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linddzz · 3 months

Note

32 with Dreamling? 👀

Smut Prompts:

#32: A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.

Edit: Full fic on AO3

Wordcount: 6977 (nice)

Warnings: Canon typical descriptions of violence. Dream being an unhinged little nightmare, but Hob is so down for it. Also, it's a smut prompt. So there is smut. Dicks abound. In typical fashion it took me a while to get to said dicks though. No beta and only the barest editing.

Summary: Service Dom Hob is here to give his bizarre Eldritch boyfriend the tenderest, gentlest domming of his Endles existence. Dream is still going to be a hissing little brat about it. Tbh I waffled a bit on which way to go with this one, but realized that what I really want sometimes is to have Hob scruff Dream like the pissy wet cat that he is and tell him to SHUSH while Dream goes all ragdoll. I also fully embraced a horny headcanon of mine where Dream is more sensitive to physical touch in the Waking.

Shout out to @amahhi, because I picked little bits from our RP here and there for this. What can I say, we got a good Dream and Hob.

Edit 2.0: trying to get the blog unflagged, so the read more has the fic up to the spicy bits. Full fic is in the AO3 link 🙃

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It's been a very normal, mundane, and drab sort of day when Hob comes home at the end of it. There's the standard London drizzle tapping away at his window, transforming the world outside into a melting blur of darkening gray shot through with bright smears from electric street lights coming on one by one.

Electric lights. Brilliant. Literally brilliant. They're all going to pay for it in the long run of course, but fuck is it nice to just come home and flick a switch - like so - to light a room up.

There's a corpse on his sofa.

The corpse is on its back, arms rigid at its side. Its skin has a drained, cold paleness with veins as gray as the current sky. The face is perfectly still and perfectly expressionless, with flat blue eyes open and unseeing towards the ceiling. The startling ghastliness of the corpse is offset by the soft black t-shirt, along with black pajama bottoms decorated with alarmingly cheerful blue stars.

This is also, increasingly, a normal part of his day.

"All right, love?" He asks, shutting the door behind him. The first time he came home to Dream lying out stiff and apparently lifeless in his flat there had been a bit more yelling and panicking, followed by careful explanations about what the unexpected sight of a pale and unmoving body with open, unseeing eyes showing up in a safe and comfortable space can do to someone who has been through a few wars.

It kept happening, which meant Dream did not actually understand. But now Dream always makes an effort to put his form into pajamas first, possibly with the logic that if he were dressed comfortably for sleep, then he couldn’t possibly look like a corpse. Which meant he was trying, even if severely misguided. It's more touching than it should be.

The corpse on the sofa routine all started when they became...whatever they are now. The best explanation Hob ever got was that a chunk of Dream’s duties involve delving into the vast unconsciousness of himself, sinking into the wild depths that were made of every dreaming mind that created him to make sure everything was flowing smoothly.

It was all very metaphysical in all the ways that Hob tries not to think about too much. When he compared it to a computer shutting down for maintenance, he got himself a curdled look of such offended disgust that he knew he was on the money. He compared it to sleep instead, which mollified Dream at the time.

In the past this deeper delving into himself was done from the throne room. Then Dream started showing up in Hob's flat every now and again, refusing to explain why. Hob isn't stupid, so he doesn't ask why after the first few times. Whatever the metaphysics of it, Dream wants to come here and lie on Hob's furniture being vulnerable in the Waking world, despite all his grumblings about said world. Dream may not be able to explain the want for a space outside of work to go to, but Hob gets the difference between grading papers at his office and doing it in his living room. The fact that Dream seeks this space out makes Hob's chest go all fluttery and hot, and he will never question it ever.

It's why he doesn't make a fuss about the fact that Dream hasn't figured out that he looks like a fucking horror movie prop when he does it.

“Obviously.” Dream rumbles in answer. His voice has a deep, slow resonance that's being dragged up from the darkest fathoms. It's a growling sneer, the sharp warning crack of a cliff face about to give. It says that asking things like “all right?” is the most low, simple mindedly human thing Hob could ask, because there is no reason Dream would be otherwise.

“That sort of day then? Budge up.” Hob tosses his coat to the chair, which earns him an annoyed huff of a sound, and shoves a space for himself by Dream's hip, which earns him a growl.

“What. Sort of. Day?” Dream asks darkly. He turns his head, slowly. His movements are always slow when he's coming up from his not-sleep, and Hob is always fascinated by the process. He imagines Dream reeling himself back from wherever he has gone to, a long thread of his consciousness spooling up to refill the shape of his body. The waxy deadness in his skin doesn't exactly liven up, but it becomes more luminous. The stiffness melts from carved stone to…well not relaxed but something with a bit more give to it than stone anyway. The eyes change the most. The empty flatness of them turns into a clear, bright blue. They're flashing with liquid fire when Dream looks up at Hob, even if the rest of him is still an angrily stiff bunch of sharp edges.

“Not a great one, I think.” Hob leans, propping his shoulders on the back of the couch with Dreams waist and arm against the small of his back. Dream turns his head with his jaw clenched, and Hob reaches out, brushing the backs of his curled fingers in the barest caress over the plane of Dreams cheek.

There's a nearly imperceptible tremor in the core of the body he's leaned himself against. The corners of Dreams mouth tightens, and his eyes flare, like that lightest touch has opened a raw nerve.

“Maybe the sort of day I could help you forget?” Hob murmurs. He hasn't decided exactly what he's offering when he offers it. They could just stay here, watching some meaningless picture while Dream stays pressed between Hob and the sofa, and Hob combs his fingers through that downy soft black hair until all the tension melts from him. Hob could make that milky, sugary lavender infusion Dream is fond of and kiss him slow and sweet for hours. They could have a wild shag or the easiest love making. Whatever will help ease the coiled tension that’s churning just beneath Dream’s carefully still surface. Anything.

The caress continues. Hob traces his fingertips up the edge of Dreams cheekbone and sinks them back into the wild black hair to cradle around that impossible skull. There's a suspicious scraping sound down by his hip.

“That better not be you clawing up my upholstery.” He hums, rubbing his thumb over the hairline at Dreams temple. “Come on love, what do you want?”

“What. I. Want?”

The stillness breaks. A hand snaps up and clamps around Hob's wrist. Dream surges up, sitting awkwardly with Hob nearly in his lap, his eyes flashing dark and his teeth bared close to Hob's mouth.

“You would offer yourself then? A sacrifice to what you would call a bad day?” Dream asks, his voice dropping into a hard scrape. There's a sharp prick against the skin of Hob's wrist as claws grow from Dreams fingers. “You ask for what I want?”

“Obviously.” Hob repeats Dream’s earlier answer back at him. This is always the most uncertain part, when Dream is in one of these moods. This night could go a million different ways, but Hob finds himself keen for any of them. Any that keep Dream right here with all of his attention, snarling or otherwise, right on Hob that is.

There's a hiss of sound, sharp and explosive. The sharp pricks against Hob's skin turn into bright bursts of hot pain, and he feels the wet slide of blood down the inside of his arm. There's a shudder, and Dream suddenly curls down against him with his forehead ground into the curve of Hob's shoulder at the base of his throat. It's an awkward reach, but Hob brings his far arm around to run his palm up the knobbed curve of Dreams spine.

“It's alright, love.” He whispers. The slump is not a loosening at all. Hob can feel the jerky tension in every line of Dream’s body, and his love feels like a spring winding tighter and tighter.

“No.” Dream spits. “You ask what I want. The things I want. You are foolhardy. Brash. You understand nothing. Ignorant.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, my Dream.” Hob keeps running his hand up and down Dream’s spine, thinking that he really is wound up if those are the best insults he can come up with.

There's a bizarre, inhuman sound. A sharp, jagged, snarling grind. Dream's other hand splays against his ribs, vibrating and sharp. The Endless goes quiet again, and Hob keeps stroking his back, happy to wait for whatever comes next.

“The way you say my name.” Dream whispers. “I want to open your ribs and make you say it. I want to pull each apart, one by one, like the petals of the rarest flower. I want to splay them, pin them. Expose the secret parts of you. I want to see how your lungs fill and shrink when you say my name, when you scream it. I want to see how your heart beats when you dream of me. I want to put my hand around it and feel the precious fluttering of it when I punch my fingers through the chambers. I want to feel it burst like the most wondrous fruit plucked out and crushed in my grasp. I want to feel the pockets of your lungs crackle against my palms when they fill with air. I want you to be screaming my name when I do it.”

His hand moves as he talks. Long fingers drag along the valleys between Hob's ribs, slow and methodical. They're also shaking, a sharp electric buzzing of claws through Hob's button down shirt.

That sort of night then?

“If you're trying to scare me off, you’ve already done that sort of thing in a few of my more exciting dreams.” Hob points out.

“I want to do it here.” It isn't even a whisper now. It's just an exhale shaped into words. Hob notices that it isn't a threatening snarl, or the low purr of Dream enjoying the build up to a grand old violently nightmarish time. There's a shivery dread. A horror deeper than the obvious goriness of it all.

“You fantasize about killing me?” Hob asks, curious. Ok fine, it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would feel like it.

“You can't die.”

It's an immediate response. Breathless. Rapturous. Terrified. Hob is starting to get the idea of what's going on here.

“Scariest thing you've said to me, that was.” He observes with some interest. It's true, after all. He's just learned that his immortality fuels his love's apparent wish to vivisect him in the plane where they both know it would hurt the worst, where the violence of it would be all of the bloody screaming reality without the cushioned fantasy of the Dreaming. Dream admitted that in a way that was clear that he thinks about it regularly. It is, objectively, a scary thing to learn. There it is. Horrifying and alarming. Huh! How about that.

He doesn’t pretend to be surprised at himself when his cock twitches against his jeans. The only thing he isn’t sure of is if it’s the violent idea itself, or the fact that Dream is very obviously holding himself back from affectionately mauling him right this instant.

He's still petting his hand up and down Dream's spine, and he can feel the way his love bunches in on himself with a cracked whining sound that makes Hob's chest ache like his heart’s already been torn and exposed for the soft tender thing it is. There are talons still scraping anxiously at Hob's ribcage. There are still claws dug into his arm, but with less force than before. Dream is tense, already in a state, and in the fine process of working himself up into what could possibly be a legendary tantrum of self loathing.

