and also leave questions about whether, perhaps, they had conflicting ideas about characterization. Was Dabb the one penning these lines? Was it Loflin? Was it both? Did they trade out who took the lead? I didn't really say anything negative about "Sam, Interrupted" or "Jump the Shark"... (though "Sam, Interrupted" also calls Dean "codependent") who wrote those? Is it possible that the messiness of the meta comes down to two writers at war? I have to imagine though, that they got along, or else they wouldn't have written together for four fucking years. If they didn't get along...? My mind always comes back to their first solo episodes, right after splitting up in season 8. Dabb's first solo episode is "Hunteri Heroici"—the only episode to lend any perspective to season 8 Sam's reasons for abandoning everyone—paralleling him checking out with Fred's catatonia, which Sam has to save Fred from. It is the only episode that lends Sam sympathy in the early part of the season. He follows it up with "Trial and Error"—where Sam promises to save Dean from suicidal thoughts. Loflin's first solo episode is what I would regard as the most scathing solo episode commentary on Sam in the entire series—"Citizen Fang". Then he writes again right after Dabb's "Trial and Error"—penning "Remember The Titans" where Sam tells Dean to get over the promise Sam so passionately made in Dabb's episode and face reality.

This is why we're exploring this rewatch.

DISCLAIMER: Now I just devolve into bitching because I'm writing at 3AM. Proceed at your own risk.

It seems like these days, everyone demands an explanation for disliking Dabb (something about some sort of destiel battle... I don't know what that flamewar is and I don't give a damn tbqh.) I guess I've just been wondering what's actually so great about him. Because it feels like people have overcorrected to basically acting like he's god's greatest gift to mankind. People point to how meta his episodes can be, but I think other writers easily best him on that front on multiple occasions (particularly enjoyed by me so far on this rewatch: 3.10 "Dream A Little Dream Of Me", 4.04 "Monster Movie", 4.12 "Criss Angel Is A Douchebag"), and without leaving their meaning so up in the air that you don't even know what the hell they were actually trying to tell you because there are two different completely incongruous narratives you could just as justifiably claim were the intended one. Some people may find that duality praise-worthy. I don't. I find it sloppy—and when I add in mediocre character work, I just land on the side of him being, at the very best, mid.

Add him in as showrunner, you have... at least two of my least favorite seasons (13 and 15). Add that he's a one-trick pony in terms of the Sam and Dean conflicts mentioned above that he continuously rehashes rather than come up with anything new or fresh, and the same conflicts between Dean and Cas being played out until they both die (shut UP I'm not talking about canon destiel as the alternative—I am literally just asking for more diverse conflicts). I can't say I understand what I''m supposed to find so impressive.

(Before anyone so much as breathes this near me, Berens also sucks and I am going to tear off your nose hairs if you start bringing him up as if disliking Dabb for some reason means wearing rose colored glasses about Berens. Berens can eat a whole cactus raw over "The Trap" alone.)

[eddiediazismyhusband]

Buddie in S8 and Slow Burns:

so those of you who follow me or see my posts popping up in the buddie tags know that i am still apprehensive of believing that we will actually get buddie canon in s8. tim has done too much to destroy my trust in him as a writer, and the show has baited us with buddie far too many times for me to easily take anything as a “clear/obvious sign that buddie is happening” when it is just as likely that we are being clowned yet again

that being said, IF we get buddie canon, it needs to happen fairly quickly. I have seen a lot of people saying things like “I don’t want buddie to go canon until the s8 finale” which, i disagree with.

I know a lot of people are saying this because they want a mutual pining era, but i don’t think these people are grasping the fact that if they waited until the finale, that is 18 episodes of tv to fill with something of substance for buddie. Another eighteen episodes; almost eighteen hours of tv. Even with a mutual pining era, that is far too long for them to continue dragging this story out.

Yes, i know that if they are going for a slow burn, that that takes time, but good lord it’s been 6 seasons of actively building up to a relationship… they’ve had six years of stalling, they need to go ahead and fucking commit to it, not take 18 more agonizing episodes of them dragging their feet. If you commit to them having acknowledged feelings for each other, they don’t need more than one or two episodes of mutual pining before it would start getting old.

realistically, we could have a fully fleshed out queer arc for eddie AND mutual pining leading to buddie canon within 8a. 8 or 9 episodes is MORE than enough time to build up to that with what they have to work with— they’ve reached the point for conceivably going canon so many times that it feels like there isn’t any build anymore; it feels like they’ve parked the bus a half mile from the station, and have started doing a thorough inspection on all the parts after driving almost the whole distance.

i know we love drama and angst and slow burns— that’s the appeal of buddie as a ship; but this slowburn has been way beyond fully cooked since s4, and there is no need to keep cooking it (unless they’re just baiting us, which in that case we need to decide when enough is enough and call it a day on this show)

this is not a fanfic that has no expiration date. this show isn’t going to last forever. i ship buddie because i want to actually see them navigating a relationship— i don’t ship them to be edged for 7 years just for them to go canon for one singular episode. i want to see them bask in each other’s love, i want to see them living together with the happiness they’ve been chasing their whole lives, i want to see them encounter speedbumps, and go through hardships together. That is why i ship characters. The chase is fun for a while, but I actually want to see what happens once the chase is over, and them going canon in the last episode is not narratively satisfying to me, and at this point feels like a copout for the writers.

