#not because i had any kind of catharsis

[pharawee]

Guys, I'm going to be honest. Maybe I'm still in shock because it's been like 2 minutes since I finished the DFF finale but

lmao that was so cheesy (affectionately)!

Come to think of it, with 50% of us screaming for blood and 50% of us (aka me) crying because why can't we all just get along, this is actually the perfect way to end things: make all of it become true and untrue at the same time.

The ending is so absurd and over the top and so predictable in being unpredictable that I actually feel well entertained. Just pure chaos. I don't know how else they could have let it end in only 30 minutes - except to not let it end.

Also, did I detect some Silent Hill 2 soundtrack vibes in those piano tunes when New was hallucinating? Because I appreciated that.

On a more serious note, the nightmare revelations were truly messed up and I appreciate that too. Psychological horror my beloved.

I guess in the end it's not about revenge or forgiveness or remorse at all but more about guilt and grief and punishment (and I guess that too is a lot like Silent Hill 2). A group of boys bully their classmate and in the process destroy the lives of a whole family. New gets his revenge on them, and more innocents die, and on and on it goes because no one ever truly deals with their guilt (and/or grief). Even in their drug-induced psychosis/happy ending Phee and Jin (whose nightmare is it anyway?) only wish they could help Tee... and then they do nothing. The whole thing literally becomes this beginning-less, never-ending miasma - a monster bearing Non's face (and now I'm just stuck on my Silent Hill 2 parallels and I should probably stop and listen to some Akira Yamaoka to get it out of my system).

*but also that Jin potentially hallucinated two whole years of uni is probably the worst punishment of all.

[scalpelsister]

also this isnt really proper shade at larian or anything and the writing of this game is SAURE good so dont take it this way but.

i sure do wish. Minthara was not villain batted as hard as she was. Her being locked to "evil" runs and being mutually exclusive with several party members. Her being nothing more than a miniboss for your average player- who does not even know shes a potential party member! Her being so chronically unloved by the community because... shes the "evil" companion. Hell, even the amount of people saying frankly really edgy shit about killing her or hurting her completely unprompted lmao. Like I genuinely think shes been pretty unfairly demonized both by the community and by the meta of just like... the game itself because she's really actually..... kind of, dare I say, sweet? if you get to know her. ugh.

[theabigailthorn]

We know you were on accutane. Stop lying

not that it would matter if I had, and not that it's any of your business, but I have in fact never taken accutane.

This is a useful teaching moment though, because what you're doing is a well-studied phenomenon in digital media called 'policing fake femininity.' It's a thing people do to women in the public eye, a specific kind of criticism centred around accusations of being inauthentic, fake, or having cheated in some way. Often it's men doing the policing but women do it to each other a lot too, there are whole websites dedicated to it in fact. Often those criticisms centre around our appearances, as yours did here.

It's sometimes a response to perceived inequality, of which there is plenty! Women in the public eye - myself included - do benefit from a lot of privilege. I've always been quite open about that. People who engage in that kind of public bullying often tell themselves that because of the privilege (or perceived privilege) of their targets the fake femininity policing is socially justified, or the fault of the target. But it doesn't really do anything to correct the structural problems that give rise to that inequality.

In their paper "Policing Fake Femininity," scholars Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, and Amanda Wahlstedt say,

“The solution to the structural concerns associated with capitalist patriarchy is not, we contend, to label individual influencers “stupid famewhores” and disparage their mental health in ways that invoke the spectre of hysteria (e.g., “batsh*t crazy,” “delusional,” and “lunatic”). As Chemaly [Rage Becomes Her, 2018] argues, it is necessary that girls and women express their anger, but such a directive “is not an endorsement of unbridled rage, or permission to deliver a swift roundhouse kick to the face of anyone who upsets you, or to regularly fill the spaces you live and work in with hostility and discomfort.” While venting anger at these influencers and their purportedly questionable choices may provide some form of much-needed catharsis, such gender-coded vitriol amplifies the rampant misogyny and toxicity that women already face in online environments.”

If you'd like to know more, I recommend:

Steve Cross & Jo Littler, “Celebrity and schadenfreude: The cultural economy of fame in freefall,” in Cultural Studies

Brooke Duffy, Kate Miltner, & Amanda Wahlstedt, “Policing “fake” femininity: Authenticity, accountability, and influencer anti-fandom,” in New Media & Society

[mangle-my-mind]

I don't think my answer will surprise anyone. It HAS to be Gimme Danger.

What is the best scene in Velvet Goldmine?

Reblog & tag and/or reply with your answers!

[moonlightspencie]

This Ain’t for the Best

Description: Mutual pining. Classic hunting scenarios. Sharing a bed. Wearing the other’s clothes. Confessions. Friends to lovers. Tswizzle title. Need I say more?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

Warnings: a little bit of violence, me cramming in every cliché i can because i love the classic fanfiction tropes more than i love breathing

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: i was kicking my feet and giggling as i wrote this, especially when i snuck in criminal minds AND taylor swift references. i love writing and never beta-reading or editing what i’ve written. catharsis.

Crashing at Bobby’s had its benefits.

First, we had the comfort of knowing where we were going to sleep at night. It was good to have a bed waiting that wasn’t in a motel room.

Second, there was almost always good food around. I had a knack for home-cooked meals, and it was much easier to be appreciated for it when I actually had a stove to cook on.

Third, there were boundless opportunities for Sam, Dean, and I to kick back and actually relax.

That’s how I ended up in the kitchen, laughing with Dean over old stories we’d told a million times before. He reached in the fridge, pulling out two bottles after we’d come down from the most recent remembrance of an old case. He cracked open the top of his beer, then my drink, sliding it towards me on the counter. Sam and Bobby strolled in st that moment, pausing when they saw us.

“You both woke up like an hour ago,” Sam said, unamused.

“6pm somewhere,” Dean and I said in unison.

We looked at each other with a small laugh, leaving Bobby and Sam rolling their eyes. I took my drink and stood a few steps away.

“We should really get going, though, Dean,” Sam stated.

“Where?” Bobby asked.

“We were planning on doing a run to the grocery story. I don’t want us to eat up all your food without repaying you, and we’re almost out of beer,” Sam said, pointedly looking at his brother.

“This one needs more of those little fruity drinks, too,” Dean teased, nodding at the bottle in my hand.

“Hey, it’s still a malt liquor. Just one that I like,” I said with a laugh.

They said their goodbyes, and I started walking into the front room. Bobby watched the door for a few moment after the boys left, then turned in the archway and locked his gaze on me as I sat on the couch.

I looked at the bottle in my hand. “I know y’all are all about beer, but I can’t help if I prefer something with a little flavor.”

“That’s not why I’m looking at you,” he grumbled, fed up with me already. “What in the world is goin’ on with you and Dean?”

“Huh?”

He furrowed his brow. “Don’t act all shy, now. You two have been flirting nonstop lately.”

“What’s new? We’re both pretty flirtatious in general.”

“Not like this,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know the last time I saw that boy blushing, or you getting all flustered like a teenager.”

“I am not,” I scoffed. “Nothing’s happening, Bobby.”

“I’ve known your for five years, now, and I’ve known those boys since they were kids. You stayed in my house for a year, too. You can’t hide this kind of thing from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m an open book.”

Now, he scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m running for president.”

I rolled my eyes, taking another drink. He came closer, sitting down next to me.

“If you keep denying all this…”

I swallowed, finally resigning. “There’s nothing to do about it, Bobby.”

“Yes, there is. You could tell him.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. You know how he is, he doesn’t want to be tied down. If we don’t make any moves or promises or whatever, a lot less doesn’t get broken.”

He raised a brow. “I do know how he is. For you, he’d make an exception.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, it’s all just flirting for him. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Are you blind?”

I looked at him, brows raising. He shook his head, picking at the label on his bottle.