“Right.” Hob declares, coming to a decision. “First thing: put a pin in that idea. I have to sit on it a bit and work up to it, but I did just get a little hard there, so it's not entirely off the table. I don't think that's what you want right now though.”

Dream froze with shock halfway through that, and Hob knows the best course of action is to keep moving before that impossible head has enough time to tangle itself up in a new way. The hand on Dream's spine sweeps up and grabs Dream by the nape, hard.

There is an explosive hiss of incredulous shock when Hob yanks him back. The face that Hob pulls off of his shoulder has wide obsidian eyes and a snarl with a wicked set of fangs. He holds the nightmare scruffed, meeting glittering dark eyes while his heart pounds with what isn't nearly enough actual fear.

“You want me to stop you.”

Dream’s eyes widen further, the hand on Hob's wrist drops lifeless to the sofa. Hob watches a burst of pink bloom across the unnatural white of his cheeks before the response is wrestled back down. Dream’s eyes narrow, but he's watching Hob closely.

“You are. Incapable. Of stopping me.” He growls. It's not a threat, just reality. Which is how most of Dream’s threats go.

“You're going to let me though, I think.” Hob says. He digs his fingers a little into the hard muscle of the back of Dream's neck, and takes several mental notes on the way the nightmare’s head lolls back and the hand on his ribs goes still. Hob turns where he's sitting to bring one leg up on the sofa, to bring himself closer to the odd monster he loves so dearly. He pulls Dream further, already feeling dizzy at the way the jagged, black eyed nightmare with his luminous white skin and razor teeth goes pliantly until he's leant back, practically being dipped with Hob over him.

“I think you need to let go, love. But you don't like what you might do if you let go.” He says with a smile. “How about we try things my way hm? You let go, but you hand the reins to me. Let me take charge.”

Dreams face goes through some fascinating shifts. He gazes up at Hob with such a raw, wounded want that it looks painful before the expression flinches when Hob's other hand comes up to stroke his cheek again. There's a jerk though Dream's limbs, and Hob is sure the joints are doing things that would make him feel queasy if he looked.

“You…here?” Dream asks, and his voice is thin and sharp and shivery. Hob knows why Dream’s clarifying that, and why here is making Dream writhe and flush with his mouth stretched a little too far on teeth that weren't meant for a human jawline. Hob knows that things feel different for Dream, when he's in the Waking. He's a creature of thought and idea, and touches in the more physical Waking world come across stronger than he's used to, more overwhelming. It’s not that Dream never bottoms, or even that he never submits. But it’s always in Dream’s own realm, where his submission isn’t really submission at all, but a coy play where he acts up the part of a sweet wilting fae lover or a wanton hedonist. He has a harder time staying in control of the situation, when they’re in Hob’s world, where there are less heated fantasies for him to sink himself into.

And the Dreamlord would never admit it, but Hob has noticed the way he keeps showing up in the Waking world to initiate things, even if it's just to cuddle up against Hob and find ways to get petted until he turns into a shivering puddle of nerves. But cuddling here is one thing, this is something else, something new.

“Here.” Hob nods, stroking his thumb slow and firm over Dream's nape, feeling the little vibration that goes down Dream's spine from that point. “I need you to say you want me to though, ok?”

That gets a furious, low hiss of a growl. Dream’s eyes flash and he snaps his mouth full of razor teeth with the sound like a bear trap. Hob lets him squirm and hiss and shudder. He's always such a trembling little thing, like there is too much going on inside for his outer shell to hold in. One day, Hob is going to properly catalog all of the ways his cosmic power of a lover shivers like a leaf when he thinks he's keeping himself all grim and stoic.

“You. Wish me …complicit.” Dream hisses, the words grinding out from his chest, as there's no way the wide maw of needle teeth is currently capable of speaking that clearly. “You would have me voice it. Admit to it. To be brought low and ragged.”

“I want your consent,” Hob huffs a small laugh, which might not be the best response but God does he love this proud twit, “you pretty, deranged little thing. I'm not doing anything if you don't actually want me to, and we can stop at any point. It's important to me that you get that.”

“My consent,” Dream spits, and this time there's a tearing sound when he does start clawing up Hob's upholstery, “is that I am allowing it.”

On paper, true enough. Dream is thrashing and snarling and gnashing his monstrous teeth with eyes like flaming pits. He's also kept in place by the weak, flesh and blood human hand holding him by the back of the neck. The only reason Hob is able to scruff him and have his head tilted pliantly back to expose the long white throat, is because Dream is letting it happen.

“I think you would allow me to do a lot of things you don't want me to.” Hob says gently. The thrashing stills, the snarling quiets, Dream's teeth finally shrink down into more standard shapes.

“There we are.” Hob breathes, smiling. His chest feels like it may burst, like Dream may end up getting his dark little fantasy after all. It's more than any man could deserve, seeing the way Dream goes quiet and panting, eyes fixed wide and blue again as they stare up at Hob. He keeps the hold on Dreams neck, and smoothes the other hand back through Dreams hair.

Dream makes a thin, fragile sound, eyes flashing black before returning to their clear blue.

“I need to know you actually want this, darling.” Hob explains again. “Not just that you're allowing it. I can't go thinking that you might just be going along with what you think I want from you.”

There's a shift of movement, more of a little squirm than the furious thrashing from a few seconds ago. Dream clenches his jaw together and stares, eyes glittering with new wetness. Christ. Hob is going to get a complex. It can't be good for his ego, having Dream like this.

“Yes.” Dream finally whispers, swallowing thickly. He even nods with little jerky movements against Hob's grip. “I want…what it is, you are planning. Here. In the Waking. I want you to have me. Your way.”

Hob rewards him with a hard kiss, mostly because if he doesn't get his mouth on those quivering pink lips he might explode. Dream goes lax with a whining sound that is absolutely going to give Hob a complex. Plush lips part immediately under his, as sweet as anything. Then teeth flash against his mouth, still sharp and wild but followed fast by Dream’s tongue lapping hungrily at the bite. There are hands clawing at him again, pawing at his back, twisting in his hair, digging into his hips. Dream is doing some impossible wiggling and Hob realizes that there is more than one pair of legs hitching around his hips and tangling between his own legs. It must look like he's snogging an enthusiastic spider.

“Enough of that.” He chides, pushing a hand on Dream's chest. Teeth sink into his lip again, and there's a low growl when Hob pulls his head back so Dream can't start trying to get his tongue down Hob's throat. Or trying to affectionately bite his lips off. “Shush. Lie back, and settle down dearest. Christ, you're all wound up.”

Another small push does the trick. Dream goes down with a little huff when his back hits the sofa. He’s suddenly as meek as a kitten, if that kitten had blood on its lips and a sharp intrigued glint to its eyes. Rather like a kitten then, actually.

Not that Hob is thinking much about kittens. He's far more focused on the way Dream’s skin has gained a more human flush to it, on the curious little chirrup noise that comes from him. He's looking up at Hob with swollen pink lips and his eyes still blue, but the dark blue of a deep ocean. The shirt he's wearing is stretched at the collar, revealing the tantalizing dip of his clavicles, and his ruffled hair is the most adorable thing Hob could imagine. It's such a flip from the snarling monstrous thing Hob had scruffed less than a minute ago, and all of it is so wonderfully Dream. Objectively terrifying in his violence, objectively sexier than sin.

“You're horrible for my ego.” Hob declares, sitting up kneeling between long legs that are still clad in the damn cartoon star pajamas. Dream answers this with a velvety pleased sound, and Hob feels legs bent around his hips and hitched up his waist and one bends a knee up on his shoulder-

“Ah-ah, stick with two.” Hob taps at one of Dream’s thighs before getting to work unbuttoning his shirt enough to tug it up over his head. “We're in my world right now, so we’re doing things my way. With a human shape. And stop eyeballing my ribcage, thanks. I told you we're putting a pin in that.”

He can hear the displeased hissing sound, and decides to give Dream a pass on that. There are times where words seem to lack the correct expressions for the Prince of Stories, and he has an astounding repertoire of inhuman, and even inorganic, sounds to fall back on. Despite his orders to stop with the rib stuff, there are long hands on his sides as soon as his shirt is tossed away. When he looks down, Dream’s eyes are half lidded and dark, fully fixed with stark hunger on Hob’s exposed torso.

There's a scrape of claw, smoother than before, and the bright line over his side goes right to his prick. It is…so tempting…to change his mind and tell Dream to have at it. Just to see what would happen, to see how it would feel to get torn apart by something that loves him so much. Except there's a little tense pinching at Dreams mouth, even as his eyes darken further and his hands spread over Hob's ribs to feel them expand with each breath.

“Hands to yourself.” Hob decides for both their sakes. He taps a finger between Dream’s eyes in chastisement, and nearly loses that finger when teeth snap up towards it. Dream is fast, but he's used to getting away with things, so there's only a surprised hitch of sound when Hob grabs under his jaw and shoves his head back.

“My way.” Hob reminds him, surprised at how low and rough his own voice comes out.

FULL FIC ON AO3

#dreamling #my fic #dom gadling is here to be the gentlest mildest service top #dream is a weird eldritch cat

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kanansdume · 7 months

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Look, I love Kanan Jarrus, I literally named this blog after him. I loved his relationship with Ezra and I AM glad that there was significant mention of Kanan from Ezra.

But.

I hate that Ezra's new lightsaber ended up just... a copy of Kanan's, both in its emitter and its color.

It's lazy. And it's so insulting to just... let Ezra make himself a new one and he just COPIES Kanan's rather than being able to make a saber that was uniquely his and spoke to the person he has become after everything he's been through, from losing Kanan to having to sacrifice himself to surviving Thrawn to spending so long on his own.

Ezra could have had a purple lightsaber, the first live action Jedi since Mace Windu to be given one, which allows him to stand out against Sabine and emphasizes that connection to his lineage through Kanan without being an exact copy of someone else's.

Or Ezra could've had white. This could've been an interesting and meaningful way of actually explaining the white sabers in mainstream Star Wars. Most casual viewers are going to have NO IDEA that the white sabers are "healed" crystals from red sabers. That lore is lost on people who aren't deep in this fandom. Ahsoka just wanders around with white sabers because... it's unique and it makes her look cool. No one's stopped in any of the shows she's been in so far to explain what they are or why she has them. (Yes, I know it came from the book but again, not EVERYONE has read the damn book and if they're going to use that particular piece of worldbuilding in the shows, I feel like they could go to the effort of explaining it on the shows, too.)