We don’t know how long past s8 this show will last. we don’t even know if we’re getting a s9, let alone more. it’s already unheard of for tv shows to reach this longevity post-2016, we can’t just go into each season assuming that we still have all the time in the world for them to give us buddie. the reality is we don’t have all the time in the world, and this is the make-or-break season.

we don’t need 18 more episodes of stagnant growth. if they’re going to give us buddie, they need to stop dragging it out and just give it to us if they actually intend to, not cop-out and give us a last minute kiss in the season/possible series finale.

anyway, getting off my soapbox for now, but i just wanted to get those thoughts off my chest.

[jaytodd1129]

It's literally killing me that there's nothing on the Malcolm Reynolds & Simon Tam, Father-Son tags on AO3. BUT IT'S SUCH FERTILE LAND FOR FIC TO GROW THO!!

Are you TELLING me nobody else has unresolved daddy issues you'd like to work out through Simon being the stubborn but brilliant, overanalyzing, neurotic gotta-be-10-steps-ahead-cause-nobody-gives-a-shit-about-us doctor of the crew that is always on survival mode cause he quite LITERALLY was abandoned by his own father in his greatest moment of need? And not only that, REMEMBER WHEN JAYNE DOUBLE CROSSED HIM AND RIVER IN ARIEL?? and we all expected him to go bezerk or at least look betrayed?? But instead he was all cool calm and collected and YES that is in part because of his work ethic and because of Who He Is As A Person (not a person that abuses his position of power over someone more vulnerable).. but... what if it's also because.. he never expected anything different? Like.. just think about it. If his own DAD doesn't give a shit about him and River...who would? So maybe that's just him being kind of resigned too?? To something he accepted long ago. He doesn't have any of Mal's outrage, he doesn't have his ire, because unlike Mal, he never expected anything different.

Maybe that's also why he's unable to effectively bond with Kaylee despite having feelings for her. Cause it's been him and River against the world for so long in his mind, that every time his feelings try to cross that line towards Trust Territory, alarm bell start ringing in his head.

This is obviously gonna lead to Simon and Mal to butt heads because as Mal is captain of the ship, his position demands--you guessed it!-- TRUST from his crew. Trust that he'll lead the way somewhere safe, trust that he'll look after everyone with his decisions. And Simon..well he just can't do that (there's too much at stake).

And at first it just drives Mal crazy to the point he probably kicks the siblings to the curve a couple of times (like we saw in Firefly, like we saw in Serenity) not out of cruelty, but because he's never been one to keep someone who doesn't want to be kept (just ask Inara).

Speaking of Inara, maybe she's the voice of reason (as she tends to be) that eventually makes Mal see beyond Simon's insubordination, and see that he's not trying to be difficult, deep down he's just a kid, scared shitless, all alone in the world. But..he's not, says Mal. Sometimes that's just hard to feel for some people, shrugs Inara. At first, Malcolm protests against this like, I have too many responsabilities looking after this ship to care for the doctor's precious feelings, too! Inara throws her hands in the air like, This is why nobody ever talks to you about these things! Mal is offended at the implication that ANYONE in his crew keeps things from him, he squawks WHat things?!?..and it turns into the Mal&Inara regular show.

But it plants a SEED in Mal's head, see, and now every time Simon objects against something being done, instead of seeing some churlish display of disobedience, he sees the anxiety, the undercurrent of fear that is there.

Maybe he goes to Simon's quarters at one point and realizes he's hardly unpacked and he's like...shit. it's worse than I thought.

Feral Simon with daddy issues and an attachment disorder is what I want!!

[sunnie-angel]

A Moment

conrad oxford x reader summary: the war has taken your brother and now you live in fear that it will take conrad too. a complete (mostly) canon compliant rewrite of the king's man (no knowledge of the movie is necessary to read) tags: period misogyny, grief, major injuries, onscreen death, graphic descriptions of violence, unresolved sexual tension, angst rating: mature | wc: 3.8k a/n: surprise! a little bit of conrad's pov. @batchilla is once again the best beta reader ever part 3 | series masterlist | ao3

Conrad Oxford knows that some things will always inexplicably, inevitably, hurt. His earliest, most vivid memory is of his mother bleeding out in his father's arms after all. Dying hurts, so why shouldn't living too?

George — George dying had hurt in ways Conrad had not been prepared for. Grief had been an old companion but never like this. Missing his mother is like breathing — with time, he'd forgotten to be aware of it. George's death had been a loss. A true, soul-destroying loss of someone he had known and known well. Sharp. Keen edged and filleting.

