#this change goes for all my blogs so i can actually get things done )

[thedouglastrap]

Something about this post is bugging me, but every time I to put my finger on it, I feel like the reason slips away. So I think I'll just try to sort through it here and see where that leads me.

Mechanical changes impacting play style makes sense, but I think I question the cause and effect here. Because the rules mentioned that "encouraged the GM to think of monsters as real living creatures", morale and reaction rolls, are things that seem (to me at least) less about making these monsters seem real and more about adding more angles to introduce randomness to random encounters. If a random aboleth shows up while you're walking from point A to point B, a reaction roll is a quick and dirty way to see how they view the players, but it doesn't account for what an aboleth is. Similarly, a morale roll is giving a method beyond the DM just making an arbitrary ruling sans dice. That's not to say that a good DM can't use the roll to breathe some life into an encounter, of course, but I don't know if I would say those rules being removed/put in the flavor rather than made a general rule was a primary contributor to a greater emphasis on combat, or if that was even an intentional design choice.

(as a side note: looking up what reaction rolls actually were were, I stumbled onto a blog about the whole OSR thing in ttrpgs, and decided to go down the rabbit hole for a bit. It seems like a lot of the conclusions being drawn in this post are close to issues raised over there, but they tend to include AD&D2e as a point where the shift happened, making it less a TSR/WotC difference)

Now, if there IS a greater focus on combat in that shift, I think it's probably due to the game getting crunchier over time during that shift. 2e seemed to start it off with a wide variety of optional rules, and 3.x cemented it. But notably, it did this for non-combat as well, which makes me think that it was less a design choice to make things more combat oriented and more to provide comprehensive rules, with combat being the most fleshed out part in service to the whole heroic adventure aesthetic.

I think one of the biggest issues I'm running into is the following point about how encounters have to be these justified forced combat encounters and the dissonance this can provide. I think part of that is because that conclusion just doesn't match up with the reality I was seeing playing 3.x or seeing other people talking about it. Not to say combat wasn't the focus, but plenty of non-combat encounters happened, enemies ran away, scenarios were derailed by roleplay rather than combat, etc. And sure, that's anecdotal, but I think it's relevant. The game does, after all, provide individual sections for monsters giving a basic rundown of what the creature is. Some are more bare-bones than other, but when Archons are listed as "never attacking first, but being easily provoked", that's a pretty clear indicator that forced combat should not be the default assumption. If players ignore that, sure, but that's no different than ignoring reaction rolls imo.

The real difference, I think, is the afforementioned shift from a focus on an open world where the party has more freedom to explore and do whatever they want while the world happens around them, to a focus on more structured narratives where the players are characters in a story that is unfolding around them. Its a shift away from "well the dice say there's an aggressive dragon swooping in, have fun with that" towards "I planned out the encounter you're gonna run into between startersville and plotlandia". That also kinda follows from the idea of encounter balance. Having a random dragon swoop in on a third level party isn't a balanced encounter unless the DM goes out of their way to make it one, but that takes more time and prep than rolling a few dice and opening to a statblock can account for. And yes, planned encounters like this can, if done poorly, just be a shooting gallery of forced fights with thin justifications. It could also be well crafted encounters where you could talk down the goblins instead of fighting by opening trade negotiations.

The play style that the difference in design encourages isn't so much "fight all the things vs treat your enemies like actual living things" as it is "how structured do you want this game to be", which is ultimately value-neutral. And the moral disconnect about what you're fighting seems like an entirely separate thing from that. Neither style inherently encourages or discourages that, and it feels uncharitable to say that WotC-era d&d is more skewed to be morally uncomplicated than TSR-era.

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[ohcaptains]

don’t you dare fall in love | 3

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader

PART ONE. PART TWO. MASTERLIST. synopsis. ellie tries her hardest not to mix business with pleasure. or, ellie gets a new customer and unfortunately falls in love with her.

warnings. 18+. blank & ageless blogs will be blocked. clichè comments on sorority girls (sorry), sexually explicit descriptions of female receiving cunnilingus, fondling, fingering, and dry humping. not beta’d.

an. well here ya go! thank u to all those who were so patient and lovely with me<3 to those who weren’t and were mean to me...i’m giving you the nastiest dirty look rn. pls comment and reblog!!!! love u. 

When Ellie gets out of her meeting with her personal tutor, she’s just about ready to throw herself down the stairs.

Catapult herself out of the window and perish on the campus floor. That way, she wouldn’t have to rewrite this God. Damn. Essay.

It sucks that she has to do actual work to get her degree, but what sucks even more, is doing the work and being told you’ve done it all wrong.

At first, Ellie was angry. Now, she’s frustrated. Tired. Was up all night writing this essay because she’s been waiting for this meeting for a whole week, and all the man did was say, you’re not actually answering the question.