Ezra could've found a crystal somewhere on Peridea that had been corrupted by the dark forces of the Nightsisters that permeate the planet (which would also add to the lore of the planet just a little and actually connect it to the Nightsisters better given that it's apparently THEIR homeworld). Maybe he could feel just how broken it was and he could see that it was either red or a really sickly witchy green color and even though the darkness in it repulsed him, the crystal also called to him, so he took it and has been fiddling around with it ever since, for years. Over time, it started to lose its sickly red or green color and became a pure white, but he'd never been able to acquire the right parts to actually make a new saber, so he'd just been carrying around the crystal for a while.

Or Ezra could've used some cool Force powers to yoink away Shin's saber from her during the fight with the bandits and when either Sabine or Ahsoka suggests he keep it since he refuses to take his old one back from Sabine, he says that it just feels... wrong. Something about it feels dark and full of pain and anger. And Ahsoka can explain how she was able to heal the crystals in her own saber so that Ezra is able to do something similar.

Literally anything OTHER than just giving Ezra Kanan's saber recreated would've been more interesting and said something new about Ezra's character and how he's grown and changed.

But nope. They couldn't be bothered to come up with a new design, so he just gets Kanan's saber now. How inspired.

#star wars #ahsoka show #ezra bridger #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers

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tightjeansjavi · 11 months

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4 is perfect for horse dad joel!!! you could do a blurb of one of their morning phone conversations 🥰

Somethin’ Stupid

horse dad! joel x f! horseback riding instructor reader

A/N: thank you for sending in this request my love 🫶🏻 #4 things you said over the phone. 𓃗

~word count: 565~

Summary: one of horse dad! Joel’s and reader’s many cute ass morning phone calls ♡

Warnings: none, just a whole lotta tooth aching fluff and flirting of course ;) +18 only because my entire blog is not suitable for minors so dni!

“I’m sorry, who the hell actually enjoys putting ketchup on their eggs? I feel like that’s a fucking crime. Ketchup on eggs? That’s blasphemy right there!” You said with a light heartfelt laugh.

“Well, ouch. That hurts my feelings darlin.’ I am one of those people who likes ketchup on their eggs. You’ve gone and broken my heart into a bunch of lil’ pieces!” Joel deeply chuckled through the receiver.

“Gasp. So you actually are not flawless after all? Gotta say, Joel. I think this is gonna make or break it for me.” You let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Oh c’mon now sugar. Don’t go and sayin’ that! Bein’ all dramatic on me. You’re lucky I think you’re cute.” He grumbled.

“I knew this day would come. Whatever will I do? Oh, Joel! You have wounded me so!” Your tone was playfully dramatic and you could picture his little eye roll already.

Joel was in fact rolling his eyes as he took a large sip of his coffee. “Alright, Shakespeare. You’ve had your fun sweetheart. Now tell me I’m handsome.” He was grinning over the rim of his mug.

“Handsome? Now who the hell told you that you were handsome Hm? I don’t remember ever letting those words leave my mouth.”

“Believe you did last night. Or maybe it was some other pretty girl at the bar? Hmm.” He teased.

“Okay, okay. You’re handsome. Very handsome. Ezra’s got you beat though I’m afraid. He’ll always been the #1 man in my life cowboy.”

“Oh geez, now you got me out here competin’ with a damn horse? He’s gorgeous, I’ll give him that.”

“I’m just messing with you Joel! C’mon now. You’re a real cutie. There’s no competition, trust me babe.”

“A real cutie, huh? That’s sweet of ya t’say darlin.’ Now, where were we? Oh, right! What’re you wearin’ sweet cheeks?” He could picture your face, the little glare you would give him before swatting at his shoulder playfully.

“J O E L.”

“That would be me.”

You let out a light sigh, an apparent grin on your face from your Texas tall glass of water being his cheeky self. You pulled the phone away from your ear just so you could talk to your boys, who were all happily eating their morning grain. “Can you believe this guy? He’s such a flirt. Absolutely ridiculous.” You brought the phone back to your ear.

“Riding pants and a Star Wars Tee.” You finally told him.

Joel let out a low wolf whistle through the receiver as he leaned against the countertop in his kitchen. “Goddamn, that’s hot.”

“You sound like a horny teenager right now cowboy.” You giggled.

“You take that back right now.”

“Nah, I’m good.” You grinned.

“What’re your plans later?” He asked.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Oh? Well it’s me. I’m asking.”

“Well, in that case, I’m definitely free.” You didn’t even hesitate to respond.

“‘Atta girl. That’s what I like to hear.” He grinned.

“Uh huh. You’re lucky I think you’re cute. Pick me up at 7?”

“I’ll be there at 6:30.”

“More time for us to makeout.” You felt like a little school girl with a crush.

“Exactly what I was thinkin’ sweetheart. I’ll try and not say somethin’ stupid when I see ya. Although, you make it difficult cus’ my brain goes all fuzzy when I’m near ya.”

“You could never say something stupid Joel.”

“You’d be surprised. I say a lot of stupid shit darlin.’”

“Stupid cute shit you mean.” You corrected him.

“There you go again bein’ a real peach.”

“It’s my specialty.”

“Yeah? Think your other speciality is kissin’ me silly.” He chuckled.

“You’re so cute. Please stop it before the horses start making fun of me.”

“Never. See ya tonight, toots.”

“Catch ya on the flip side, cowboy.”

Tagging people I think would enjoy: @peterhollandkait @chaotic-mystery @korynnekorynne @lovers-liability @dinsdjrn @last-girl @wonder-harley @loquaciousferret @yazsos @death-wife

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #blue jeans n’ texas dreams fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller drabble #horse dad joel #joel miller blurb

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indierpgnewsletter · 11 months

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New Itch Games for April & May

Been quiet on here but I'm back now!

It’s the itch.io round-up of new games! Now coming to you once every two months because that sounds easier. Usual disclaimer: This comes from be browsing itch.io and people self-submitting through the form. I haven’t played these games and mostly am just going by how interesting they sound to me. Okay, let’s go:

The Hollow Queen: This is a GM-less horror game from Venezuelan designer, Felix Rios, about a dark force haunting the streets and the people trying to uncover it. It uses the diceless Ten Coins system and is available in Spanish.

Contact: A game where you use a music playlist and tarot cards to play through a story about trying to make contact with aliens. I think the idea is that the songs contain encoded messages from the aliens, which is a neat reversal of the Voyager Golden Record. By j strautman.

Tangled Blessings: This is a solo dark fantasy game set in a magic school. It’s a solo/duet game, building on Anamnesis by Sam Leigh. You explore the secrets of this weird school while dealing with a rival who’s making your life difficult. Designed by Cassi Mothwin.

Strike Force Omega: This is LUMEN game about science-fantasy supersoldiers coming back for one last stand, defending their homes in a time of war. By Chris Longhurst, designer of See Issue X and Pigsmoke.

Thirty Foes (OR Once again, we are defeated): In a similar premise, but much more focused on the drama rather than tactics, this is Seven Samurai but cosmic cowboys. They sling cosmic power and defend against bandits. And they’re probably going to die. From Rat Wave Game House.

Thief and Druid: Two games from Stéphanie Dusablon. Both are solo games with an optional journaling element. Thief uses the Push system and Druid uses the Firelights system. I’m not sure if this is a series that will expand to all the D&D classes but it’s a neat idea.

Skyrealms: This is a fantasy bestiary, setting, and solo adventure game about three floating islands in the misty heights, full of secrets and strange creatures. It’s from Iko and Armanda Haller. You can also use the bestiary as a colouring book apparently!

In The Blind: This is a sci-fi horror game about working class people trying to do their job and instead facing the darkness of space. This is a free preview and showcases how good Riley Daniels, designer of As The Sun Forever Sets, is at visual design.

Queenless: This is another Firelights game from solo game blog, Croaker RPGs. You play as members of the hive, exploring the world and protecting your home from destruction.

When Prophecy Fails: Nick Wedig makes a game about cultists and what happens when their foreseen apocalypse doesn’t happen. I’ll give you a hint: they often get even more radical. Based on the For the Queen. (PWYW)

The Score: Tin Star Games GM-less storygame where you tell a heist movie in 18 minutes using 18 cards.

SDM: Eternal Return Key: Luka Rejec follows up Ultraviolet Grasslands with a full OSR-style rulset and more weird setting. It has the same much-loved psychadelic vibe from the original and there’s a free art-less version as well.

the city begins to exist: A citybuilding game with some solid prompts. I can always use more citybuilding games! Designed by kay w.

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onedismay · 3 months

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Get to Know Me tag

Thanks for tagging me @korblez! :D

Rules: Tag 10 or more people you want to get to know better

Fave ships: -side-eyes blog- I MIGHT be so into the Shadow Broker/Tazzik that I don't even remember what else I might have once shipped in Mass Effect...... Oh, my favorite Shepard ship is mShep/Kaidan! (it's the slow burn ;_;) In the Dark Crystal fandom I'm open to a billion pairings but skekShod/skekZok is the one that stole my brain for like six months. In Star Wars I mainly ship Khem Val/my sith inquisitor... (or any inq really) Then there's my little sunshine Sims 2 alien and the grouchy twi'lek dude she married...... Noo, I have to ignore OCs, we'll be here forever D:

Favorite color: Black and purple

Song stuck in my head: head empty

Favorite food: Pasta..... Any kind of pasta. Also broccoli! And cheesecake. Lately I've been putting grape slices in my sandwiches and now I don't want to make them any other way.

Last song listened to: Thanks for reminding me I never remembered to put my playlist on today lmaoooo. No wonder I've been a bit meh. Apparently the song last played was Taiyo ni Korosareta by Buck-Tick!

Last tv show/movie: I don't watch tv very much, but I did watch the most recent pro sumo tournament and maaan it was a rollercoaster. Some of my favorite wrestlers got injured and I'm a little bit devastated. D: If sports don't count then the latest thing I watched was the Boulet Brothers' Dragula season 5 which was super good!! Love watching talented artists and the monsters they create.