This though, this is a bone wearying ache that will not leave him. It had taken up residence since the moment you had walked out that door determined not to know him. It had been coming, simmering since the time you left and returned all grown up with plans for the future already pulling you down a path divergent from his. A path that might take you far, far away to the distant reaches of America and into the arms of another. To his own shame, he had not noticed the cracks forming long ago when you would not speak of these things with him and had instead resorted to rumour and hearsay for the illusion of feeling closer; now the parroted words of others is as close to you as he may ever be again. The hollowing ache had followed him through stiff goodbyes with his family into the training barracks. Had splintered through his nerves and trailed down his veins as he had boarded the ship to France, the cold wind whipping at his newly cropped hair. It's an agony he will have to learn to live with until he can return, head held high.

That desire to do his loved ones proud is what drives him beyond the pain. To conduct himself better than the other officers who have already condescended down to their men for the crime of not being officers. Not being aristocrats too. He will do better, he decides, grim determination tugging at the corners of his mouth. He will be better.

Through mud and melting snow they march that first day, headed towards the line. Smoke and thunder billow and roil in the distance they march ever on into. Still, despite his aching, blistered feet, Conrad checks up on his men. Their rations might be abysmal — Conrad thinks longingly of Polly's bakewell tart — but every man has some.

Corporal Brown, a slightly older man with stooped shoulders and an unassuming air is a worried, slightly hovering, godsend.

"You don't have to do that you know," he tells Conrad as he trails him through the camp. "The men don't expect it of you."

"Just because it isn't expected of me doesn't mean it's not the right thing to do," Conrad replies firmly. "Private Gordon, how are you…"

On the second night, they reach the trenches. George's letters had oversold them. By quite a bit. The noise is incessant, even as the sun goes down. Conrad had flinched the first time he had heard the whistling of the shells. Now that they are close enough to see, he does not find himself surprised anymore.

This time, Corporal Brown accompanies him on his rounds. Tonight he remembers more of his men by name and the pleased little smiles do something to ease the ache in his chest. What a little thing, to be addressed as another person, and yet how powerful.

His youth is obvious. Conrad knows this. All of his men know this. Yet little by little, kind word by kind word, he builds a trust that he hopes will survive whatever orders come down from on high. Conrad checks that every man gets his rations, that the mail is delivered to them as promptly as can be. He does not talk down to them, but rather whenever little squabbles arise, he defuses them with earnestness and good humour. His approach is utterly bewildering to these men whose former officers would never have allowed the familiarity that Conrad enjoys, but their quarelling and posturing pales in comparison to having to come between you and George during the fiercest of arguments. They respect him.

The cold never seems to dissipate no matter how many knitted layers one is lucky enough to have and there is always a layer of water pooling in the muddy bottomed trenches. Longingly Conrad wonders if he had not left on such poor terms, would you have sent him socks too? There is nothing for it, not without first trying to bridge that jagged wound between you and Conrad is not sure that he has the words to begin. So instead he paces. Walks along the line so that his fingers do not freeze stiff and his knees do not lock up.

It is a slow, repetitive routine of hurry up and wait that the men have found themselves in. Take cover from the shells that fall night and day. Return fire when it seems like an enemy soldier is getting too big for his britches (and his trench). Try not to scratch yourself raw from vermin. Reminisce about home. Days of this over and over, the most boring of waits turned into a paralytic of fear. Death is never very far in the trenches. The dead men not more than a few yards away would be reminder enough if Private Winston had not gotten his head blown off smoking at night, the cherry red tip of his cigarette a too tempting target for the Germans to resist. Conrad begins to wonder if it was worth it, the desire to come here and prove himself, as he wipes blood and brain matter from his cheek.

Orders come down from on high, all officers gathered in the Company Major's dug out. An offensive push. 11:15. May God bless them all. Conrad knows his face is pale, that his footing is unsteady as he returns to give the orders to his men. They go equally as ashen at the news.

The burning light of the shells is almost beautiful in the darkness. That strange mix of wanting the morning to never come and for the wait to already be over drowns out the dull ache of missing your presence but also means that sleep will not be finding Conrad anytime soon.

He's fully prepared to turn around and walk the other way when he stumbles upon a knot of his men passing around flasks and speaking fondly in the dark when Gordon calls out, "Come and join us sir!"

Feeling still very out of place, Conrad obliges, uncertain of how to exist in this space without the usual social etiquettes to guide him. Some of these men will die tomorrow and he will lead them there. Tonight he drinks their pilfered whisky.

"Edmund here—" Private Gordon gestures with the flask to a dark haired man with a gloomy smile, "—was just tellin' us about his missus back home."

"She'll 'ave me 'ide for a floor rug if I don' come back in on piece you ca' be sure o' that," he mutters, making a lunge for the flask. Gordon gives it up willingly.

"Wha' abou' you Corporal Brown? Got anyone watin' on youse?" Private Edmund Peel asks, whiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Been dogin' the question a fair bi'."

"No," the man replies, making a pass for the flask too. Another shell lands not too far off, the shaking ground interrupting his answer. "Just don't have an answer that'll satisfy you."

"Ah bu' there's an answer!" Gordon crows with glee.

"God," Corporal Brown answers dryly. "God is waiting for me and a place at a seminary school."