“Sorry. I just— I know what I’m seeing, and I really don’t think it’s just a little friendly flirting for him, either,” he said, looking at me again. “I really think you should speak up while you’ve got the chance to. We don’t often get good things with lives like ours.”

“I know. I just don’t want to screw things up.”

“You’re gonna end up screwed if you keep pushing it down, anyway.”

I sighed. He took that signal as a time to change the subject, and for that I was thankful.

“Well, let’s find you the next case, huh?”

The next one was an easy find, and it would’ve been great to break the news to the boys when they got back, if not for a very clumsy Sam walking in the door with a twisted ankle.

“You what?” Bobby asked, incredulous.

Sam sighed, pouting. “I rolled it when I stepped in a pothole.”

Dean shook his head, clearly hiding his amusement as he helped his brother hobble towards a kitchen chair.

“So, no case, then?” I asked.

Bobby perked up. “No, you and Dean can still go. I can take care of Sam.”

“Bobby…” I warned, seeing through him instantly.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Dean said, cutting off my death stare. “When was the last time we went on a case, just you and me?”

I looked at him.

“Seriously, you guys can go without me,” Sam said. “It might be good for you, Y/N. You seem a little restless.”

“I am not,” I defended.

Bobby chuckled. “Sure, you’re not. But I’m not suggesting, I’m telling you. Get out of my house.”

I glanced at him, offended. “I am a delight.”

“You are, but I still want you out. You become much less delightful when you’re antsy.”

Dean laughed. “Come on, it’s only a state over, right? If we start driving now we can make it by sundown.”

I took a moment.

“Alright,” I nodded, heading towards the stairs to gather my things.

The case was a hot mess, to say the least. We couldn’t figure out what we were hunting to begin with, and the only true consistency is that the deaths were messy, leaving each victim with a missing liver. It wasn’t until we were at the most recent site of the death that things took a little bit of a turn.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, leaning in my direction.

I shrugged, looking around the house.

“It seems… clean.”

“I mean, I guess. We haven’t found hex bags or EMF readings—”

“No,” I cut him off, gesturing around the living room. “Like physically clean. Nothing is out of place. Look at the mantle.”

I walked over, using my gloved hand to wipe along the surface. I showed him my hand.

“Clean. Not even dust.”

He raised a brow. “And that matters because…”

“Because we’re supposed to be looking for some monster-unknown that never cleans up their messes. Every other scene we’ve been to has been a wreck, so why is the only thing out of place the blood stains on the floor? This is also the first time it’s been in the victims house.”

He paused. “You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again, haven’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, taking off the glove.

“That’s not important right now,” I shook my head, standing next to him again. “And, for the record, it’s helping our case.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, profiler, why don’t you tell me more about what you’re gathering from the scene.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I said with a laugh.

He smirked, placing a hand on my back.

“Let’s get out of here and figure out why things changed.”

We followed dead-end leads all over town, until we hit a lucky streak.

“Check this out,” Dean said, calling me over to the table in our room. “Remember that dive bar our last vic was seen at? Look at this dude’s last social media post.”

I walked over, resting a hand against the table as I leaned in. I looked at the laptop, raising a brow.

“Same place.”

“Same place,” he confirmed. “Wanna check it out? See if anything suspicious is up?”

“You sure you don’t just want to hit the bar?”

He looked up at me with a quirked brow.

“What do you think I am? Drinking on the job. I’d never,” he feigned innocence.

I snorted. “Right. So not you.”

“Leave in ten?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We hit the road soon after, winding up at the bar with our eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. There was plenty for us to see in a seedy town like this, but there was only one interaction that truly piqued our interested. I nodded at the man who was paying a little too much special attention to a woman, drawing Dean’s gaze in that direction. He was equally skeeved out. We kept an eye out for another hour or so before the weird activity took another step into the creep category.

We followed out the man who we caught following the woman, all the way to a neighborhood just outside the city. We made our move as soon as the man walked up to her house.

I followed Dean up to the house, and we started to slink around, waiting for any sign of trouble. I first checked through a window near the front of the house.

“Nothing,” I said, motioning for us to move further.

He took the lead, and we came up on a window that looked into the dining room. He slowly looked inside.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” Dean mumbled, pulling his head back from the window.

“What?”

“Well, do you want the chance to play out your little crime show fantasies?”

I raised a brow. He sighed, shaking his head.

“That’s not— well, it is a monster in there, but not our kind of monster,” he said, tilting his head.

“It’s a human?”

He nodded. “Looks like it. Nothing supernatural that I can see. She’s passed out now, but let’s get a move on before he starts in on her.”

He started walking towards the back of the house, but I stopped him before we got to the door.

“Can— How do we do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a human. We can’t just chop his head off or exorcise him.”

“We could still stab him.”

“But should we?”

He gave me a very unamused look, waiting for me to make my point.

“Can we attempt to just— Kick his ass and leave him to deal with life in prison? Only go for the shot if it’s necessary.”

He softened. “He killed people, Y/N, does he really deserve mercy here?”

“Do you really think the prison system is mercy?” I asked, earning a slight chuckle. “I just feel weird about killing humans unless our lives are in immediate danger.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. But if anything goes sideways—”

“Then you feel free to shoot him.”

He nodded curtly, then we continued to the door. He opened it carefully, and we stepped inside, checking our surroundings before we headed towards the woman in the dining room. We saw the man first, his back to us as he sat across the table from her.

“Playing house? Really?” Dean quipped, causing the man to whip around.

My gun was pulled before the man had a chance to stand up and react. He looked between us, obvious annoyance on his face.

“You’re not cops,” he stated.

Dean smirked. “No, we are much worse news for scumbags like you.”

“Now,” I started, “you can try and fail to fight your way out of here, or you can sit still while my partner here makes sure you’re sitting nice and pretty for when the cops do show up.”

Dean moved before he had a chance to formulate a response, dragging him out of the chair. The man tried to put up a fight, but it was pretty quickly silenced by means of a fist to the face. Dean left him on the ground after a few minutes and a roll of duct tape.

“Nice,” I commented, then put away my gun.

I moved to the woman at the table who was still passed out. I checked for a pulse, and when I was sure she was still breathing, I started undoing the binding that kept her to the chair. Dean called in an anonymous tip to the police station as I finished up clearing her of everything. She started waking right as I was about to try and move her to the couch.

“Hey, hey,” I said quietly, trying to give a little comfort before her panic set in. “You’re safe now, alright? You’re fine.”

Her eyes opened, and she immediately clung to me when she saw the man on the ground incapacitated.

“What happened?” she asked with a quivering voice.

“Me and my friend Dean saw this guy creeping around your house. We wanted to make sure everything was okay, and when we found out it wasn’t, we found a way in. The cops are on the way now.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.”

I glanced back at Dean with the ghost of a smile on my face. He raised his brows at me.

“Why don’t we get you to the couch?”

“You’re not staying?” she asked, still in shock.

“No, we gotta leave,” I said, helping her to the couch. “We’ll stick around for a few minutes outside till the cops get here, though.”

“Okay,” she nodded along absentmindedly as she laid on the couch.

I walked back to Dean, motioning for us to go outside. He looked back down at the man for a moment who was still passed out, then followed behind me. We got back to the Impala and waited.

“Weird to be thanked,” I said, watching the house.

He hummed. “Doesn’t happen often, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t believe we were accidentally hunting a serial killer.”

He snorted. “I’m surprised there’s not more crossover when we hunt.”

I hummed in agreement. “I also wonder why things changed so much. From the murders messy and public to being more confined in the homes.”

“Who knows,” he said, shaking his head. “Monsters make a hell of a lot more sense than people do.”

“You got that right.”

Soon enough we saw flashing lights coming down the street. We watched some officers step out of the first car, and a few more get out of an SUV.

“Is that FBI?” Dean asked, looking intently.

“I mean, we just found them a serial killer. They’ve probably been on high alert,” I said.

He nodded, and we watched for another moment as they prepared to go inside.