Spicy/sweet/savory?: savory > sweet > spicy. Spicy things are fun in small doses but they make my nose run :< (and also i am baby)

Currently reading: I'm slooowly reading the Dark Crystal novelization! I'm very familiar with the movie of course but never read the book version before. It's very calming and immersive, so it's my bedtime anti-anxiety book at the moment.

Last thing I googled: "savory meaning" LEAVE ME ALONE the word was in my vocabulary but sometimes i don't trust myself... i had to make sure........

Tagging: @dandenbo @messydiabolical @noirchotic @reikiajakoiranruohoja @skeknya Only if you feel like it, of course!

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ooops-i-arted · 2 months

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Gina Carano Sues Disney and Lucasfilm. According to Just Some Guy at 1 : 36 of the youtube video. Gina Carano was the one who put gasoline into the fire herself by intentionally starting a fight with trans people and mocking them for their importance in society.

I was sick the day the happened and @jennadknowsbest-blog was kind enough to tell me and boy let me tell you, despite feeling like crap I was laughing like this allllllll day

If you too need a good laugh, read the released document thingy. It's badly written on so many levels. (I saw it on Reddit but I think it's floating around Tumblr too. There are some golden comments on both.) Both from just a writing style perspective (it's written like a teenager's Star Wars fanfic) and the fact that her main argument is that "Pedro Pascal said mean things about conservatives and wasn't punished" when 1. most of the posts were apparently before he was hired as the Mandalorian and 2. it seems like pretty common knowledge in fandom that he was asked to tone it down and he did. I follow him on Insta and he rarely posts outside of promoting his own work, and it's largely "support this cause" or "I love my trans sister" instead of attacking/joking at anyone. (I guess his Twitter had more comments, but he's since deleted it afaik.) Overall, it's likely just a stunt to get the right-wing frothing at the mouth and Gina's name back in people's mouth, because she hasn't filmed anything since Terror on the Prairie (one of two Daily Wire films she was supposed to have, the other appears to not be happening anymore) and My Son Hunter (which was straight Breitbart propaganda). Shatpiro has used and dumped her and while I doubt she's hurting for money, I bet she's desperate to get the praise and attention and adoration that the Cara Dune role briefly brought her. Why else would she come crawling back to a company she's publicly trashed and accused of mistreating for the last several years? It doesn't make sense by her own logic! If they were so bad, why does she want back? (And who's gonna hire her now if they think she's a liability who's going to turn around and sue them?)

It's really disgusting though that Gina wants to claim she was discriminated against for being a woman while actively mocking minority groups. Her post appeared on my Insta fyp and I usually don't click because I know she's gonna piss me off, and I clicked and she did. At the time she had a story that said "Still beeping, bopping, booping" with a smirky picture of her. So all she's been told - we know Pedro talked to her because she herself admitted it on Twitter*, and while I'm sure there were plenty of people jumping on the hate bandwagon, there were also people trying to genuinely explain - and explained how this is hurtful to the queer community, she still keeps doing it and thinks it's funny.

That's what's unforgivable to me. Not that she said ignorant shit in the first place - we all have - but her refusal to learn and do better. She wants to say whatever she wants without pushback and so do her fans. The few times I've thought it's worth it to try and talk to someone about it, they always insist it's just her opinion and say something homophobic to me as well (last time I talked to a Cara Dune content creator on Insta, she said she "doesn't agree" with me being gay and "I can't expect everyone to agree with me." For wanting to exist as a gay person. Apparently I should just take it when people mock me or say I should burn in hell.) That's the problem with Gina and her supporters. They don't care, they don't want to think critically or debate, they want to say anything they want without consequence and brush off any conflict with "well it's just a joke" or "it's just her opinion."

Bigotry is not an opinion. You can't "not agree" with someone's skin color and it's the same with their sexuality. You don't get a fucking opinion on whether I have the right to exist as a queer woman.

Let's not pretend the things Gina says are in a void. People who flock to her believe the same things she does. That's why people have protested her attending FanExpo (this video goes into more depth thank you @jennadknowsbest-blog for sharing), when you invite people who, like her, think it's funny to mock anyone like them, it doesn't make a safe or welcoming environment for people like me. Sure one can brush off a comment or two - but where do you draw the line? When does it become harassment? And who is going to protect people like me from that harassment? How can I count on security from an organization that invited Gina and encouraged these people in the first place?

And I say all this as a queer woman who is able to chameleon myself very well because I've done it since childhood. Things are only getting more dangerous for people who are visibly queer. A nonbinary teen was just killed in Oklahoma. I live in a relatively blue area of a blue state, but that doesn't mean I'm completely safe. There are extremists out there, and they're only getting more bold - because people like Gina think it's amusing to fan the flames. Gina, at least, has faced some consequences for it. I doubt this lawsuit will go anywhere (either it'll be settled and Elon and Gina have some Own The Libs content, or they'll be dismissed/lose and they'll get some A Woke Judge Discriminated Against Me content). Gina will be happily on her way. Meanwhile, I get to wonder if the people around me who dismissively say "it's just her opinion" are the kind of people who don't think much about social issues.... or are the kind of people who will happily vote my rights away in the next election.

I assure you, if you have friends who are queer, they are listening to what you say about this case. Throughout all her tomfoolery, I've found Gina to be an excellent canary in the coal mine when it comes to identifying homophobes.

*She apparently later told Tucker Carlson that no one bothered to explain the pronouns thing to her, so we know she's a liar who twists the story as well, which is why I never take anything she says in good faith.**

**I'm very embarrassed I know this but I can't help but following up on stupid things she's doing. She fascinates me. She's like the inverse of a blorbo to me, like she pisses me off but she compels me. How can one person be this dumb. (Fr tho has anyone in her life talked to her about CTE??? Impulsiveness/aggression are possible symptoms....)

#gina why can't you be normal i would still be a fan if you weren't an asshole #I have a lot of Feelings bc first finding out about Cara/Gina I really related to and admired her #and then........this #anti gina carano #asks #gina carano

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tennessoui · 2 months

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hi kit! long time no see lol jk I spend so much time on your blog and ko-fi its not even funny (in a nice non-stalkerish way I promise) I subscribed to your kofi and was wondering if you planned on continuing any of those AUs or were they meant to be sorta one shots? because I *literally* cannot stop thinking about healer anakin going about this day with that brightest blue silk blindfold?? oh all the potential for pining and hurt/comfort and ALL THE ANGST here?? ooof pls I need more - 🦊

hiii kit it's 🦊 again I am back because I just had an epiphany about the healer anakin AU I am obsessed with currently. so is the blindfold like a hijab where your close family (so other healer peers in private I suppose?) and your significant other is able to see you with the blindfold off? I started thinking that keeping it on 24/7 is probably not ideal and there has to be some time that it comes off, and who gets to see you then.. I am south asian so I kinda dig this tbh! 😊 (2/2)

hello hello this is such an interesting ask!! for the first part, i'm really not sure - i think there are fics on ko-fi that i would love to expand and write more for (the healer anakin au being one of them) but at the same time, i think while i am running the ko-fi fic thing, then those stories need to exist only on there - or i need to talk to everyone who supports me monthly on there and see if they would be ok with me posting those stories somewhere else (like on ao3 or tumblr) and expanding on them more. as of right now, they're really just one shots that act a bit like slices of life in the au - just enough information that the characterizations are apparent and just enough setting and premise that it feels like a story but overall stand alone

but yes i too am sorta obsessed with the idea of healer skywalker showing up to healer functions with a bright blue silk bandana over his eyes while everyone else has the standard issue gray or white cloth. of course they wouldn't know, but just imagine like. mace windu attends to give a debrief of the next few battle plans and anakin is just...sticking out like a sore thumb lol

as for the second part, in my mind i'm sort of waving the logistics of keeping the blindfold on for long stretches of time because im leaning more into the fantasy side of star wars tbh - i think it's more angsty as a concept if healers sort of...give their eyes away forever/until they retire and never open them. they change the bandages and shower without them on, but the force is supposed to act as their eyes for menial daily tasks like telling apart shampoo from conditioner and cooking (and they just get used to it)

like that feels so much more angsty because obi-wan will never ever get to see anakin's eyes again and he has to just. make his peace with that which he's obviously struggling to do in the ficlet on ko-fi. he has to figure out how to love anakin as he is, with his vows, or he won't get him at all and obi-wan wrestling with that is a key part of the ficlet. im not sure how strongly that angst would hit if they could reach a certain point of closeness and then he could get anakin the way he had him when they were in the creche, sight and all you know? he needs to accept who anakin is to really have a chance at loving him without getting some other version of him back

but that being said i also do dig the idea of the blindfolds being taken off in the company of one's family or loved ones and am open to it--it explains a lot of logistical questions for sure lol

i just also really like the angst and acceptance that comes from the idea that obi-wan must become ok with never seeing anakin's eyes again....only for anakin, who loves him so much, to break his vows because obi-wan is dying and needs him or obi-wan is dying and asks to see his eyes one last time (only for obi-wan to categorically survive)

#asks #jedi healer anakin au #healer anakin au #? cant remember which tag ive used for tumblr posts about this #anyway now im torn haha!!#but you know i love some angst ....#obikin

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latibvles · 7 months

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Hello, I’m Poet, I’m 20 years old, and this is my (updated) intro / pinned post! I’m an English major (so, longwinded), and enjoy history (WW2 & Civil War history specifically), TTRPGs, animanga, and somehow tying everything back to a Taylor Swift song. I am afrolatina, queer, and go by he/she pronouns (equal preference). We love female friendship and burning, arduous pining around these parts. Chances are if you have an OFC I will be declaring her as my wife upon first meeting. Do not be fooled by my interests, this blog is like 60% Ronald Speirs loveposting /hj. Also the notorious unhinged tagger which I wear like a badge of honor.

Current Fandoms: Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Tolkienverse, Riordanverse, Attack on Titan, Jujutsu Kaisen, The Hunger Games, Dungeons & Dragons, The Walking Dead, 1883, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, Yellowjackets, and much more.