Conrad shivers at the cold, blows air on his freezing finger tips though it does not accomplish much. Corporal Brown hands the flask over and Conrad gulps down his first hit of whisky, appreciating the temporary fire it lights in his belly.

"Well that's hardly nothin' worth bein' coy about," Gordon complains. "At least Peel's got saucy pictures 'e thinks we don' know abou." Peel colours under the low brim of his hat.

"Lieutenant's got pictures too," a fellow adds and Conrad's hand automatically goes to the small frame he wears around his throat next to his identification tags. It's hard to tell but he's fairly certain it was Private Latimer speaking. If they all survive tomorrow, Conrad will have to put him on latrine duty.

"Oh?" Gordon asks, eyes shiny with a whisky tint. "You got some fine ma'am waitin' too?"

"It's nothing," Conrad insists, but he can already tell that their growing interest will not be put to rest so easily. He knocks back another swig of the flask, and throwing caution to the wind, pulls the photograph out from under his uniform coat. The metal is still skin warm. "A friend and her brother, that's all."

Latimer whistles. "Cor, wot I'd give to ha' a frien' like tha'."

Conrad scowls at the implication. "We've known each other since we were children."

"Oh aye, so about two minutes then," Gordon jokes and Conrad simply rolls his eyes.

"We met when I was eleven and I'm 19 now. I'd say 8 years is a good long while."

Corporal Brown makes a pained face, his hand twitching for the pocket that Conrad knows holds his cigarettes. "They're sending us children now," he mutters under his breath which Conrad chooses to ignore.

Conrad hands the picture to Brown first. "We did our schooling together, though she's ever so much cleverer than me. She could go on for hours about the great Roman tragedians versus the comedians and make it sound interesting." The photograph changes hands again. "Taught me to climb trees too, don't think I ever turned down a single dare from her for all the trouble that got me into. And out of. She's a terrible dancer though—" Conrad smiles at the memory of his bruised toes. "—would bribe me to practice with her in secret before our lessons. I should have charged her more for always trodding on my toes but she never meant to so I couldn't hold it against her."

"A very pretty birdie," Latimer agrees, lingering over the picture for a second time in a way that Conrad does not pretend to like.

"An accomplished woman," Conrad responds rather archly. " Whom you would not want to get on the wrong side of. I spent weeks making friends with her terrifying beast of a horse at just the hint of her displeasure. Her joy was well worth the bites," he finishes fondly, getting lost in the memory of your surprised smile. "She's got a way of looking inside you, down to the soft underbelly, and making you want to be the person she seems to find there."

"M'sisters' friend's never looked a me like that," Peel pipes up in a morose tone, holding the photograph in one hand. He gestures at your laughing face, body curving towards Conrad's pictured form. "Ma wife does though," Peel adds thoughtfully.

If their goal was to warm him, the men have more than achieved it by now. His face is so blood-hot they could probably warm their own frozen fingers against it. Embarrassed by their gently ribbing, Conrad moves to snatch back the picture but Gordon simply dances away with it.

"Tha's love in her eyes tha' is," Gordon agrees. "You're tellin' us that you never thought abou' it?" Conrad makes another abortive grab at the picture and Gordon dances away, right into the grip of Lance Corporal Archie Reid.

"Jack Gordon for shame! Yer poor Ma would weep at you tormentin' the poor boy," Reid scolds, using his full height to great effect. He glances at the photograph perfunctorily before handing it back to Conrad. "Even if 'ees lyin' to himself abou' not being in love wi' her," he adds, eyes crinkling. "I ge' the same look on ma face when I look at my darlin' Lizzie."

"She's meant to be marrying an American," Conrad mutters, handing the flask over to Reid reluctantly. He studies the picture, turning it over in the dim evening light to try and see what they all tell him is there.

"Don't mean the feelings aren't there," Corporal Brown tries to break to him gently.

"But we've always looked at each other like that." Brown just stares back at him with a patient kindness. Panicked, Conrad looks around at the rest of his men who only stare back and nod in encouragement. "Then— then the whole time then…" The backs of Conrad's eyes prick with heat. "But she never said!"

"Did you?" Reid asks, one brow cocked.

Conrad reaches for the flask that Reid easily hands over and takes one final swig. Fortified, he pushes off from the hard trench wall he had come to lean on. "Gentlemen," he says, nodding to the group before turning on his heel and heading back to the officers' dug out.

There's a letter he needs to write. Just in case.

A thick morning mist covers the ground, slowly burning off as the sun rises higher in the sky. Low rippling murmurs run up and down the trench as men make their peace and brace themselves for the upcoming assault. At a quarter to 10:00, Conrad makes a final tour of the men, making sure that any last messages for their families have been collected for the next round of mail. His own is tucked into the burlap sack with them. He clasps shoulders and murmurs words meant to soothe for all that they ring hollow in the face of what they are about to attempt.

At half past ten, he makes sure that all the men have eaten. Even chokes down a little something too despite the yawning pit that has taken up residence where his stomach should be. Just one moment, he thinks to himself, just one to prove myself and then off to the medical corps. He still has to fist his hands to hide the shaking.