“Man, those vests are cool as hell in real life, too,” I commented.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he wrapped up the conversation with a laugh.

He pulled off the sidewalk at that, and started driving in the opposite direction of the cops. We decided to stay the night at the motel, neither of us awake enough to get back to Sam and Bobby. He pulled into the parking lot, and we trudged inside.

“At least we aren’t covered in monster guts this time,” I said as I fell onto the mattress.

“Right?” He chuckled. “Cool if I take the first shower?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

He shut the door of the bathroom, and I let out a sigh. All of the teamwork bull crap we’d been doing certainly didn’t help my case, but I could at least be thankful he didn’t want to go the bars and find a hookup. I threw my arms over my eyes and sighed.

“Hey,” I heard Dean’s voice call out, his hand on my knee.

I uncovered my eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve dozed off.”

He smiled. “Go take a shower.”

“You sayin’ I need one?” I asked with a quirked brow.

“Yeah. You’re a mess,” he replied, a playful glint in his eye. “I don’t know how I sat in a car with you all day, to be honest.”

I scoffed, getting up. He moved enough for me to get by, but didn’t let me get far before he started talking again.

“Movie tonight?” he asked.

I rustled through my bag, pulling out my pajama shorts.

“Sure.”

“Any requests?”

“Uh,” I started, still looking for a clean top. “Maybe a comedy. We could use something funny.”

“Good point.” He stared for a moment as I kept digging. “You missing something?”

“I can’t find my t-shirt. I thought I packed three in here.”

“Do you want one of mine?”

I paused, considering the offer. One one hand, I wouldn’t have to wear a cami to bed and risk accidentally flashing him in my sleep. One the other, I’d be wearing his shirt and that would be a sure way to get me in my own head. The risks of the first definitely outweighed my lack of self control.

“That would be awesome.”

He walked to his own bag, pulling out a shirt that matched the one he wore and handing it to me.

“I still think wearing our outside clothes to bed worked just fine.”

“Did you ever feel rested doing that?” I asked.

He sighed dramatically. I laughed.

“Exactly my point,” I said. “Most of your well-being has to do with mindset, Dean.”

He grumbled to himself as he settled into bed, and I took that as my chance to get in the bathroom. My shower was quick, especially since Dean used up most of the hot water. I knew I should’ve gone first, but it forced me not to stay in forever. I pulled on his shirt and my shorts, trying not to let myself smile when I saw myself in the mirror wearing his clothes. I walked back into the room before I allowed myself to think too hard.

He looked at me as I walked out, a smile creeping on his face. I fought back my own to raise a brow as I lingered at the foot of my bed.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Funny seeing you in my shirt.”

“Looks better on me than it ever did on you,” I sassed with a smirk, crawling into bed.

“Can’t argue with that,” he noted, still watching me. He cleared his throat a moment later, looking at the TV screen. “Uh, I found something, I think. They had Step Brothers on demand.”

“Oh, perfect,” I said as he clicked play.

We settled into a comfortable silence for a while, and I cuddled into the duvet. After we were halfway through the movie, I gathered the blankets around me even more.

“Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?” I asked, looking over to see Dean still sitting above the covers.

“It’s a little cold,” he shrugged, then looked at me. “I can check the heater.”

I nodded as he got up and crossed the room. He held a hand out, a puzzled look on his face after a moment. He smacked it with his hand, and still felt nothing.

“Hm. Hang on,” he said, moving to the phone. “Hi, I think the heater in here’s broken.”

A pause.

“Ah, great. Okay, thanks.”

He hung up the phone, looking to me apologetically.

“They said the heating’s down in the whole place.”

I sighed. “That sucks.”

He sat back in his bed, looking at me for a moment before he spoke again.

“I know it’s been a while since we had to, but do you wanna come sleep in my bed tonight? I run hot, it might keep you warm.”

“I know. I had to sleep next to you in the summer, and it was like roasting in an oven,” I chuckled.

“See? It’ll work perfect when you’re cold,” he said, standing again.

He pulled the covers back, getting underneath and patting the mattress next to him. I cursed myself for finding this case in the first place.

“Just don’t complain if I kick you in my sleep,” I said, getting out of my bed.

He chuckled. “I’m not worried about it.”

I got into his bed, and he threw the covers over me. He then reached over top of me to grab the remote, pressing play and slinging an arm around my shoulders. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, leaning into his side.

This position put me in a delicate spot, and I found that to be true more and more with every passing minute. Every time he laughed, I felt it reverberate in his chest. Every time he talked to me, I’d look up to see his face inches from mine. Every time he moved, he held me a little tighter.

In short, Bobby was all too correct about me being screwed.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice soft. “You okay?”

“Mm?”

I looked at him, once again trying not to think about the proximity.

“You always laugh at this scene. You didn’t make a sound this time.”

“Oh,” I chuckled, looking towards the screen. “Sorry, I must be exhausted.”

“Is that all? Seems like there’s something on your mind.”

“Alright, Dr. Phil,” I joked.

“Seriously,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just need some sleep,” I replied, glancing at him again with half a smile.

He quirked a brow, clearly not believing me, but willing to drop the subject.

“Okay. You know you can always talk to me?”

“I know.”

He smiled softly, then looked back at the TV as he shut it off. He settled into bed, still holding onto me. I snuggled into his side, using his chest as a pillow. I felt him breathe deep before he shut off the light.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Dean.”

I woke up the next morning before he did, and decided there was little harm in remaining there. I shut my eyes, letting myself enjoy the fact that I was still snuggled against him. It gave me a moment to pretend he was mine, at least for the morning. I listened to his breathing, and wondered if he ever dreamt about me in the same way I did about him. As if on cue, his arm tightened around me a little as he stirred. His thumb brushed against my shoulder where his hand had snuck under the sleeve of the t-shirt, though I couldn’t tell if he was really awake until I felt a soft kiss against the top of my head.

At that moment, I decided it was probably best to continue pretending I was still asleep.

He stayed that way for a little while, his hand still against my shoulder, making little patterns with his thumb. It took everything in me not to move when I felt him brush a few stray pieces of hair away from my face, and even more when he let his hand linger against my cheek for when felt like a few seconds too long to be purely friendly.

I wondered if he was always like this when I wasn’t awake. Extra attentive, and sure not to wake me. Maybe that’s why I somehow remained asleep every time I fell asleep in the car that normally jostled me around like a rag doll with his driving. I wondered even more if Bobby was right about something else he’d said days ago: the unrequited feelings might not be so unrequited after all.

I nestled my head against his chest, trying to give him a warning that I was about to open my eyes, and he quickly pulled his hand away from my face. I took in a breath, blinking slowly as I let the light seep in for the second time that morning.

“Morning,” he greeted quietly, his voice still soft and raspy from tiredness.

I smiled. “Morning.”

“You hungry?” he asked, drawing my attention to him.

I nodded, leaning back a little to see him better.

“Very, and I saw a café on the way into town that looked good,” I said.

He smiled softly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he yawned, finally sitting up. He turned and looked at me as I stayed laying.

“How’d you sleep? Warm enough?”

“Thanks to you, yeah,” I replied, stretching. “I’m scared to get out of bed, now, though.”

He patted my leg over the covers, “If you want food, that should be motivation enough.”

“Good point.”

I reluctantly climbed out of bed as he walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was cold, but not unbearable. I decided to throw on some clothes in the room since he always took a while in the bathroom. By the time he was finished, all I needed to do was wash my face and brush my teeth, then we were off.

Breakfast was short and sweet, and we made it back to Bobby’s in record time. We strolled in the door, seeing Sam gimping around the kitchen as soon as we walked in.

“Still letting that ankle beat your ass?” I asked immediately.

He laughed. “Trust me, if I had any control over it, this wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Maybe you just wanted out of the hunt,” I said in reply.

“Oh yeah, I loved hanging out and making Bobby bring me ice packs all day. Dream vacation, actually.”