If you’re here for the writing, check me out on AO3 or at the tag #poet’s notepad. If you’d like to peruse the cast of characters we have going on around these parts, check out the OC DIRECTORY CARRD. And of course, if you’re looking for fic recs, check out POET’S FIC CORNER (which I update regularly) or simply the tag #fic recs.

TAGS: inbox asks : #poet’s mail box video edits + graphics : #poet’s gallery general shitposting : #poet’s think thoughts mutuals tag : #poet’s pals anon tag : #poet’s secret friends writing tag : #poet’s notepad

WRITING PROJECTS: Sad, Beautiful, Tragic [ongoing] | AO3 , Tumblr | fic tag

Losing someone is one thing. Losing someone you don't think you ever had is another thing. But losing someone never had, only to see them again two years deep into a war tearing the world apart? It’s the worst luck of the most terrible draw. And it’s the only lot that Ronald Speirs seemed to pull.

In December of 1942, Daisy Clarke made herself a promise — she would not pen another letter to Ronald Speirs, no matter how many he sent to her.

Apparently, she needn't write one anyway — because the universe would deliver her directly to him after she becomes a nurse to do her part in a war felt on both sides on the Atlantic. It’s June, 1944 — now forced to face what she left behind head-on, one has to wonder if she can upkeep the promise she made all those years ago, or if her resolve will crumble when facing the man who once lived right across the street.

And one also has to wonder why she would take such a vow to begin with.

#about poet #pinned post #I am still updating my recs list #because I have to leave my little remarks on every one #but this is a good start

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into-the-outer-lands · 1 month

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The Factions - An Introduction

a/n: english is not my first language so i apologise for any grammatical or spelling errors you see in this blog

The Factions consists of 5 differing groups of cats, all different in their ways and laws, all outcasts from communities that once cherished and lived alongside them. Together, these cats have formed a new home, far, far away from their past. And together, they must figure out how to live within it. (quick descriptions below)

☆Dune Clan ࿐ ࿐ Current Leader: Whale Dune Clan is an odd sort and the smallest amongst the factions. From the stories they tell, the Clan moved to the Outer Lands for a new start after a horrible plague terrorized the Clan, leaving only a 4th of the population barely standing. The clan is grieving, longing to return to their former selves, ones that were able to swim through the strongest waters and catch even the trickiest or strongest of prey. They are still weak, they are still healing, and they have everything on the line. Will the Clan climb back to their apparent past success, or will the last of what they have be wipe out from them once again?

☆Ruin Domain ᨒ ᨒ Current Leader: Star Ruin'Tooth Ruin Domain was descended from the 4/5 Clans we know and love. Each member of this Domain were outcasts and loners from their own clan, either due to breaking the warrior code in the name of love or because their very existence was deemed different from their former clanmates. The newly formed Ruin Domain now struggle with differentiating themselves from their past and working together in spite of former clan differences.

The question is, will this group of cats find peace in the new territories, or will they follow their name and fall into ruin?

☆Sierra Tribe ✿ ✿ Current Leader: Luminary Snowfall (Snowfall, The Vibrant) The Sierra Tribe was once amongst the original tribes themselves, but they decided to separate themselves from the other tribes, wanting to explore their own way of life without the risk of warring with the others due to their traditions.

But the Tribe questions themselves about this decision, was sacrificing their comfort and historical grounds worth it simply to explore new branches within their culture? Was such sacrifice worth it in the name of curiosity and the creation of a new generation?

☆Speckle Guild ⌂ ⌂ Current Leader: Chief Mia Speckle Guild, a newly formed clan with barely any origins. The faction is made out of loners and former house cats who were casted out and forced into the wilderness to escape the awful life of the cities. But the Guild is a new one, the only Faction that has nothing to build off or to separate themselves from. They are still discovering themselves and figuring out how to become a community despite their history of walking through struggles alone. Not to mention the fact that they have to prove themselves to the other Factions due to their ‘fresh blood’. Will they ever find their footing and be accepted by the other Factions, or will they once again be labeled as outcasts because of the blood that runs within their veins?

☆Swamp Colony ⸙͎ ⸙͎ Current Leader: Pioneer Sunblaze No cat is fully sure of the Colony's origin as they can be quite a secretive Faction, there are tales that they came from the 'spirit world' or that they were a nomadic group before venturing unto the territories. What we do know is that they have an incredibly deep connection to the spirits around them, which is what led the group to the Outer Lands in the first place. Another truth, known only to the friends of the Swamp Colony, is that they are tired from the traditions of their nomadic nature, yearning to find a place to root themselves in and finally create a home, safe and fit for their generations, never having to worry about the stability of the next home . Among new cats from backgrounds differing from their own, will the Colony be inclined to stay, or will they once again venture through the world, never being able to find a permanent home for themselves?

I welcome you to watch as the newly formed Factions find the answers to their personal questions and enjoy yourselves whilst consuming the drama that will partake throughout it all.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── a/n omg hi ya'll!! i hope you like this since this is my first post ever about the story that ive been thinking about for a longgg while. i'll be sure to continue writing my thoughts and concepts about ITOL (Into The Outer Lands) on the blog. and one day I hope to write an entire story about it if you all think its worth a read. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SPENDING YOUR TIME ON THIS ^^. p.s. feel free to ask me about anything in my inbox!

#warrior cats #warriors oc #warrior cats fanfic #sorta #fanfiction #based and inspired from warrior cats #also took some inspiration from my pride #wc #fiction #barely a fanfiction of wc...#ITOL

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viking-raider · 2 years

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Afterlife *One-Shot*

Summary: Clark becomes aware of his own death, in the aftermath of his battle with Doomsday, while you grieve for him.

Pairing: Clark Kent (Superman)/Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Warning: G - Angst, Trauma, Mention of Death and the Great Beyond, Greiving, Depression, Fighting, Alien Technology, Light Amnesia, HEA

Inspiration: I had this headcanon after watching Batman v Superman.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

The first thing Clark remembered, after Doomsday stabbed him through the heart, was emptiness. It was quiet, dark and empty. He couldn't pinpoint where he was in the universe or if he even was in the universe anymore.

His next thought was for you, you had been in downtown Metropolis, while he, Bruce and Diana fought Doomsday. He had to save you, when you went for the Kryptonite spear. He recalled telling you that you were his world, that he loved you, before taking the spear himself and flying off towards the monster, impaling Doomsday through the chest with it.

Had I killed it, before it killed me? Is she safe now?

It became abundantly apparent to Clark that he was dead. There was no other way around it.

If it were anything else, he likely would have recovered by now, however long by now it was. He was inhabiting some state of being, aware and conscious of himself, and could only answer it by him being a Kryptonian. He wondered if this was a natural Kryptonian occurrence, once their body died, that their consciousness lived on for some sort of duration or perhaps his body was still intact enough and his body's refusal to decay allowed him to be mentally aware, while still dead, somehow.

It truly baffled him.

Is Zod in a similar state? Are my biological parents? Is there a way for me to reach out to them?

He let himself go quiet and listened for anything that might potentially be moving or making a sound around him, he remained that way for a long time, hoping for any semblance of contact in the space beyond, but heard and felt nothing, other than himself.

Finding no reason in returning to the surface of his consciousness, Clark receded further inside of it, the quiet outside was only a tortured reminder of the loneliness and his death, of being without you and the pain he knew he left you in. The life the two of you would now never have the pleasure of living.

At least, she gets to live, then my death was well worth it. He thought, before finally falling silent.

“It's been a month.”

Martha pointed out, as she found you sitting on the pouch, staring off in the direction of the graveyard. “You haven't been to his grave since we buried him.” She said, holding a steaming cup of tea out to you, before taking up the spot on the porch swing beside you.

You opened your mouth, but the words jumbled into your throat, like a traffic jam. Shaking your head, you took a sip of the tea and washed the tangled words down, before finally managing to speak. “I don't have the courage or the bravery.” You whispered, biting your bottom lip against a fresh onslaught of tears that threatened you. “I could walk into a war zone, into a pack of rabid protesters and stare down the most decorated and brazen, four star Generals, to get a story.”

“But I have to use the back road to drive onto a farm I'm more familiar with than my laptop, just so I can avoid seeing that graveyard, or I'll end up losing myself.”

Martha pressed her lips together and rested her hand between your shoulder blades. “It took me a week to walk halfway down there, after Jonathan died, and then three days to finish the other half.” She confessed to you, sighing softly. “I thought I was going to cry, like a newborn baby, when I finally made it to his headstone.”

“But, I didn't.”

“What did you do?” You asked, looking at her.

“I was finally able to tell him all the things I wanted to tell him, but couldn't at his wake, since it was all still too raw and new.” She admitted, gently rubbing your back. “If it takes you a month to walk down there, or longer, we both know there are still things you need to tell Clark, so you can heal.” She told you, leaning in to kiss your hair, then stood and went back inside.

You let out an unsteady breath and stared down at your cooling cup, you missed Clark, like you were missing one of your body parts. You had become a shadow of yourself, you had only returned Metropolis for a few days in the month after he died, to grab some of your belongings from the apartment you shared with him. But staying there was too hard, seeing his things around the apartment and sleeping in the bed you had shared with him, and seeing the construction being done to rebuild the parts of the city destroyed by Doomsday, was just too much of a reminder, things were still going on, even when your life had stopped.

So, you took Martha's offer to stay at the farm with her.

It wasn't as hard being in the place where Clark was raised, and buried. You didn't see him as Superman, where in the Metropolis, all you saw were the flying black and silver symbols of Hope and people mourning their superhero and god. On that small Kansas farm, you saw his life, you saw Clark Joseph Kent; the son, reporter and fiance that just happened to be an extraordinary and more unique being than most people on Earth. The Kent Farm was the solid foundation you needed in the wake of his death and you weren't sure you'd be able to set foot off of it again, without your life falling apart. Even though you knew Clark would be upset with you, understanding, but upset that you were allowing your life to spin to a halt.

But Clark had been your world too.

You took a deep, fortifying sip of your tea and stood up, setting the cup on the porch rail and walked down the front steps, the gravel leading up the driveway to the house crunched under your feet. “Oh god, it took your mother a week to make it halfway there, might take me two weeks just to get farther than the porch steps.” You huffed, smirking and shaking your head. “Look at me, talking to you again, like you're here.” You scolded yourself, even though Martha and the therapist Perry made you talk to on the phone told you it was perfectly normal and part of a healing process.