“Fucking asshole,” she murmurs, pushing through the doors.

She reaches the quiet hallway of the humanities block, the dilapidated building stuffy with age. She misses her uber-funded science building. Misses the cool white and sleek edges. Here, there’s paper covering everything.

The hallways go round and round – lift creaks from the weight of students carrying War and Peace in their backpacks, year after year.

She’s near tears when she hears you calling her name.

“Els?” you ask, tone confused and edged with excitement. Ellie’s heart does its little familiar leap. She turns to you, sniffing the tears away. It’s been a minute since she saw you in the flesh. Her body aches, eager to touch you. “Hey,” she greets, the presence of you brightening her mood for a sweet second. You’re wearing a casual pair of black jeans and a band tee – Ellie owns a similar one, and for a moment, she thinks you’re wearing her shirt. “I was just about to text you –” you start, but your face twists, noticing hers. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Ellie lies. The tears push harder now, your concern making her belly flop.

You frown. “No, you’re not.”

Her lip wobbles.

“Ellie?” “Sorry, just – fuck --” her eyes are rimmed red, tears pushing over the edge. “—had a really shitty meeting with my tutor about my essay that’s worth like, 50% of my grade and I’m so busy with other work and—” a tear slips down her cheek, but you’re quick to take her in your arms, murmuring, “oh, Els,” as you cup her head and pull it into your neck.

She releases a breath, leaning her full weight into your body.

You smell like laundry detergent and coffee. Smell familiar. She’s comfortable here. It’s why she lets herself begin to cry against your shoulder.

“Awh, sweetheart,” you whisper, hands running up and down her back, soothing her like a baby.

“What did the feedback say?” “Have to change the whole thing. And I have enough time, but I have other work.” “Yeah, I can imagine.” “He basically said that if I submit this essay, I’ll fail.” “Well, you won’t, because I’ll hack into the system and change your grade for you.”

Ellie hiccups a laugh, “you know nothing about computers.” “I’ll learn for you. Take some night classes. What’s the essay for?” you ask, still rubbing her back. “English.” “I can help you if you want.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, come to mine. I’ll look through the question with you, and help you plan.”

Ellie pulls away, wiping her wet, red-rimmed eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. You help her, drying the dampness from her chin and cheeks, and smoothing her hair behind her ears.

She beams from your touch. Her body goes hot from your care -- belly flips over.

You hold her shoulders, keeping her steady, and Ellie thanks the Gods you texted her that day. Your smile is resolute as you say, “It’ll be okay. We got this.”

When you open the door to your accommodation, Ellie is mid panic attack. “You live in a sorority?” she squeaks. When you sent her the address earlier, she hadn’t really read it, too busy trying to calm her beating heart. Going to her house going to her house.

Now, she’s standing in front of you, and thinking – this is your house? There’s a teardrop chandelier hanging behind you, and the staircase loops around the entrance hall, feeding into the back of the house.

You frown, confused. “Yeah, did I not tell you?” “No – “Ellie bursts, clearly flustered, “-- you failed to provide me with that information.” She makes a mental note to text Dina, simply – what the fuck, man? “Is it a problem?” you wonder, leaning against the doorframe, comfortable in your home. (Wearing pyjama shorts and a baggy top, you know, comfortable)

You didn’t seem like a sorority girl. But what did that even mean?

You did have a lot of…spirit.

Ellie imagines you hosting mixers and philanthropy events.

(Imagines you wearing a lot of pink and jumpers with your sorority name on it and nothing else.) “I don’t really sell to frats or sororities,” she explains, because, yeah, that’s the reason she’s having a hot moment. She thought she knew a lot about you. This, right here, is a big deal, and yet she’s only now just finding out.

What else did she not know about you? You think for a quick second. “Oh. Well,” you smile, patting your chest, concluding, “I’m the exception,” and you take her hand and pull her in, closing the door behind her.

When Ellie’s in the house, she doesn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, she uses it to tug you closer, and your wrist pushes into her belly. “They let queer girls into sororities?” she whispers, close enough to taste the mint gum you’re chewing.

Ellie has ideas of girls on the straight and narrow. No girl kissing here, unless guys are watching. Ellie cringes at the cliché, but you’re not offended – hadn’t heard her thoughts, so, that would be why – as your lips pull into a sly smile.

You lean forward, a ghost of a kiss. Ellie’s throat squeezes. “They don’t know that I’m a queer girl,” you whisper back, the heat of your eyes all-consuming.

Ellie watches you shrug.