Dean shook his head with a smirk. “You didn’t miss out on much anyway.”

“How’d it go?” Sam asked as he took a seat.

I looked to Dean who was already glancing in my direction. I shrugged.

“We stopped a serial killer, actually,” I noted.

Sam gaped. “And I ‘didn’t miss much’?”

“Just knocked him out and called the cops. Not much fun, anyways,” Dean shrugged. “Oh, we did find maybe the best pancakes I’ve ever had, though.”

I hummed in agreement enthusiastically, nodding.

“They were freaking incredible,” I said, then looked back at Sam. “And they had like, real, fresh maple syrup.”

“Unlimited stacks when you bought the platter, too,” Dean chimed in with a gleeful smile.

“You two sound like an old married couple,” Sam scoffed out with a laugh. “What, did you fall asleep together after reading the newspaper, too?”

“After watching a movie, actually,” Dean corrected, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Then, he looked at me. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m okay.”

Sam looked between us, a raised brow and an amused look on his face.

“You two actually fell asleep together?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you choose to focus on?”

He smiled mischievously, then looked at Dean.

“Making moves on her, now?”

Dean swallowed, glaring at his brother with wide eyes. I furrowed my brow, about to see if I could prod Sam for information, but Bobby walked in before I had the chance.

“Hey, you two. How was the hunt?”

Dean let out a breath. “Not real eventful. I could use some sleep.”

He started walking out of the room, all of us watching as he left. Bobby turned to me first, a questioning look on his face.

“Don’t look at me,” I said with my hands up in defense. “I think Sammy pissed him off.”

“Real smooth, Sam,” Bobby commented.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Bobby merely sighed, going to take a seat across from Sam. I looked at them both, hands on my hips.

“Why do I get the feeling you two know something I don’t?”

“Did Dean not talk to you?” Sam asked, looking at me.

“We talk plenty.”

“That’s not what I mean. He said he was gonna talk to you when the next case was over,” he stopped, then looked at Bobby. “Case came and went, and still nothing.”

Bobby shrugged. “Out of our hands, Sam. Told you not to meddle.”

I sighed in annoyance. “You two are children, you know that?”

“Hey,” Bobby said, offended.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” I said finally, turning for the door.

The second I was halfway out, they started talking again, but I couldn’t bring myself to care too much about what they said. Clearing my mind sounded like the best option, and I was determined to do it.

I started walking around the yard, music blaring from my phone to keep me preoccupied as I watched the sky light up with a million different colors. I found an old car with a relatively clean exterior and decided to climb onto the hood. I leaned back, watching the sky as it turned darker, the stars slowly peaking out.

“Room for one more?” Dean’s voice asked from behind me.

“Come on up,” I said, scooting over a bit.

He came and sat next to me, looking up at the sky. He let out a slow breath, then looked at me.

“Taylor Swift?”

“You know it,” I replied.

He smiled, turning his head back.

“Stars are coming out,” he commented.

“They are. You should’ve seen sunset, it was gorgeous.”

He scooted closer, leaning his head against mine silently. After a moment, I let myself lean against his shoulder a little more.

“You okay, Dean?” I asked after a beat.

“Of course. Why?”

“I dunno. You just seemed a little off when we got back today.”

He sighed. “Yeah. It’s— It’s nothing.”

“You sound like me, now.”

He chuckled. “Guess we’ve got the same bad habit, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

We stayed there until it got dark enough to really see the stars come out, not moving even when the chill of the night started creeping in. I readjusted my head against his shoulder, preparing myself to speak again.

“Did you really follow me out here just to look at stars?”

I felt him still. Then, after a moment, I sat up a little straighter and looked at him. He glanced back at me, clearly feeling caught out.

“Thought you could use some company.”

I raised a brow, and he smirked, looking away.

“Alright, you got me,” he said, “What gave it away?”

“First off, I’ve known you for years,” I started, nudging him in the arm. “Second, Sam and Bobby were all uppity about the fact that you apparently told Sam you had something to talk to me about.”

“I swear, he can’t keep a secret to save his life when it comes to stuff like this,” he said, rubbing at his face.

“Well, try me,” I said, unable to keep my eyes off of him. He was extra cute all flustered. “I’m a good listener.”

He let out a breath, then looked at me, scanning my face for a moment.

“I know I’ve got a certain type of reputation—”

“You?! No way,” I exclaimed with a smile, my eyes wide.

He laughed. “Exactly my point.”

“You know I don’t care about that, though. Reputations are a one-sided story.”

He hummed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He sighed, looking back at the sky for a moment.

“I just,” he started, giving a shrug, “I feel like it— Like it makes people feel like I never want anything but a hookup, you know?”

“It makes people feel that way?”

“I’m that easy to read, huh?” he asked, looking at me again with a faint smile. “You. I mean you.”

“I gathered that much.”

He laughed softly, as did I.

“How’d you know?”

“I had suspicions fueled by Bobby. Then you kissed me and started being all affectionate when you thought I was asleep this morning.”

His eyes widened. “You were pretending to be asleep? That’s so not fair!”

“Hey, I woke up snuggled into my own personal space heater, I didn’t exactly want to be up and at ‘em.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging me into his side with an arm around my shoulders once more.

“How long has it been for you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t even know. I guess I started realizing it a year or so ago.”

“That’s embarrassing for me, then. I knew the second I met you,” he said with a laugh.

“Dean,” I said with surprise. “It’s been half a decade! No wonder Bobby got on my ass about it before we left.”

“Well, hey, Sammy’s been on mine for a couple years. You got off easy up till now.”

I laughed. “I guess so. To be fair, we were flying under the radar for quite a while, though. The incessant flirting the past few weeks is what got us in trouble.”

“Why did you start being extra flirty, anyway?” he asked, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

“I don’t know. I guess I was, like, subconsciously seeing a window. You haven’t been doing your normal bar hookups the past few months, so I thought maybe there was a reason for it,” I paused. “Though, finding out you’ve been crushing on me for five years kind of makes me question that.”

He snorted out a laugh. “Easier to keep my mind off you that way. That sounds terrible. I just— I never thought in a million years you’d think anything of me.”

“Well, when did you realize I might?”

He sighed. “You remember a couple weeks back when we were taking down that vamp nest? You easily could’ve died, and we hugged afterwards, but when I pulled back I… I saw that look in your eyes that seemed an awful lot like how I look at you when you’re not paying attention. I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t doubt in that moment that you would’ve let me if I had.”

I paused. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. We’ve been friends for so long, and we practically do everything together. I didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that I was reading those signs all wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

He fell quiet for a moment. I looked up at him, and he looked back at me as I did. He quickly wet his lips, drawing my gaze downward before my eyes flicked back up to his. His lips parted momentarily. Then…

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here,” he said quickly.

I nodded curtly, pulling away to let him get off the hood first. He gave me a hand, helping me down next. We walked back to the house quietly, saying soft goodnights before we went to separate rooms.

I was all settled in for the night, cozy in my bed with a book in hand. Then, I heard a knock on the door. I grumbled as I got up, annoyed that I had to leave the comfort of a mattress that wasn’t a sure cesspool of germs I didn’t want to think about. I flung the door open.

“Someone better be dying or I’m gonna kick some ass for—”

Dean’s lips crashed into mine, effectively silencing me from my rant. I melted after a few seconds of mental delay, my hands gripping onto the material of his shirt as his cradled my face. I felt him smile into the kiss, drawing my closer with arms that snuck around my waist, holding me tight. He wasted no time in deepening the kiss once he was sure that the signs were all giving him a positive response.

We finally broke apart a few minutes later, breathing heavy with pounding hearts.

“I figured I should stop letting opportunities pass me up,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, good thinking.”

His eyes scanned over me, his chest still heaving.

“You wouldn’t happen to need another space heater for the night, would you?”

“I run cold, what can I say?” I replied with a smirk, and a spark in my eye.