“Hey, Dusty.” You sighed, leaning over to pat the fluffy Border Collie on the head. “Got any encouraging advice for me?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Maybe, if we lined up a bunch of juicy journalist leads along the way, I could just write one article at a time to his grave, hm? Might take a year, but I'll get there!” You laughed, straightening up and sighed again. “I bet if it was me in that grave, Clark would have built a house next to it, so he'd see me every day, and here I am, a month in.”

Squaring your shoulders and putting on your best expression, the one you usually used when one of your leads was being a hard-ass, you put your foot in front of you and did the same with the other and kept focusing on that, one foot in front of the other, in the direction of Clark. While trying to convince your panicking brain, you were just going out there to grab him from visiting his dad's grave, for lunch. You had done it several times before, you could do it again, minus the catch attached to it.

Before you knew it, you were standing at the edge of the graveyard, Dusty was trailing behind you a little ways. Your hands were trembling and sweating at your sides as you looked out over the sea of varying headstones. Even though you hadn't been here since Clark was buried, before they had even closed his grave, you knew exactly where to look. He had been laid to rest beside Jonathan, who you had visited several times. It put a small smile on your face, remembering the first time you had come to the farm with Clark, he had introduced you to his mother, then afterwards, he walked you down here to introduce you to his dad, saying even if he was gone, it didn't feel right not at least having the two of you meet in some capacity.

You had found it sweet, a tad cheesy, but all Clark, with what you would later coin as his Southern Kryptonian charm.

“It only took a day for me to make it this far, Clark.” You said, biting your lip and rubbing your hands on the thigh of your jeans, standing at the edge of gravel and lush, emerald green grass, his grave just in view with the brown granite headstone, just like his father's, you noticed the grass had grown in over him, seamlessly.

Your hands balled up and you moved a few steps closer, before stopping again, breathing hard and shaking a little bit. “Clark.” You mewled, chin quivering as you finally made the last couple of steps. “Clark, I miss you so much. I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you here.” You sniffled, lowering yourself down, to sit cross legged in the grass, between his and his father's graves.

“Everything is so much duller, now that you're gone. I just don't--” You sighed and looked at the blue sky above you, picturing him hovering in it.

Clark became aware of a murmur that did belong with a sequence of memories he had been inhabiting and swam away from them.

He'd become innately skilled with his conscious surfing, flitting from one memory to another, mostly memories of you, a couple memories from before his dad died. He had been learning how to manipulate them to a degree, so they'd last a little longer. He was currently engrossing himself in reliving the night he proposed to you. He had flown the two of you to the farm, his mom had left the house to the two of you, staying with a friend for the night, to give you space. He had taken you on a walk through the corn field, just before sunset and as you both came out on the other side with a perfect view of the sun melting into the horizon, Clark got down on one knee and revealed the simple diamond and platinum band.

The murmur became more clear, the closer to the surface he got. It was the sound of your voice, calling out to him from somewhere outside his consciousness, that he could somehow still hear you from.

Clark, I miss you so much. Your voice was crystal clear, as if you were standing right next to him.

I'm right here! Clark tried yelling back.

I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you here. You cried, your voice weakening. Everything is so much duller, now that you're gone. I just don't see the world like I used to. I can't find the point or the center of a story anymore. I keep waiting for Perry to call me, to tell me the Bosses have fired me, since I haven't been into work in the month you've been gone.

A month.

If Clark's nervous system worked, he would have jerked with surprise.

I've been dead for a month! Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. You can't even hear me.

I'm sorry, it took me so long to come see you, after the funeral. A whole month. But I do talk to you, I feel absolutely insane and like I should hand myself in to the Metropolis Asylum or something. But your mom says, she still talks to your dad, to this day. So, that's comforting. She's the most sane and wonderful woman I've ever met. She's the only real rock I've had, since—you know. You sighed, twisting blades of grass between your fingers. Other than Dusty. You added with a weak chuckle.

At least, you still have Ma, and Dusty. Clark took some consolation in that. I hope she's holding up well. But if you're visiting her regularly, then I'm sure the two of you are being strong for each other. I wish there was a way for me to come back to you both. To go back and try something different. But, at least you and Ma are safe.

I promise to visit you more. I'll come back before bedtime and say good-night to you. You promised, softly. Now, I know I'm actually strong enough to make it down here, without turning into a pathetic mess of a human being. You chuckled, smirking. There's a joke for you, Kryptonian.

Very funny. Clark quipped, before growing somber. Wish you knew I could hear you. That you could hear me too.

I love you, Clark. You cooed, finding a little more strength to place a gentle kiss to the cold stone of his grave marker.

I love you too, babe. I love you too.

You starting to regularly visit Clark's grave began to give him a general sense of time. You always visited him after breakfast in the mornings, telling him about how you slept, describing the dream you had, which usually always involved him in some way.

He learned quickly, you had a recurring nightmare about the day he died, but you had only spoken at length about it once, as if his grave and consciousness were the only things you could unburden yourself of it too. Which wasn't wrong. You hadn't told anyone about the night terror. You were sure Martha had an idea about it, mother's intuition and the several times you'd woken her up screaming Clark's name, but she never pressed you for it.

After that though, you just referred to it as that dream, before moving on again.

After an hour or two, you'd leave his graveside for several hours, to try and get some journalism done with the stories Perry had sent your way via emails and such, he was being extremely understanding and accommodating. But you knew that was going to run out soon enough. You'd either go back down to Clark again around lunch time or for a break. Going on and on about the piece you were trying to write for the Planet. Clark, even in the grave, would out of habit throw in his suggestions on ideas you could use, possible ways you could look for leads or just his loving encouragement, before catching himself.

But you always came down before you went to bed to say good night to him.

“All right, Super-Boy.” You sighed, stopping beside Clark's grave, your feet bare and wearing a pair of Jack Skellington pajama bottoms and Clark's old Smallville High School t-shirt. “It's bedtime. So, I've come to say good-night and don't let earthworms bite.” You chuckled, even with the smallest twinge in your stomach.

Even dead, you still make fun of me. Clark remarked, entertained. If I ever get out of this box, I'll tickle you mercilessly.

“I love you, Clark. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” You said, keeping to your ritual of kissing his headstone and walked back to the house.

With you gone, Clark began filling the time with memories, until he sensed something, that wasn't you. He couldn't put a name on what it was, he knew what you felt like. Even dead, Clark understood your approach and presence, it called out through his consciousness and it had pulled him to you through the world and cosmos, when he was alive. This felt as Alien like he was, strange and strong, and right on top of him.

Beyond that feeling, this presence, he heard nothing else.

The next morning, you were coming down the stairs and heading towards the kitchen, when you stopped dead in your tracks, hearing a familiar voice coming from that direction; one you hadn't heard in three months, since Doomsday and Clark's death. Panic bubbled into your chest as you slowly approached the kitchen door and saw, none other than, Bruce Wayne sitting at the kitchen island with Martha, enjoying a cup of coffee with her.

“Oh, you're awake!” Martha started, spotting you. “This young man,” She smiled, touching Bruce's shoulder. “was a friend of Clark's and wanted to come see how you were doing.” She explained, but saw the look on your face and quickly slipped off her stool and rushed over to you. “Honey, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“You can say that.” You rasped, wide eyes still on Bruce with shock.

“That's my fault.” Bruce said, setting his mug down. “I should have called you first to see if it was all right I came by.”

“You think?” You huffed, eye twitching a little bit, before you looked at Martha. “Do you mind if I speak to him, for a moment?” You asked, keeping the edge out of your voice.

Martha got the hint and nodded, made a polite gesture to Bruce, then went upstairs, to give you both privacy.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bruce!” You barked, starting towards him, anger flaring in your eyes.

“Well, I came to check on you and Martha.” Bruce replied, a tad surprised at your reaction, but didn't move off his seat. “I know you haven't been back to the Daily Planet, or even the Metropolis in the three months Clark's been--”

“Don't you dare.” You hissed him, snapping your fingers and sticking your index finger in his face. “Part of why my fiance is dead is because of you, Bruce Wayne. You were hell bent on making him some monster that wanted to burn the world to the ground. When all Clark wanted to do was be a reporter, plan our wedding and bring Hope to people, when they needed it!” You growled at him, tears beginning to stream down your face. “But instead, you both let Lex Luther manipulate you into fighting. Maybe that's why the word starts with man. I don't know. But you had a hand in taking him away from me.” You seethed, before slapping him across the face, though it hurt you more than it hurt him, it felt good.

“I'll never forgive you for that!” You huffed, finally turning on your heels and storming out of the kitchen.

“Even if I could bring him back!” Bruce called back out to you.

You froze on the steps going upstairs, part of you said to keep going back to Clark's old room, the one you had taken over, that Bruce was just baiting you back into the kitchen to talk. But the part of you that knew Bruce, knew he didn't mince words or promises.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath, turning around and heading into the kitchen again. “If you're lying to me, I'll expose your ass as Batman before you can get off this property.” You told him, coldly.

“I'm not.” Bruce said, ambiguously, picking up the coffee pot Martha had set on a pot holder in the middle of the island and poured some into the cup she had clearly set out for when you came down to join them. “Coffee? I know how cranky you are, before your first sip in the mornings.” He smirked, holding it out to you.

“Don't act chummy with me, Wayne. Just talk.” You told him, taking the cup from him and walking out onto the front porch, spotting Bruce's ultra expensive car in the driveway with your car and Martha's truck.

Bruce followed you onto the porch. “We, my team and I, found a way to bring Clark back.” He said, standing beside you.

“Oh, more Kryptonian technology?” You asked, sipping your coffee, trying to scold your hopes from coming up.

“No, it's some form of Alien technology, we're not exactly sure what kind, but...” He paused, looking down at his feet for a second, considering how much he should tell you. “Take a walk with me.” He said, stepping off the porch, before looking back at you.

“It's nothing chummy.” He reassured you, before moving forward.

Sighing, you caught up to him and waited for him to continue.

“One of my team members was in a horrible car crash, nearly died—should have died, his body was maimed, almost beyond recognition.” Bruce began to explain to you, slowly walking towards the graveyard. “His father was a top scientist for the Department of Defense, he used this Alien Technology, a Box, to put his son back together again. I have a theory that with the Kryptonian Ship, where Lex made Doomsday, in the regeneration chamber, and this box, we would be able to revive Clark.” He finished, just as the two of you reached the graveyard.