11:10. Conrad checks the standard military issued watch, the one he'd synchornized to the other officers' the night before. He calls for bayonets to be fixed. Gordon struggles, his hands shaking too badly to get the blade on securely. Conrad fixes it. The fear is a palpable thing in the air. For a moment, Conrad closes his eyes and looks up. Savours the feel of the weak winter sun on his face. His eyes open. The watch ticks over to 11:15. Conrad blows the whistle.

The men surge over the top, some of them never making it over. Latimer falls before he can get a foot off the ladder. The shrill sounds of the other officers' whistles signalling down the line are quickly overshadowed by the rat-tat-tat of the mounted machine guns. Men fall, screaming and then silent as they charge across no man's land. Dirt flies up into the air.

Shells scream their way down the line, closer and closer. The noise, oh the noise, it's like nothing Conrad has ever heard. Only a few steps and then the first of the men are vaulting into the enemy trench. Conrad has to push the slumped over corpse of a soldier off the ladder to descend into hell.

In the trenches, there's an eerie silence of held breaths and death. Coats the bodies of the dead men Conrad recognizes and the enemy uniforms. So still, so silent after the deafening roar of open battle. An awful screaming grunt rends the air, ending with wet tearing noises coming from the left. Readjusting his grip on his pistol, Conrad creeps toward it.

He goes hurtling sideways, a foreign body bowling him over. Conrad's head hits the ground, hard. The pistol goes flying. Dazed, he lashes out at the weight on top of him, arms flailing as he tries to stop the hands reaching for him from pressing his face into the mud. Conrad has to breathe. The weight on his ribs shifts and Conrad manages to get a shoulder under himself, wedges it under him and pushes until he's on his back and facing his attacker.

A glint of light. The soldier arcs his hand down, knife still glinting cruelly in the winter sun. With a cry Conrad manages to grab the wrist and slow it, legs flailing as he tries to dislodging the weight trapping him. It slows, the knife, but not enough. With creeping horror Conrad watches the blade continues it's descent, the faces of all his loved ones flashing before his eyes. The blade stops. Shocked, the soldier tries again, the full weight of his body behind the knife. The little metal photograph frame does not break.

Desperation gives him strength and Conrad manages to turns the man's shock against him, lunging forward. Now, Conrad is the one pinning the man's arms to his rib cage with his knees. Conrad is the one holding the blade to his enemy's throat. The man — no the boy's helmet has fallen off and he's close, so close that Conrad can see the rolling whites of his eyes. Can feel his breath on the Conrad's hands where they close around the blade.

"Bitte!" the boy begs, his voice cracking. He bucks feebly, all of his focus on the knife wobbling towards his throat.

A harsh, hollow scream reverberates from further down the trench again. This time it is echoed by the sounds of fighting. Conrad does not have time to hesitate. The boy realizes this too.

"Bitte! Bittebittebi—" his pleading cuts off with a gurgled scream as the knife slides home. Panting, Conrad drags the knife across his throat, the edge catching on cartilage and bone. The blood burns against the freezing cold of Conrad's fingers. Bile burns at the back of his throat, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. His own heartbeat rushes in his ears. The boys eyes go glassy, then dull.

Footsteps come pounding towards them and Conrad scrabbles in the mud for his gun. He gets the muzzle pointed up just in time for Lieutenant Corporal Reid and Private Gordon to come careening towards him.

"Run!" Reid yells, the roaring sound of flames hot on his heels.

Conrad looks up, frozen at the sight of the men standing above the trenches, liquid fire streaming from the packs on their backs. Already he can feel the heat of the flame. Gordon trips and Conrad moves to goo to him. The flames lick up Gordon's leg and he screams, animalistic. He sobs, crawling towards his commanding officers but the flames are quicker. Reid grabs the back of his collar and hauls Conrad back, pushes him towards the ladder.

"Go!" Reid yells, blocking all of Conrad's attempts to reach Gordon. The burning scent of flesh coats his throat. "He's dead already, go!"

More men fall on the retreat. The machine guns did not get disabled. No part of the other trench was taken. The shells are falling thicker now. A blast — close, too close — knocks Conrad off his feet but he gets up. Makes it back over the top of the trench and onto home ground. He sucks in heaving lungfuls of air that still reeks of dirt and burning meat. The relief is short lived.

Someone has moved Private Latimer's body off the ladder. It sits slumped over against the earthen wall of the trench. Bent double, Conrad's face is of a height to what was once the smirking the face of the dead man. He won't grin or frown anymore. Half the man's jaw is gone. Ripped away crudely, the flesh and torn ligaments dangling. Blood has congealed, the length of the battle enough time to have stopped its pooling. Conrad gags, the remains of his breakfast landing on the trench floor.