He smiled, walking me into the room with his lips on mine, kicking the door shut behind him.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part one)

Steve Rogers x f!Reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve is about to walk out of your life, causing you to let go of everything you two have, and everything that could be.

📝 yes, the title is inspired by Taylor Swift's upcoming song The Bolter. In my interpretation and in this story, it is meant to symbolize someone who runs from someone or something. A potential relationship. A loved one. And the choice is not easy, one that may bring a lot of remorse or catharsis? Anyhow - Steve IS a bolter. In the beginning, at least.

themes/warnings : language, angst!!!, pining, unrequited love, Steve is kind of an asshole for leaving (but we love him anyway)

word count : < 1k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist ▪︎ next chapter

This is it.

This must be what true heartbreak feels like.

Steve, your best friend and the unrequited love of your life, has decided to volunteer to return the Infinity Stones to their respective timelines. Very noble of him.

But he also confessed that he plans to stay with Peggy, now that he finally has the chance.

They can have the dance that was stolen from them, decades ago.

Steve can be with his true love it seems. And that person is just not you.

Well, fuck my life.

"Doll," he smiles ruefully, both of your hands encased in his, "say something."

Say something, he says. What is there to say - I'm in love with you, I want you to stay with me? Don't leave me? I want you stay - for Bucky, for Sam, for Nat. For everyone. For me?

What can you fucking say that will ever be enough? In the 7 years that you've known Steve, you've grown to love him. As a friend, as family. Then, almost inevitably, as the only keeper of your heart. And he knows this.

But he's still leaving. Because, at the end of the day, Peggy is the keeper of his heart.

To you, Steve has always been everything good. Golden boy perfection, with a heart that would put a saint's to shame. Sunshine, laughter, companionship, standing tall and unwavering in his ideals. His gleaming red, white, and blue tendrils snaking their way into the very fibres of your being and taking root.

But now, all you feel is empty. You were angry, when he first told you, days ago. You had almost screamed at him, told him how unfair he was being. You made a long, drawn-out case for Bucky. How he doesn't deserve this. But really, you were making a case for yourself.

Stay, you had said.

He simply smiled, without any mirth. Not like his usual on-brand Steve Rogers gesture of sincerity. He smiled and it did not reach his eyes. He was sad, or maybe he pitied you. And that made you even angrier.

Until minutes later, when you finally broke down, and sobbed quietly in his arms.

"I hate you," you muttered against the creases of his shirt.

"I love you," he said back, and you hated him even more for it. He doesn't get to say that to you, in that way. Not in the same way he would say to Peggy.

Now, right before stepping onto the platform that will cause him to vanish from your life, he says it again.

"You do know that I love you, right?" His smile is genuine, if not a little nervous. He hoped you would be as accepting as Bucky, and send him off with just a rueful look. A gentle, final word. A sweet farewell that he can take with him as a reminder of all the times you spent together.

"I know," you breathe, relenting. Steve does not like that your eyes are glazed over, empty. Like you're not taking him in at all. You take notice of the resulting sag in his shoulders, out of character from the dignified stride he sported as he was saying goodbye to the others.

A big part of you wants to remain indignant. So what if he's hurt or uncomfortable due to your coldness? It serves him right.

"Come here," he whispers, and it comes across a silent plea. Come here? Will you, please?

You take just one small step closer, but he is already ahead, wrapping his arms around your frame. Your stony mask breaks as your cheek presses against his chest, away from his view. His chest plate glistens from your tears, but you don't have it in you to wipe them away.

When he pulls away to look down at you, his heart breaks. He cradles your face in his hands as you look up at him through wet eyelashes, and it's almost enough to make him consider staying.

But then you say, "It will all be okay, Steve." You gingerly pry his hands from your cheeks, giving them a comforting squeeze. "We will be okay."

You look behind you, where Bucky stands watching the exchange, and he offers an encouraging nod.

You take a step back, mustering everything that you possibly can, all the love you have for Steve, to give him one last genuine smile.

"Go get your girl."

Read part two here.

The way I was making myself upset while writing this - god I love angst!!! ~~~

I was gonna keep going, make it even more brutal, but I'll save that for the upcoming parts. It will have some Bucky x reader as well 🖤

God Bless America('s ass).

oh, and let me know if you wish to be tagged!

[temporalhiccup]

There are many different reasons to play ttrpgs, and sometimes creative catharsis is one of them.

Certainly it's a reason's Bluebeard's Bride is one of my favorite games, or why it's fun for me to play emotionally vulnerable characters in Bite Marks and Apocalypse Keys.

A couple of months ago I started playing DIE with some close friends, and a couple of new players I haven't had a chance to play with much. But it's a group that's played with each other often, and DIE has a really emotionally rich and complex premise we were excited for: "In DIE, you play a group of authentically flawed and desperate real-world people (Personas) who are sucked into a cursed roleplaying game and take on the form of heroes, villains and power players (Paragons)."

So I made a conscious decision to create a transmasc character and delve consciously and deeply into the act of catharsis. I have played trans characters before, (arguably ttrpgs are one of the ways I explored if I was trans but that's another story), but this was the first time I wanted to pull at the threads of my own confusion and sadness, trauma and regret. To work through my grief.

In real life, it's difficult to put into words the grief I am going through with my parents. It's a complex issue, but one of them is that my parents have always seen as me as their daughter, and all three of us cannot imagine me being anything else to them. My father has always pointedly interacted with my brother as a son, and has always faltered when I failed to act like the daughter.

It's hard to grieve because there are thousands of subtle nuances—their love for me, borne from endless sacrifice and hope, also places chains on me. To break those chains is to break them, to keep those chains on is to break me. I have broken myself over the decades, again and again, and there is never a shape that will please us three.

So for DIE I created a more intense caricature of fatherly trauma. Almost cartoonish in his abuse, with no room for nuance. Somehow in describing the black and white nature of this fictional father, and how it shaped my character, it's easier for me to see the shades of grey that my real father is. It's easier to find the shadows of me there too.

I realized today that in DIE, this traumatizing figure also contains the fear I had. Conditioned to be a woman, where my very existence can trigger violence from men. There are many reasons it took me so long to know I was trans, but one of those reasons was that I could not imagine taking on the shape of an oppressor.

It didn't matter that I knew many men who were gentle, loving, and kind. It didn't matter that what men are does not have to be defined by the patriarchy. Men were dangerous until I knew better. Men could betray my trust and become dangerous once they got to know me. Why would I want to take on the shape of something dangerous and harmful?

Today I explored a part of that. As an Emotion Knight my character draws upon the emotion of loathing—what better way to draw upon an aspect of gender dysphoria? To become strong, to fight, I had to give in just enough to my father's voice, its whispers from the war hammer in my hand. I had to take on his cruelty, the loathing I had for him and myself. I described the danger of falling into unthinking violence, to protect what matters to me. I was standing on the precipice, knowing I was a breath away from going too far.

All of this made it easier to see my real father, standing at the end of a corridor I will never reach. It feels like if I walk towards him, the corridor will stretch on and on, made of all the doors of all the daughters I could have been for him. One of them, any of them, would be better than what I am now.

That moment of catharsis felt breathless. I could feel myself falling towards the doors. Then I looked at the other players, and I could see all of them feeling for my character. Feeling for his pain, for his hope. Watching him stumble towards the edge. I could feel their hearts surrounding mine.

I don't remember what I said to Sherri, in character. I know I wanted her to pull my character back into this fictional moment. I know I wanted Sherri to pull me back into this reality, with her. Away from the corridor. It was enough that I saw the corridor for what it is, that I knew all its doors. That I knew they could never be opened.

This dance of catharsis feels safe. It's hard to describe how it's still fun, and wonderful, to connect to my friends' characters. To check-in and feel out if we were still having fun, trusting in the play, trusting in each other.

The game session ended hours ago, and we'll play again next week. But the corridor is still with me, and I feel it stretching behind me. I feel all its doors. When I close my eyes, I see my father's back, walking away from me.