“Dear God!” You gasped, your cup slipping out of your hand and broke on the gravel at your feet. “What have you done!?” You demanded, seeing the gaping hole where Clark should have been buried. “Bruce!” You yelled, punching him in the arm. “Where—Did you just take Clark's body without asking his mother and I?”

“I did.” He nodded, unapologetic. “We need him—alive.”

You glared up at him, and finally saw it. “No.” You shook your head at him. “You don't need Clark alive. You need Superman alive. You don't give a fuck about Clark, you never have!” You growled, burning with anger.

“You're wrong!” Bruce snapped, jerking slightly towards you, spooking you. “You're wrong.” He said softer, pulling himself together again, not meaning to scare you. “I know going after him was wrong and I regret that decision every single day. I blame myself for his death. I don't need you or anyone else blaming or reminding me of it, I do it already. But, as much as my team and the world needs Superman, they need Clark Kent more. You are right, he gave this world Hope, but he also gave this world more than just Hope.”

“There's something coming, and without him alive, we won't survive it.”

“Then, why are you here and not wherever you need to be, to bring him back?” You asked, sighing heavily.

“Because, we have all the components.” He answered, looking down at you with a soft smirk. “But, we don't have Clark Kent's key.”

“Key? You mean, the Command Key?” You frowned up at him, shaking your head. “We lost that, when we fought Zod.”

“No.” Bruce laughed, resting his hand on your shoulder. “You are Clark's key. I need you to come back to Metropolis with me. We don't know what's going to happen, when we use the Box to revive Clark, but something told me you were the key. So, I need you to be my secret weapon, should anything happen. Besides, if I know anything about Clark Kent, you'll be the first person he'll want to see, when he comes back to the world of the living, and I can't deny the Kryptonian that.”

“When do we leave?” You asked, with no hesitation.

“As soon as you're dressed.” Bruce laughed, looking you over, still in your pajamas. “I'll get you some breakfast on the way there.” He added, heading back to the house with you. “But, don't mention the Clark thing to Martha.” He whispered as you walked up the porch steps.

You shot him a look, that asked, who do you think I am?

“Martha!” You called out, heading upstairs to change.

“Is everything all right?” She called back, coming out of her room.

“Everything's fine.” You reassured her, resting your hand on her arm. “But I need to return to Metropolis with Bruce.” You told her, feeling a small part of you needed to tell her of the possibility, however small or big, about bringing Clark back, she was his mother, she deserved to know, but you also didn't want to get her hopes up either. “I won't be gone long, he has a lead on one of the articles I'm trying to write.”

“The privileges of a Billionaire PlayBoy.” You said, chuckling and rolling your eyes.

Martha studied you for a long moment, before smiling and nodding her head. “All right, you both be safe then!” She said, hugging you tight.

“I promise.” You replied, hugging her back, but had that reporter's tingle that she knew something more was going on, but wasn't saying anything about it. “I'll see you, hopefully tomorrow or the next day.” You promised, letting go of her and heading off to get changed, then met Bruce at his car and sped off to where his jet was parked.

“I really hope this works, Bruce.” You whispered, settling in your seat on the plane. “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

“I do too.” Bruce replied, sitting across from you.

“Just stay here with Alfred, when we're ready for you, he'll bring you to us.” Bruce explained as he sat beside you in the back seat of one of his luxury cars, Alfred at the wheel.

“All right.” You nodded, nervous and impatient.

The flight from Kansas to Metropolis had been shorter than it would have been on a commercial airplane, but it mentally felt longer, thanks to you tossing the idea of Clark potentially coming back to life or not. You had no idea what you would do if it failed. You supposed it wouldn't actually change anything, he'd still be dead, you would just have to somehow explain the fresh dirt on his grave to Martha and anyone that visited it. You also had no idea what you would do if, and when, Clark came back to life. There would be explaining his reappearance to people.

You had thrown this scenario at Bruce during the flight and he had replied simply, witness protection.

You had considered that avenue, Clark had done some digging into the Batman and drew the eye of Lex Luther. So, using the Doomsday attack as the perfect timing to fake Clark's death to cool the heat from those two, even though Bruce was Batman, would make a damn good cover story.

“Would you like to listen to anything on the radio, madam?” Alfred asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“No, thank you, Alfred.” You replied, smiling kindly at him.

He nodded his head back at you, before turning to face forward again and went back to his newspaper. You pulled your phone out and scrolled through your photos, smiling at the pictures of you and Clark, not realizing you had chuckled out loud at a photo of the two of you covered in cake frosting, until noticing Alfred smirking at you through the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry, I was just looking at a photo of Clark and I at my last birthday.” You told him, turning your phone around to show him. “We ended up eating my cake plain, because we got into a frosting fight.”

Alfred chuckled, seeing the photo. “I truly hope Bruce can bring Master Kent back.” He said, softly.

“So, do I.” You sighed, looking back at the photo and running the tip of your finger over the image of Clark's chocolate covered, grinning face. “I'm so terribly lost without him.” You admitted, quietly.

The look on Alfred's face was soft, understanding and sympathetic, but you hadn't noticed, your attention had been drawn outside. You bent your head low to your chest with your eyes out the heavily tinted windshield, almost rolled into the back of your head just to look up at the object hovering in the sky.

“Oh, dear god.” You gasped, jaw hitting your chest. “Clark.” You mewled, voice creaking. “He did it. Bruce actually fucking did it.” You sighed, a smirk pulling across your lips, watching Clark move across the sky, away from the building Bruce had vanished into sometime before, and towards Hero's Park, where Superman's monument once was and now his shrine stood.

“I have to--” You started, grabbing the handle to your door, only to have the lock click shut on you. “Alfred!” You barked, head snapping to him.

“Mr. Wayne said he would call, when it was time for you to join him and Mr. Kent.” Alfred replied, calmly, his index finger still holding down the master lock button on the driver's door. “It's safer this way.”

“Safer? You think Clark would hurt me?” You asked, snorting at him and the notion of it.

“No, I don't, Miss.” He answered, tipping his head forward slightly, offering his silent apology for the apparent slight. “But, we don't know how Master Kent would react to being brought back to life, and until we do know, it's safer for all parties concerned, that he and the team assess the situation first.”

You bit your bottom lip and clenched your jaw, before straightening up in your seat with a sigh. “Fine. Clark would tell me the exact same thing.” You said, impatiently turning your phone in your hands. “In fact he has, many times.”

It wasn't ten minutes later that the sound of sirens filled the city air outside of the car, you weren't entirely surprised by the sound, it was the middle of Metropolis, if there wasn't at least one police siren going off every five minutes, then there was something truly wrong. But as time progressed, there were more and more sirens, and not just sirens, soon there were cop cars speeding by you and Alfred, lights blaring. You became uneasy, seeing them make it to the intersection up ahead and turn left, towards the park.

Soon, Military Humvees joined the cop cars and your unease and anxiety only increased. You couldn't see the Park from where you and Alfred sat in the car, but regardless, you knew things weren't going as planned. Gripping your phone in your left hand, you slowly crept your right hand up the side of your door, carefully eyeing Alfred as he watched all the cop cars, military personnel and civilians crowding into the streets to see what all the commotion was, until your fingers found the lock. Your heart stopped in your chest as you strained to unlock your door, freezing in place as it popped, but Alfred didn't react, his attention firmly focused on what was outside the car and not what was inside it, probably believing both of you were safe and sound.

With the door unlocked, you gripped the door handle and took a quiet, but deep breath, waiting for the perfect moment to pull it open and bolt out. It came a minute later, with the sound of a new police car ripping down the street. You yanked the door open and tore out of it, before Alfred could fully react, yelling out your name through the left open back door. You ignored him as you sprinted down the cracked and weed strewn sidewalk, your sneakers beating the pavement and shocking your legs with the impact, but you kept going, willing yourself faster.

You needed to get to Clark, to find out what was going on and why Bruce was taking so long to call in his secret weapon. You hardly looked both ways, before cutting across the street and around the corner towards Hero's Park. Just turning the corner onto the street the park was on, was a whole other world, there were cars and people everywhere, being pushed behind establishing lines, but you weren't about to let that deter you, you never had before for a story and you sure as hell wouldn't, if it meant getting to Clark. You stopped for a second and looked around, before spotting a small spot in the chain-link fence they put around the fence after the Doomsday fight and went for it, squeezing your body through it.

Getting through the fence, you found a small-scale battlefield. The three pillars that once stood behind Superman's statue had been smashed to bits, even more rubble and debris filled the space, with smashed Metropolis Police cars and a burning Humvee. You saw Diana laying on the ground by one of the shimmering pools, a kid in a red suit splayed out on the steps beside a larger, heavily tattooed man. You finally spotted Clark just past Diana, barefoot and shirtless, only wearing the shredded suit pants he had been buried in. His body was tense, the muscles of his back defined and his hands almost completely curled into fists as he strode intently towards someone just beyond him.

“Bruce.” You mumbled, spotting the Billionaire in his full Bat suit. “Oh, Christ.” You gasped, watching Clark rise up from the ground, just before he reached Bruce, a cold chill of fear rushed down your back, prickling your skin, you took off towards him.

“Stop, don't!” A half metal, half man yelled out, as you dashed by him, but you kept going, your eyes locked on Clark.

“He doesn't know who he is!” Diana tried to warn you.

“Clark!” You screamed out, coming to a halt as he blasted Bruce backwards into a parked police car behind him with his laser vision. “Clark, don't!” You cried, begging him, your heart giving way with relief, when you saw Bruce had managed to block the scorching light with his gauntlet, and was mostly unhurt.

Clark slowly turned towards you in the air, his ordinarily cerulean blue eyes lit up like molten steel made the breath in your throat freeze solid, but he didn't unleash his vision on you, not yet at least. He only cocked his head at you, clearly scanning and studying you.

You gulped thickly, not wanting to show him fear. “Clark, please.” You rasped, biting the inside of your cheek. “This isn't you.” You told him, daring to take a small step closer to him.

“Don't-” Bruce started to call out, but stopped, when Clark jerked a look at him over his shoulder.