Lance Corporal Reid hadn't made it back with the others. He lies in the mud of a crater shell clutching the shrapnel wound in his leg, his groaned cries for help loud in between the rattling bursts of machine gun fire. Only 4 metres away. Up over the top, through torn up ground littered with barbed wire and the corpses of men who had not been so lucky. 4 metres. Conrad's raced you further, wheat-gold sun burning down on your bare head, spring grass lush under his feet. 4 metres. A life he can save. Reid screams again. Conrad goes back over the top.

3 metres. What's left of his men catch on and start covering him with rifle fire. Corporal Brown yells his name. 2 metres. He trips over debris, hand going through the bloated corpse of a dead soldier as he tries to catch himself. Conrad gets back up. 1 metre. He dives into the little divot of earth Reid has found shelter in just as the Germans start firing back.

"All right there Lance Corporal?" Conrad asks, adrenaline making him feel giddy. A bullet whizzes past, dislodging a clump dirt only a few centimetres from Conrad's face.

"Be a lo' better if we weren' gettin' sho' at," Reid groans.

With hands still shaking from the thrill of nearly not dying, Conrad unwinds the scarf from his neck. The cord of his identification tags gets caught in the material and with an annoyed huff he pulls until the string snaps, then winds the makeshift tourniquet around the Scot's leg. He'll have to give you his thanks for getting him that book on first aid, no matter how petty the initial gesture was. Thanks to your pettiness Archie Reid might still keep his leg. In the far off distance, the shrieking whistle of a shell bombardment starts up. With a last tug to get the scarf tight enough, Reid groans, and Conrad is satisfied the tourniquet will hold.

"Wos the plan then Lieutenant?" Reid gasps. Another bullet whirls past, dangerously close.

"Now," Conrad says, manhandling the injured man into a position to be easily slung across his shoulders, "I run."

4 metres. Conrad can do it. He's already done it once. He adjusts the weight of the lance corporal and runs. The rattle of the machine guns starts up again. 3 metres. His men are calling, yelling from the trenches. Reid's weight slips but Conrad doesn't lose him. 2 metres. The awful piercing scream of the shells is getting closer. Conrad is close enough now to see the individual faces of his men cheering them on. 1 metre.

Dying hurts.

[pinklayla123]

Putting this reply here because I want it and it saves me time to say the same thing.

So, you, an elriel, I presume, admit that what Elain and Azriel were about to do was indeed wrong? That Elain pursuing another guy while still having the bond with Lucien is not right? Elain who is not technically, but canonically, undeniably, irrefutably Lucien's mate. So you admit that what was about to happen in the first part of the chapter would have been wrong? That if Elain was so in love with Azriel and dying to be with him as Elriels believe she should at least say it to Lucien's face and reject him instead of staying ever in silence because no, a mating bond is not something that you can just ignore away? That there are not just political ramifications to consider but also how Lucien, who has been a literal darling all the time and described by several other characters as a good male, doesn't fucking deserve to be treated this way?

Hello, person behind ghost blog with randomly generated name, who sent a screenshot of a blog that evidently doesn't exist but is tagged in Elucien fanfictions.

First of all, thank you for sending this ask. This is the first time I've gotten a passive-aggressive fandom related ask like this, so this is low-key a tumblr milestone for me. So thank you for that.

I assume the screenshot included is someone's response to an ask they received in regards to this post since the wording is somewhat similar, but I can't actually find the blog you screenshot so idk what's up with that.

Now, onto the actual ask. The screenshot says "Did Azriel think anything about touching Elain feeling like touching the Mother herself? Lol, no." I believe this is referring to this sentence in my post "Touching Elain is the closest this man has come to meeting the Mother herself."

I did not mean to imply, in any way, shape, or form, that Azriel wants to get down and dirty with the Mother and is using Elain as a conduit for that kink. I simply meant to say that touching Elain was a very monumental experience for him. In the back of my head I was thinking about how he was literally questioning the Cauldron ("What if the cauldron was wrong?") which is a large part of the "religion" in Prythian, therefore anything that made him question it is undoubtedly a big deal for him. I see now that this wasn't very clear in the original post, so thank you for allowing me this opportunity to clarify my thought process.

Now, if I may, I will reply to the paragraph you went to the effort of actually typing out. Yes, I ship Elriel, you presume correctly. Do I think Elain and Azriel almost kissing is wrong? No, I'm afraid not.

This seems to be a follow-up to "The situation is wrong because Elain is technically mated to another guy who is literally sleeping upstairs." in my post. Is Elain wanting to kiss the man who has been nothing but kind and caring and gentlemanly since she's known him wrong? No I believe not.

Despite her canonically, undeniably, irrefutably being Lucien's mate, she actually does not owe him anything at all, least of all an explanation, because she did not make him any promises. She never went up to Lucien and said "I wanna explore this thing between us" and then go behind his back. If that were the case, yes it would be wrong. But alas, it is not.

I don't have it in me to go pull out the actual quote, but Rhys said in ACOWAR I believe that a female being a male's mate does not equal to her being accountable to him for every breath she takes. Elain is well within her right to not want to do anything at all with Lucien, as demonstrated by her being more than willing to kiss someone else in the same house.