Maybe next week I'll try walking down that corridor. Maybe I'll call out to my father, knowing he won't turn around. Maybe I'll leave it behind. Maybe I won't do anything for now, because grief takes time. I don't know.

I just know that I'm very grateful to be here, to be loved, to play. I'm grateful for the stories we tell together, and how it can help us retell our own stories about ourselves.

This story of grief is hard, but I'm grateful. It means I chose to survive, to live, to be me.

It hurts to choose myself over my parents love for me, but I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm choosing all the people who love me, who see me when I cannot yet clearly see myself.

[amysky21]

I am devastated that I don’t have any friends that listen to Worlds Beyond Number, because the new episode (ep 33 The Witness) is the single best episode of a ttrpg actual play I think I’ll ever see (figuratively, because it’s a podcast).

The insane amount of trust between all of them to be able to let loose on each other’s characters in such an (understandably) volatile way was just awe inspiring. It evoked so much feeling, and such complex feelings. The characters are having a rough time (understatement) and to finally have the horrible emotional catharsis of release was horrible and beautiful. It had the vibe of ‘my parents are fighting’ in all the right ways.

Also the sound design was phenomenal. Taylor worked some kind of magic with all of the details, and (vague spoilers) Suvi’s identify spell was such an amazing experience to hear. It almost felt like the magic of seeing the scene in the boat from the old Charlie and the chocolate factory movie, just a torrent of feelings and sounds.

@quiddie’s rp was breathtaking. Literally, I had chest pain from how stressed I was (affectionate). Suvi is the most intricately complex character I’ve ever had the pleasure to obsess over and I adore her because of how humanly real she feels.

I literally don’t have the words to explain how much I loved this episode. This image just about sums it up.

Ps, I’ve watched all d20 seasons and some other stuff and don’t think I’d ever heard Lou raise his voice seriously before (“you lied” from Ravening War is the closest but that didn’t have the same vibe because it was about being slammed down big style) and I fully put my hand over my mouth like a shocked Victorian woman. God, they’re all just such good actors, storytellers, improvisers aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[solaquintette]

A Feminist Reading of Junko Touhou

The following is a slightly reworked thread I posted to the Everything App last year, using Euripides' Medea as a device to explore how Junko Touhou (from Touhou) subverts our expectations of stories of women seeking revenge.

One of the reasons I adore Junko and why her story features so heavily in my art is because of how she subverts the typical portrayal of female rage and revenge in literature and media. I often see her as Euripides' Medea-if-she-was-fucking-awesome. Traditionally, 'female rage' is depicted as something rooted in romantic betrayal, often directed at a man who has been unfaithful, with his mistress also falling victim to the scorned woman's wrath. While feeling anger over infidelity is obviously valid, literature often acts as though this is the most intense pain a woman can feel, as though it is the only justifiable reason for her to unleash her rage and seek revenge. Even when it comes to the loss of a child, stories frequently assign the role of avenger to the father, while the mother is left to express her grief in a quiet, restrained manner, expected to endure rather than act.

Junko completely rejects that mold. While her grudge is initially directed at Hou Yi, a man, it has nothing to do with romance, infidelity, or rejection (at least in Touhou canon; her mythological origins vary). She isn't heartbroken over love; she is a mother whose child was taken from her, and she is out for revenge, pure and simple. And once Hou Yi is out of the picture, her rage turns to Chang'e, not because of a petty rivalry, not because of beauty, not because of a man, but because she needs to avenge her son at any cost. There is no underlying romantic narrative, no love triangle, no traditional "woman scorned" trope. Her rage is unfiltered and all-consuming.

What makes Junko's depiction even more striking is that her grief and rage are not presented in a way that is easy to digest. They are not subtle, delicate, or aesthetically pleasing. They are messy, relentless, and brutal. Even her danmaku lacks beauty. It reflects the rawness of her pain, an expression of fury that refuses to be softened or romanticised. Junko does not conform to the palatable, almost sanitised versions of female vengeance often depicted in media, where anger is neatly packaged into clever manipulation or quiet suffering. Instead, she embodies something far more visceral and real.

There is something deeply relatable about Junko’s need for revenge, particularly for anyone who has ever experienced loss or injustice. Her rage seems directionless to those who haven't felt that kind of grief. After all, Chang’e didn’t personally kill her son. And yet, if you’ve ever suffered a wrong so profound that the thought of seeing the perpetrator go unpunished feels unbearable, Junko’s quest makes perfect sense. Justice is not always attainable, and the idea of having to simply accept that reality is its own kind of hell. Junko exhausted every possible avenue for vengeance, and ultimately, her pursuit is futile. The one person who remains as a final target for her rage cannot even be killed. And even if she could kill Chang’e, it would never bring her son back. Her story is a bleak but brutally honest portrayal of grief: there is no true resolution, no catharsis, just the endless, aching persistence of loss.

Her identity is almost entirely consumed by this loss. The idea of grief shaping or even erasing identity is something worth exploring on its own, but in Junko’s case, it is clear that she has stripped herself down to nothing but vengeance. In many ancient cultures, particularly in antiquity, a woman’s identity was intrinsically tied to her role as a mother. When Junko lost her son, she lost not only him but also the identity that had previously defined her. And yet, instead of fading into obscurity or assuming a different role, she reconstructed herself around her grief and her fury, becoming something entirely new, something purely vengeful, purely wrathful.

This is where the connection to Medea feels so strong. One of the reasons Medea is often regarded as a ‘feminist’ work is that she does not meet the expected tragic end for a woman who enacts revenge. She does not get sent to hell, does not beg for forgiveness, she isn't put back in her place by her husband. Instead, she ascends, outwitting Jason and becoming something greater in the process. In much the same way, Junko’s rage does not destroy her. It transforms her. Her purification and ascension into a divine spirit mirror Medea’s ascension. Her wrath does not lead to her downfall, it's the very thing that elevates her. That is such a subversive and powerful way to depict a woman’s quest for revenge.

Sometimes I feel guilty for always drawing Junko suffering, but there is so much depth and untapped potential in her character. Her story is so much more than finding a neat resolution to grief or a moral lesson about the perils of holding a grudge. i love you Junko touhou ❤️❤️❤️

[godzillabreath]

wwdits finale

I feel like I've written one of these chunky text posts after every season of What We Do in the Shadows, but I always feel so incensed about the decisions the writers continued to push.

I really do feel like season 3 reached the pinnacle of what the show was for me, and for me, it hasn't justified its continued existence since then. Ultimately, post-season 3 they decided to go with the overarching theme of "nothing ever changes, this is a metaphor for the long, listless immortal lives these vampires have." Guillermo is upset by this unchanging nature, but we never get to have a catharsis for him. He is ultimately stuck in their mire, and so it feels unsatisfying to end the series by having him continually strung along. It's not only unsatisfying, but it genuinely feels bad.

What would have been more interesting is if the writers had Guillermo push back against the unchanging apathy the vampires experience and provoke them, make them aware of their endless drifting, change and challenge them.

I really loved the idea of Nandor wanting to be human again in season 3 episode 8. I wish this could have been a long-running theme explored with him. Such an ancient vampire feeling so disenfranchised and out of time struggling with the idea of being human again, have some kind of emotional tether to the world. I think it would have been cool if, somehow in the end, Nandor could have been made human again, allowed to live a life he never really had. Guillermo could have easily facilitated this change in him. It writes itself.

Another thing I really didn't like in the finale was the explicit jab at anyone who ever found the relationship dynamic between Nandor and Guillermo compelling. Creating this framework of "Nadja hypnotizes you fool audience members into thinking Nandor and Guillermo are this married gay couple, that's so funny, it all exists in your stupid mind" felt very much like a punch down. I could probably extrapolate this argument out further to talk about the weird "woke homophobia" from the showrunners' framing: how queerness is always used as a punchline, how queer culture is a quippy line or a pride flag but not an actual element of the show, how queer relationships aren't ever allowed to exist seriously on screen in the way straight ones are. So yeah, that sucks.