“Just shut up, Bruce.” You growled between clenched teeth. “You wanted your secret weapon.” You hissed at him, then focused back on your fiance. “This is not who you are.” You said, steadying your voice and taking another step forward. “You are a good person, and he-” You pointed to Bruce, and took a deep breath. “Is your friend. He's an idiot, but he's still your friend.”

Bruce shot you a look, but didn't say anything.

“So, please, don't kill him or any of them.”

The bright, fiery-orange in Clark's eyes faded, revealing the eyes you had missed and loved so much, bringing a grin to your face and even more tears to your eyes, before he slowly lowered himself back to the ground. You reached out to him, your fingertips touching the warm, but cool skin of his shoulder and sighed softly, it was all real and not some insane dream.

“I know you.” Clark's deep voice rumbled.

You chuckled, sniffling. “I know you too.” You replied, looking up at him. “You are Clark Joseph Kent, the love of my life.” You whispered, feeling the world around you brighten again.

Clark cupped your face in his big hands, tenderly rubbing his thumbs underneath your eyes to wipe away your overflowing tears, before pulling you in tight against his body, wrapping his strong and solid arms around you, then took off into the skies, with a thunderous boom.

“What the hell was that?” Asked the tattooed male, as he helped Bruce up.

“My secret weapon.” Bruce replied, flexing his sore body.

Clark landed the both of you on the edge of the corn field he had proposed to you in.

“Home.” He whispered, looking out over the waist high stalks to the Kent Farm.

“You remember this?” You asked, looking up at him with your hand resting on the small of his back.

“I do.” He nodded, looking down at you and smiling. “It's starting to come back to me. I was really jumbled up back there, but seeing you kick started me again.” He confessed, cupping the side of your neck in his hand and leaning in to kiss you deeply.

You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and returned his kiss, before pressing your forehead to the center of his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. “I missed you very much, Clark.” You mumbled, relaxing.

“I know you did.” He replied, nosing your hair and kissing the top of your head. “I heard you.”

“You what?” You squeaked, tipping your head back to look up at him, confused and caught off guard.

Clark smirked at you, brushing his fingers through your hair, reveling in being able to feel your tresses and skin again. “When you would visit my grave-” He licked his upper lip and cast his eyes in the direction of the cemetery. “I don't know how to explain it or how it worked, but I could hear you. I could still sense you too, when you were close enough to me. Everything you said, while I was—away—I heard it all. I know about your nightmare about my death and Doomsday, that you haven't been back to our apartment since it happened.”

“Clark-” Your mouth worked, but you didn't know what to say.

“It's crazy, I know.” He laughed, shaking his head. “At first, I was alone with myself and the memories I had of my life. It probably has something to do with my being Superman and Kryptonian. But, I want you to know, I heard all of it. You weren't really alone. I would answer you, even if you couldn't hear me. Which reminds me.” He said, dropping his hands to your sides and gave them a tickle, making you laugh and squirm.

“What was that for?!” You giggled, slapping at his hands.

“Making fun of the dead!” Clark chuckled back at you. “Don't let the earthworms bite! Really, babe?”

“We both know, I've always had a good deadpan humor.” You replied, winking at him, before scurrying away, so he couldn't tickle you again. “But I do find that oddly comforting, you being able to hear me.” You said, returning to him, but paused for a moment. “What was it like, being dead?”

Clark took a deep breath and let it out with a soft sigh. “It was--” He shook his head, then leveled his eyes at you. “It doesn't matter, I'm here with you again.” He said, pulling you against him for another kiss. “And, I'm not going back there again, for a very, very long time. I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, Kent, or so help me God!” You proclaimed, lifting a brow at him. “Now that I know you can hear me from the grave, I'll hound you day and night with the most god awful things I can think of and buy!” You threatened, jabbing a finger in his chest.

“If that's the case, I'll make sure to live to at least a hundred.” Clark smirked, closing his hand around yours and brought your fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“That's what I want to hear.” You smiled, pushed up on your toes and rubbed noses with him.

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an-aussie-button-masher · 4 months

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2023 Gaming Wrap-Up

Welcome back to what is apparently a yearly tradition on this blog: the Gaming Wrap-Up! As we drag ourselves to the end of 2023, it’s always good to take a look back at the last 12 months and try to figure out just what was going on there. And well, this year…kinda sucked. It had a lot going on - it was stressful and exhausting at best for so many of us, but there’s always a bit of good within the bad (for example, on a more personal note, this was the year where I actually got a few of my articles purchased by publishers! Now I can, by definition, call myself a professional writer! Go me!), and video games are always an excellent escape from reality. 2023 had loads of great game releases, including some highly-anticipated sequels and remakes, while the business side of the gaming world had a fair few blunders and foot-shooting (Unity, anyone?). Before the end of the year, let’s all take a moment to remember all the highlights of the gaming world of 2023 - enjoy!

JANUARY-MARCH Let’s get started with a bit of the old and a bit of the new - a pair of high-quality remakes of some classic survival horror games, Dead Space and Resident Evil 4, set a new bar for gaming remakes, with RE4 even being nominated for GOTY! Meanwhile, Pizza Tower took the indie genre by storm with its deranged animations and surprisingly catchy music, and Hi-Fi Rush ambushed us with a sneaky release and some toe-tapping rhythmic combat. Fans of classic Nintendo games had a bit of a sad start to the year however, with the announcement that Nintendo would be completely shutting down all online services for the 3DS and Wii U, basically pulling the life support plug on the two platforms for good. Additionally, the Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3) continues its streak of rough years; with X-Box, Sony and Nintendo all foregoing attendance, this years’ E3 was announced to be cancelled. With a rise in developers and publishers preferring digital and social media announcements over live shows thanks to the impact of COVID, could this be signalling the end of live gaming conventions like E3?

APRIL-JUNE Moving on, 2023 also saw the release of some particularly exciting sequels - Dead Island 2 finally released after 9 years in development hell while The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom blew its GOTY-winning predecessor out of the water. Street Fighter 6 brought in Metro City veterans and newcomers alike, and Star Wars: Jedi Survivor continued the tale of Cal Kestis in his battle against the Empire in a galaxy far, far away. From the small screen to the big screen, The Super Mario Bros. Movie joined the small-but-growing ranks of video game movie adaptations that are actually good, thanks to staying true to the games’ actual identity instead of trying to turn it into something else like so many other game-to-film adaptations. E3’s cancellation also wasn’t enough to stop the Summer Games Fest from being held, featuring a mix of live and digital shows and announcements. Also, this year was quite the mixed bag for game publishing companies - Embracer Group, a publisher for major development teams such as Gearbox Entertainment and Crystal Dynamics, went under some massive structural changes due to a major deal falling through, and was just one of many publishers that underwent huge changes in 2023.

JULY-SEPTEMBER The latter half of the year didn’t see quite as many major game releases, but it was certainly a case of quality over quantity - Baldur’s Gate 3, an absolute narrative feat, practically overtook the entire second half of the year for both those familiar with the series or D&D and players entering the Forgotten Realms for the first time. Oh, and Starfield was released too. Meanwhile, a cornerstone of video game voice acting, Charles Martinet, retired from voicing the Mario bros. Having provided the iconic voices of Mario, Luigi, Wario and Waluigi since 1994, Charles still works as a global ambassador for Nintendo in conventions across the world, while the superstar voice role would be taken over by Kevin Afghani later in the year. Back in the business side of the gaming world, Unity - the group behind one of the most prominent game development engines in the industry - completely shot themselves in the foot this year as they announced an incredibly oppressive retroactive licensing fee to begin next year. This new fee would mean that every single developer that had ever used their engine would need to pay Unity for every copy of their game that has ever sold, even from before the fee took effect. Naturally, everyone disliked this, especially within the indie game community. The sheer amount of backlash caused Unity to rework the agreement to be “less aggressive”, but their reputation is beyond saving now.

OCTOBER-DECEMBER 2023 looks to be closing off with a bang - in yet another major simultaneous release, October 20th saw Spider-Man 2 expand the urban playground of everyone’s favourite web-slinging duo while Super Mario Bros. Wonder brought Nintendo’s flagship franchise in a fresh new direction. Meanwhile, another highly anticipated sequel, Alan Wake II, spun a terrifying new narrative just in time for Hallowe’en. Of course, the biggest talking point for the end of the year was the Game Awards! Baldur’s Gate 3 beat out some incredibly tough competition for Game of the Year and swept the rest of the awards alongside Alan Wake II; a handful of exciting new games were announced, including a sequel to the classic World of Goo and a vampire-hunting action adventure starring Marvel’s Blade; and we learned that the Call of Duty developers can’t take a joke. However, the biggest announcement arrived just before the awards, bringing the entire gaming community together for one of the most anticipated sequels in video game history (besides Half-Life 3): Grand Theft Auto VI. Set for a 2025 release, 12 years after its predecessor, GTA6 returns to the sunburnt beaches of Vice City, introducing a modern Bonnie & Clyde as its’ pair of playable protagonists Lucia and Jason.

LOOKING FORWARD So, aside from the GTA fans that are probably cryogenically freezing themselves until 2025, what are your plans for next year now that 2023 is nearly over? There’s plenty of other games to look forward to - Star Wars and Marvel fans will be getting another exciting set of games with Star Wars Outlaws putting players in the shoes of the galaxy’s next big name in the galactic underworld, while Wolverine will be hacking and slashing his way through the neon-lit Madripoor. Taking our hands off the controller for a moment, a handful of other games will be taking their turn on the silver screen with a promising-looking Fallout streaming series and a somewhat more sketchy-looking Borderlands film. Can’t be any worse than the Halo series, right…right?

I mentioned in last years’ wrap-up that 2023’s E3 is hopefully back on track, which has aged a bit poorly; well, there’s no need to worry about that this time as next year’s E3 has already been cancelled. At least that means saving on tickets, but is the age of big gaming conventions coming to a close? Time will tell, especially depending on if Summer Games Fest is still in the works. Maybe things are switching to a more digital-based platform for game announcements - as someone not fond of crowds, that suits me just fine.

But, hey, that’s not until next year. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this look back at the gaming world of 2023, and I look forward to seeing you all again in 2024! Happy holidays!

An Aussie Button-Masher

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