Okay, if this isn't wrong, then why on earth did I say that it is? Easy. Because while Elain and Azriel are not doing anything wrong, their actions will be perceived as such by others and will have consequences far beyond the two of them.

On the topic of sweet darling Lucien, I wouldn't go as far to say he is one of my favorite characters, but I certainly don't hate him and would like to see him get a happy ending. However, he hasn't really done much for Elain to say he actually cares about her or wants a life-long relationship with her. His inner monologue consists of thinking Elain was "thrown" at him and he chooses to spend his days living with another woman on the other side of the world. Doesn't seem to me like either of them want jack and shit to do with each other.

p.s. Just because someone is a "good male" doesn't entitle them to anyone's time and affections, especially someone who has shown no interest in them and even seem to avoid them.

Anyways, sorry this got a little long. Have a nice day 😊😊

[bluishfrog]

HAPPY 1-YEAR OF DRAWING ANNIVERSARY TO ME!

(Warning: slightly longer post incoming cause sometimes I gotta be a sentimental bitch ok? So let's go on a little trip down memory lane.)

This day, a year ago, I made my very first fanart. It was dnf (if that surprises you, then welcome to being on my blog for the very first time). I drew a little frog face too so I could use it as a watermark (fun fact: I still use that very same first one).

I immediately put my drawing up on twt because I told myself that I wasn't gonna be afraid of having people see that I was at the very beginning of this journey and had no clue what I was doing. That instead of being bad at art, I was gonna be awesome at being a beginner who doesn't know shit.

I started with little doodles and silly comics and then I laughed way too long when the first drawing of mine that gained some attention was a dnf butt joke. At the time I was trying to balance shipping and non-shipping art so I didn't even draw dnf that much but in hindsight it's probably the only possible way this could have gone.

At the very end of August I woke up to @honelle56 caps-locking at me in my messages - I was very confused and tired (I am no morning person and I will never be, fuck off with your mornings) because Dranart liked my drawing of singing Dream. Dranart was my 17th follower on twt which is a useless yet extremely funny fact about my time on that hellsite.

I also drew human!patches because a) patches was and will always be my favorite dteam member and b) it was a really cute trend and while I do love drawing dream, george and sapnap, I was also quite happy to try drawing anything but a white man for once. And I really liked how the drawing turned out.

Much, much later, I tried to draw my first slightly more realistic looking drawing. I was extremely confused on how to draw anything like this. Especially their hair gave me tons of trouble but given my experience, I think it's not a bad attempt.

When hijacked smp started I obviously wanted to participate, and I drew c!blu who doesn't associate with any side in particular but instead serves soup to everyone who visits her tavern 'The Soup House'. She also wants to be paid in stories from all around the map.

One of the events I was most excited about was dnf week. I even collaborated with two talented writers and I drew the corresponding art for two fics.

(Fun or not so fun fact: when twt had like three hundred collaborative aneurysms about the situation at that moment, that was when I created this tumblr account. I didn't use it super actively (I guess I needed another situation to fully make the switch) but I at least started the account that now developed quite a bit since then.)

I didn't really draw at all through January and February and I actually kinda thought I would move on from that hobby and fandom (not because of negative feelings, just because I didn't really have the urge to create anything within this fandom) and then situations happened and now I am here; and for some reason that is beyond any logic and my understanding I am now even more insane about dteam.

Wild to me but we are rolling with it now, I guess.

Since I got here, I drew more than ever (I actually think I might have made more drawings in the month since I got here than I made the whole rest of the year). There's just such an active and funny community here that cares about fan works for the sake of creating and not just because a CC might see it.

Unfortunately, Tumblr won't let me add more than 10 images in one post (maybe fortunately for everyone who has this monstrosity of a post on their dash). So if you want to see all the progress I made since I got here, you can look at everything in my art tag. For now, I will close this post with one of the art works from the past month that I like the most:

Can't wait to see what the next year might bring :)

Love, blu

[rosearcanaeum]

(Ten) people I'd like to know better

Tagged by: @screechingfromthevoid <3

Last song: Far From Me by Chase Noseworthy is just on repeat. Sad boy Vax and perfect for my range!

Favorite color: it really depends on context honestly. But the most general is soft pink.

Last book: 😅 I've been struggling through Nein Eyes of Lucien for a while.... more honestly its Call of the Netherdeep and Explorers Guide to Wildemount. I truely read far more fanfic than anything else.

Last movie: I watched Night at the Museum for the first time this week. It was waaaaaay better than I ever imagined. I knew it was good and funny. It was also incredibly sincere and I can't get enough of that.

Last show: speaking of sincere, I'm about halfway through Frieren: beyond journey's end. And holy shit! I have never seen any media with a character who views and interacts with death the way i do. Its pretty heavy as shows go but its trustworthy. (I have a hard time with new stuff most of the time. Cr is one exception and this is too apparently)

Sweet/spicy/savory: no joke I've eaten salt before lol. But i prefer combos or all 3. Sweet spicy is underrated.