Lastly, I felt the ending was disappointing because it eschewed any ideas. The showrunners decided to make it meta and self-referential as a opt out of saying anything conclusive for the characters or for the audience. It was lazy, bland, and unsatisfying. It will go down in my mind as a show that was half-good, with all this unrealized growth from season 3 siphoned into 3 additional seasons of sitcom slop.

[yandere-daydreams]

pretty personal, but wanted to thank you for helping me (quite some years ago) come to terms with my s.a. experience. the way that you write unhealthy power dynamics, rape and dubcon is very authentic (in sense if not in form) and seeing it clearly expressed by you that those shifty, difficult to prove as s.a. encounters ARE coercion was very helpful. dubcon writing gets a terrible rep, but imo it's ironically very informative when done with intent (as in without excusing the actions as normal because they are between partners. or because you didn't excplicitly say no. and other many things that muddy the waters).

like. getting to read something that clearly acknowledges s.a. as s.a. and then also reframes it felt almost like reclaiming it.

i was reading geiman's allegations transcript and it brought up shitty traumatic memories, which in turn reminded me of how you were the writer that made the horrible lonely shameful experience (because surely if you let it happen to you it's partly your responsibility. surely you could have been more explicit in your no. surely you being dependent on the person for your survival had nothing to do with why you had to convince yourself your s.a. was totally consensual sex) feel less lonely. so. thank you.

anon this is such a heartbreaking and reflective and beautiful ask to receive but you MUST understand that it's currently sandwiched between about twenty-five monsterfucking discourse asks on either side. there are benefits and downfalls to using this platform and one of them is the lack of delineation between serious asks and. well. the rest of them.

no but seriously, i do feel like horror is a genre that gets discredited pretty often despite being one of, if not the most helpful types of fiction in terms of working through traumatic subject matter. i love romance, but it kind of has a habit of glorifying unhealthy behavior or justifying dynamics that shouldn't end happily with the ultimate goal of preserving veneer of positivity that is simply,,, detached from the events being depicted. in horror, there's a little more room to acknowledge horrific things as horrific because they're supposed to horrific, and the complicated feelings and catharsis you receive from that acknowledgement is, like, the entire point. it feels obvious that a spade should be a spade and that bad things are bad, and yet, here we are.

that explanation kind of sucked and my thoughts on the subject are very abstract, but thank you for sending this in <3 i'm glad my silly little blog could help in any way you needed it to.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Part of the reason I stopped writing fanfic was because my audience expected sanders sides from me and I was sort of petering out on that series already. There was more to it than that though. I could’ve moved on to other fandoms. Maybe gotten an ao3 account and just been someone that writes for a lot of fandoms. But there’s other things about it I don’t really find fulfilling anymore.

Fanfiction is by its nature really limiting. You’ve gotta stick to certain characters, certain archetypes, certain specific tropes if you want to get back a lot of positive feedback. Or feedback in general.

And constructive criticism doesn’t really exist in fandom space either. People are either really positive about your work or huge dicks to the point of easy dismissal. And that’s partially because of all the unspoken rules. Only say nice things or don’t say anything at all. Which I don’t necessarily disagree with because fanfic is free brain candy made for you by a person who’s just passionate about what they’re doing. It’s nearly cruel to try and offer unsolicited criticism in that kind of situation.

But people just want certain things from fanfiction. Fantasy fulfillment, love, very specific types of catharsis, 14 year old goth kid levels of dark and edgy. And there was a point in my life I was fine with that but I can’t anymore.

My ideas got too different. People stopped reading. I stopped wanting to finish things. My prose style is often abrupt and short and poetic. I enjoy being experimental. Experimentation isn’t generally appreciated in fanfiction. Not as much as it is in published fiction in my opinion.

Yes published fiction has its own issues. Its readers are also creatures of habit. But not quite as much as fanfiction readers. And at the end of the day, I realized I want to be a writer. Like a professional writer. Even if that just ends up being a side thing for me. And fanfiction doesn’t really get you there most of the time. For some select few it has, but those folks are often in the romance or smut marketplace. I am not.

Fanfiction has its place. It had its place in my past. I got a lot of practice. I met some good people. But I don’t really read or write it anymore.

I guess what I’m saying is that if fanfiction isn’t fulfilling for you anymore, you’re under no obligation to keep writing it or reading it. I’ve got a perfectly happy online life these days hopping from one fandom to another on a whim without any fanfiction at all. I feel a lot better getting feedback on my writing by talking with other writers and my friends and family about it. I no longer feel like I’m just sending something out into the world to be met with silence. I’m no longer embarrassed to show people I know in my personal life my writing because they haven’t seen the source material the work is based on. My work is just my work, unconnected to the baggage of a source material. I get more ideas from reading, I’m reading a larger variety of things, I’m meeting people who like reading and writing published fiction.

Fanfiction can be great, it can be for some people the kind of writing they want to do forever. But there’s a whole world outside of it. And depending on who you are, it might be holding you back. Just something worth thinking about.

[cryingpariah]

I know that we (Usopp Nation) love to discuss the multiple different ways the eventual meeting between Usopp and Yassop could go but today I wanted to discuss how I think the Strawhats would react to Usopp having/wanting/feeling like he needs to meet his father but hesitating for [Insert reason here].

Luffy: Likes Yassop obviously and would be excited to see him again! But our emotionally intelligent king would pick up on Usopp's vibes and just outright ask him what’s wrong. Would respect his decision to go or not go. If it’s a no though, he'd go and break the news but do it much too bluntly (“Yeah, Usopp didn’t want to come!”). Honestly the whole time there he’s unintentionally making Yassop feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Zoro: Pretends to not care/not have an opinion when he in fact has plenty of both. Zoro's just not the kind of person to care about blood connections, not his own anyway, so he'd probably veer on the side of not going but acts neutral. Regardless of Usopp's decision though Zoro is there to make sure he sticks to it, no wussing out! If he says he’s going he’s going, even if he’s got to hide behind Zoro the whole walk there.

Nami: Usopp's BFFL. She’s there to hype him up! No shitty absent father is allowed to make him feel like shit! She’s helping him get ready, picking a killer outfit and hairstyle for him, everyone knows looking good is the best social armour! If he decides not to go she’s still dressing up him but this time to go and paint the town red! If he does want to go she’s heading there right alongside him! Even if it looks like she’s engaged with something else best believe she’s keeping a hawk eye on Usopp.

Sanji: Guy who is so anti biological father. Is staunchly against Usopp going but tries to hide it behind neutrality and fails miserably. Ultimately though having had some emotional catharsis with facing his own father he’ll accept Usopp's decision no matter what. Absolutely tags along and brings a dish because he was raised a proper chef. (“Oh this? It’s Usopp’s favourite. Not that you had any way of knowing.” *faux polite customer service smile*)

Chopper: Little fella is CONFLICTED. On one hand he’s literally only heard good things about Yassop from both Usopp and Luffy so obviously this guy must be great! But if that was true why did Ussop look so..scared? He decides to approach this from a doctor perspective first by sitting Ussop for a checkup and letting him ramble all his thoughts out. If Usopp decides not to go Chopper's making an official announcement that Usopp's got ‘can’t-leave-the-boat-disease and has to stay for his own good.

Robin: Notices Usopp's discomfort immediately and whisks him away. Sits him down with a cup of her secret stash of soothing tea and lays down all the facts for him. Yes, he has no obligation to go see his father just cause he’s here. No it doesn’t make him a bad person if he doesn’t want to. Despite how wildly different they are, she’s the best at understanding his feelings right now and all that come with it. If he decides to not go, she’ll go in his stead to explain (and also to make sure Yassop doesn’t try to go himself).