Relationship status: I live with my queer platonic partner. Its still just buckwild to me. As a kid i hated the idea of living with a partner cuz i didnt want so many aspects of what i was told that looked like. But hey guess what, y'all can decide what your relationships look like. We have separate rooms, are not sexually involved, rarely even touch tbh. And we love each other very much and want to grow old together in a house with cats.

They're touch averse and I'm sensory seeking. My fun Sunday night (out dancing) is their nightmare. But because we are who we are and how we understand and communicate in our relationship we rely on each other for only things that are available. I'll tell them all the dumb shit i see and do on Grindr and we'll sit on the couch and knit together.

Also my brain nearly explodes everytime I realize not only do we do couple stuff, we have couple friends we do couple stuff with. 18 year old me would have never believed you if you told them.

Last thing I looked up: I looked up the caffeine content of the thai tea concentrate I got my partner to see if i could try it. And shockingly i should be able to. Still gonna eat first and be careful though.

Current obsession: I'm pretty spread out rn, unusually. Ive got a sweater im excited about. And I'm on my 3rd attempt at a dorym water bottle sleeve I'm designing. This one should work now. Honestly dorym is probably no. 1 on my list. I shipped that back in exu, along with a bunch of stuff cuz I'm a delightful multishipper. So i feel particularly excited about dorym finally taking off. But also that while dorian was always looking to orym if anything else had come along he was there for the ride. I love robbie so so much. He is such a good character storyteller!

Looking forward to: today im hanging with 2 friends im usually in a larger group with so thats gonna be fun. Looking forward to baking off the beef wellingtons i made for my partner for xmas. And im looking forward to being able to work full time again in the new year. Ive been on part time for health reasons and stayed because i was spending hours on the phone fighting for insurance coverage. Now that both a done i can work more. I love my job and its a particular kind of boredom that i get when i cant work. Lol speaking of, im looking forward to the holidays being over. The office closures normally screw us but now im only working thurs fri for the next 2 weeks and I'll have try really hard to keep busy enough. At least my partner has 2 of the days off with me!

No pressure tags; not sure I can get to 10 and please dont feel obligated but I'd love to see yours (if you havent already. Ive been avoiding spoilers a lot recently so may not have seen it): @vigilante-apologist @standbyyourmantis @soedblackchaos @forestthechonkykitty @corrrvid @local-redhead-bookworm and luddles looks like you did already do this.

Thats all i got. If you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[syn4k]

hello!!! as you are the resident miante person in mcyt (there might be another one but in my opinion it's you) I have a question: if I wanted to watch mianite how would I go about that/where do I find it? I know it's a youtube thing but I don't know which channel it's actually on and I am. Extremely Curious about it & want to watch it but I have no idea where to do that /genuine question

(also, I know it's got multiple POVs, is there anyone you'd recommend I start with?)

hello! thanks for the ask!

mianite has four main POVs that remain in VOD and episode form on the creators' channels, they all have a playlist for it and you can find them pretty easily by looking up "[creator name] mianite s1" on youtube.

i recommend starting off with jordan captainsparklez' POV like we did, as he is involved in mostly everything in both s1 and s2 and his episodes are edited down to only really have the important bits. if you decide to watch back through the series later from another perspective, tom syndicate's POV is another good one to watch as he's kind of on the opposite side of everything happening in s1 and it puts a lot of his actions in context that jordan left out of his episodes.

if you don't want to watch through the series in its entirety (which is completely understandable), fern @voidandradiance has made a playlist of the important lore moments in both mianite s1 and s2 that she'd be happy to share :]

also it's really funny to me that we are the resident Mianite Guy to you when we've only been here for like, six months. this series turns ten years old today and there are people in this fandom who have been here since the beginning of it or at least who have been here for way, way longer than we have.

if you do end up sticking around here, i cannot recommend these people enough:

@kiwibirdlafayette - AMAZING artist who has been here in the trenches here since 2014. syndisparklez enthusiast. his art-only blog is @grailknightmonty and he also posts Hermitcraft stuff occasionally :3

@transandor chase my good friend chase!! resident Jordan Captainsparklez Guy. brilliant writer, also happens to be fistfighting The Horrors, you know how it his

@voidandradiance i already tagged him before and i'll fuckin do it again because this bitch's writing is stunning beyond words and xyr brain is HUGE. if you like the style of the stuff we write, you'll LOVE fern's work. its so beautiful that i physically cannot overhype it. its so good, y'all. its so fucking good.

@syndianites is, as far as we're concerned, the mouth of god himself when it comes to Tom Syndicate SynHD. there is nobody on this site who understands this character better than she does. they consistently leave the most galaxy brain objectively correct tags about him on our posts and she never fucking misses. this bitch Gets It and i am very lucky to be her friend

@coolcattime's blog is more of a general purpose one, like ours is, but she carries the f/f ships in the Mianite fandom and is also a great writer! she's written a lot of neat AU ideas and although we haven't talked with her much she definitely lives up to her url- she's one cool cat :]

@cactusprisms is also someone that we see around a lot in the notes of our mianite posts, although we unfortunately havent talked much. also more of a general purpose blog but worth following anyways. shes vibing.

hope this helps! <3