Franky: He’s about as emotional as you’d expect. He’d probably be encouraging Usopp to go, not for his dad but for himself. His dreams of being a ‘proper man’ and ‘brave warrior of the sea’ means he shouldn’t live or die with regrets or what ifs. Regardless of Usopp's decision, Franky just wants to make he won’t regret for one reason or another. Will tag along and hype up Ussop to anyone and everyone.

Brook: Like Robin he’s taking Usopp somewhere else to calm down and think. He’s also playing him some soft violin to relax to. They don’t talk much, just let the music guide them for a bit. In a moment of violin driven vulnerability, Brook would tell Usopp that regardless of what does or does not happen, he has a place and a family right here, and that won’t ever change. Places neutral but would prefer if Usopp stayed and didn’t risk getting hurt.

Jinbei: Probably knows Yassop on a semi-causal level and therefore knew of Usopp long before FMI. Was really stunned upon hearing this would be Usopp's first proper meeting with his father. Jinbei's got plenty of sage of advice and can wash away Usopp's parental insecurities by reminding him of who he is and how any man worth a damn would be proud to call him his son. Stays behind if Usopp goes but only because he’s worried of overstepping if he does.

BONUS! (Argue with your mama, your daddy and your congressman Vivi will be the final Strawhat!!)

Vivi ft Karoo: They’re absolutely gobsmacked. Vivi's the one that brings out some latent anger Usopp doesn’t even realize he’s been holding in. I can definitely see Vivi wanting to go even if Usopp's not, she’s very confrontational after all but she defect to what Usopp wants ultimately. If he does want to go she’s right there with him and is totally throwing some shade Yassop's way. Karoo is there as a supportive friend and a quick exit strategy if Usopp needs it.

[maybeyoullfindthissomeday]

Carls,

If you found this, then either you were really lucky or I did something really stupid. Either way, I hope these words find you well. I think we were always firm believers in things happening for a reason. And maybe, I had to get through those "things" to be able to get to you, to enable me to put forward the best version of myself, because that's what you deserve: the best. Not saying that I am the best that this world has to offer, because obviously, I'm not. It’s that I know within every fiber of my being I would do my best to make you feel love like you have never felt before. You know more than anybody what these past two years took and what re-wiring had to occur to find true happiness, maybe something I’ve never ever felt before. Not saying things would be perfect everyday between us because it won’t be. There’ll be a few bad days and the mediocre days, but then those make the good days seem worth it, especially the best days like we had in Chicago, where I had an epiphany and fell for you during Illenium’s set.

Please know that I did try to let the feelings fade, but they didn't, at least not enough to prevent me from writing my shitty poetry for you. But you're here now, and all I can say is that I'm sorry. These poems might be seen as a violation of trust, and/or ruining the pureness of our friendship. It’ll be clear why I had to hide this, at least until the moment was right. So if you’re uncomfortable about the sexual nature of some of these poems, then there’s a link on the side menu to skip them. However if you’re curious, then they’re here for your all-viewing pleasure, but I beg of you to please understand that a lot of this is art and maybe release (not that kind, lol, just catharsis). When you write about love, sometimes the lust breaks through too, and also, sex is easy to write about, at least, for me. I hope you know that I rarely think about it when we spend time together, even though you know I’m a sex and love addict. I believe you know more than anybody that we didn’t become friends with each other for the reason that you were attractive and that there was a possibility of us being together. You were never a back-up plan, and you never should be. You are my best friend, and if there is anybody I want to do life with, it's exactly that, a partner in crime, a festival buddy, a confidant, and a soulmate. And there shouldn't be any secrets between such a pair... so here is my writing from at least since Chicago, and I’m sure you can read between the lines.

I’m ready when you are...

[sillylittleguy420]

It always sort of upset how much people in this fandom seem to misread Giyuu and Shinobu's relationship? Not in the sense that it "is or isn't romantic" but more so in the sense that Giyuu is a sensitive wittle baby and Shinobu is bullying him - I hate that read, it feels like a lot of people have just NEVER had actual friends in their entire lives - and more importantly I feel like it downplays the obvious fact that these two are really fucking tight.

I mean I could bring up the fact that Giyuu manages to match Shinobu's passive aggressive energy, Shinobu being the only person outside of Ubuyashiki who GETS Giyuu in any meaningful way (According to the Light Novels, which we can assume are canon. I mean hopefully, that's literally where half of the dynamics come from, BECAUSE THE MAIN SERIES SURE AS SHIT NEVER ESTABLISHED ANY OF THESE -), Giyuu having a clear reaction to her death in Infinity Castle, or even Shinobu knowing exactly what Giyuu means when he says "I'm not like you guys" and telling him to explain himself. But instead - I will raise another point!!!! It's clear that when these two banter there's a clear sense of Catharsis between them. Shinobu gets to drop the act and actually be herself, and Giyuu can loosen his shoulders and relax. I think them gnawing at each others throats during Mount Natagumo is a pretty clear example of their dynamic - even if it's more violent than it would usually be. It's very sibling coded if I had to put a nail on it? There's not really a sense of decorum between the two of them, it feels like at any moment either one of the two will throw a jab at the other. Maybe a "You're not reaching that, even on your toes." Or a "Ah, Your awful expression scared those kids away! For shame." And I think both of them appreciate that level of comfortability. If she was paired with anyone else during Natagumo, I don't think Shinobu would've been so biting? Like if it was Rengoku, Mitsuri, or even Sanemi? (Who I think she's also VERY close with, but in a completely different context to her relationship with Giyuu) I think she would've kept up the air of kindness, instead of jumping straight to "Nobody likes you, you fucking dork." But because it was her favorite Wet Cat of a man, she felt comfortable in being so crude. Even if Giyuu probably sat on that for a while for sure. He probably made direct eye contact with Tanjiro and went "Kamado likes me. . ." in his head. But ah, that's a part of the reason I view it as so sibling coded. I wish we got to see more of Shinobu and Giyuu's dynamic, we got a bit in Giyuu Gaiden, and some in the light novels, but it never felt substantial enough for me - and that's probably why so many people misread it so thoroughly, because the series doesn't really do a good enough job of establishing their sibling-like relationship and ribbing tendencies. Then again. . . Demon Slayer and not expanding on these fun and interesting characters in any meaningful way outside of the exact moment where they fucking DIE go pretty hand in hand.

[akajustmerry]

I've been thinking a lot about the hatred for alicent from fans online and I've realised that a lot of tv and film show enjoyers who claim to love "female rage" media actually only want "female rage" wrapped up in neat little package of catharsis and inoffensiveness. strictly talking about the series as a show here (I have not read the book) so this is not about fans with legit critiques of how alicent has been adapted ofc! but it's ironic seeing people with furiosa or pearl icons talk shit about alicent being a Bad Mother, about her being depressed, unkind, selfish, and hypocritical - as if this is not rage. A lot of you just want the single serve catharsis of violence or terror, the fantasy of flying off the handle - you don't actually care about attempts to accurately portray the anger women feel when they're oppressed. did you expect alicent to be a perfect and doting mother to children she had as a teenager due to marital rape in a forced marriage? did you actually want her to show kindness to her sons who murder and rape people? can you even sympathise with why she won't do those things? alicent is someone who never had an ounce of autonomy in her life and has spent her whole life furious about it with nowhere for that rage to go. because if she ACTUALLY lashes out in rage? well, you saw!!!!!!! it does nothing!!! because for women in highly patriarchal societies, their rage is met with apathy or punishment or death. one thing I deeply love about alicent in the show is how angry she is without any relief or healthy outlet for it. It's what makes her feel real. it's what makes her compelling. watching how terrible and misogynistic and vitriolic fans are towards her has really made me realise you don't care about female rage unless it offers you something, unless it comforts you! A lot of you don't want to face facts that a woman being angry is often uncinematic, and "problematic." you're confronted with just a fraction of woman character's rage with no catharsis, and you're oh so ironically calling her a bitch.