“They don’t know that at least a quarter of them are queer girls, but – they’re not ready for that conversation.” “But you’re out, no?” Ellie quickly stumbles. If you’re not out, then that really messes with her plans to marry you and meet all your family. “Yeah,” you shrug again, explaining, “they just haven’t asked,” as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. In some ways, Ellie guesses, it is. She beams, “Well, they’ll ask when they see you hanging with me.” “What, why?” “Because I’m a known queer girl” “Oh, you have a reputation?” you quirk, and Ellie hums, “It’s possible I may have fooled around with some of your sorority sisters.” You chew on your lip, and cock your head to the side, “But did you share a really weird and intimate high with them where you cuddled all night, woke up mid-orgasm and then it made things super weird and odd to the point where you never really spoke about it again?”

Ellie grins, “No.” You shrug, “Oh, well. I win then,” and take her hand and begin to drag her behind you like a lost puppy dog.

She’s behind you on the stairs again, and you catch her staring when you turn to say, “Let’s go to my room.” As you drag her through the house, Ellie doesn’t see anyone, but she does hear the ominous sound of girl giggles and whispering. Heat blooms in her cheeks, as if she’s got omniscient eyes at the back of her head.

Ellie didn’t get along with peppy girls – too full of inner turmoil to match their happy-go-lucky attitude. The thought makes her clutch your hand tighter, and she speeds up, bumping her shoulders with yours.

“So, what’re the rules?” “Huh?” you ask, looking at her funny. The pair of you pass a group photo, and Ellie wants to stop and gawk – try and find your smiling face – but you tug her along, sensing her motives. “Like,” Ellie starts, stuck on her phrasing. “How should I be around you?” You frown up at her, deciphering her meaning. Slowly, your frown loosens. A small smile pushes into the side of your cheek. You squeeze her hand.

“Just be my Ellie.”

The pair of you go through Ellie’s question, and you help her write up a plan, noting all of her points and the quotes she should use.

Ellie tries to focus, but the whole time she’s thinking about how close you are to her – leaning against her, pushing your shoulder into hers.

She’s sitting on your bed in your room, and she’s hot all over as a result – smelling the scent from your burning candle and listening to the soft music you’re playing out of the laptop speaker.

Your walls are covered in posters. Pictures of you with family and friends and Ellie is surrounded by so much you that it feels like it’s always been like this.

Always been in your room, with her head on your lap, listening to your playlist – Ellie’s got Shazam out, but you’re just sending her the link. On her main phone, now – no busted one at the bottom of her bag.

She’s so busy being with you that she’s not wondering what she’s doing with you.

What are we? She wants to ask, but then your roommate decides to come in.

She pauses in the doorway, flinching as if she’s walked in on something intimate.

Ellie watches your eyes widen an inch, but then you catch yourself, smiling and waving. “Hey,” you greet, and your roommate – actually wearing a hoodie with your university name on it -- smiles, “Sorry, just grabbing my charger.”

“No problem,” you respond, and when she finally flicks her gaze to Ellie – kept on looking around her, like she was panhandling for money on the subway – her smile loosens.

She’s silent as she grabs her wire from her bed and doesn’t look at the pair of you as she leaves. When she’s out of the door, you get up and lock it. Coming back, Ellie gets comfy on your lap again.

“Did she look at me funny?” She’s not sure what your relationship with her is like, so she steps carefully. “I think she fancies me,” you casually explain, and Ellie’s belly flops.  “For real?” You nod, wiggling your brows. “Should I be jealous?” she jokes, and your lips curl, tongue peeking out as you run it across the backs of your teeth. “We were together, once.” Ellie tries to imagine the pair of you together, and she comes up blank. Though, that’s probably because she’s too busy editing the image to clip her face in. “Yeah?” “Mm, at a Halloween party.” You’re grinning too wide. “You’re just fucking with me,” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not! I was dressed as a cat, and she was this like, sexy nun or something.” “Really?” Ellie asks, raising a brow and pulling a face that says, you’re full of shit. “Fine – I won’t tell you then.” “No no, I wanna hear this.” “What’s with the tone? I thought you’d for sure want to hear about my sexual escapades.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” You pull your lips together and raise a brow. Ellie suddenly feels too hot. Suddenly wants to run very quickly out of your bedroom door. Butterflies swirl in her belly, blood rushes to her cheeks, to her neck, and she feels the tips of her toes go numb.

You’ve danced around each other with this flirty banter for a while now, but it means something more now that you’ve said it out in the open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ellie lies, hoping the red of her cheeks isn’t too prominent in the warm glow of your bedroom. You don’t lose your pursed lips, and Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Just hurry up and tell me about how you fucked your roommate.” “Say please,” you quickly rebut, and Ellie chokes.

The fuck? “What?” She laughs nervously, ignoring the quick electric bolt that shot through her groin, “fuck off.” “Fine,” you bleat, leaning back against the bedframe. “I won’t tell you then,” and Ellie shakes her head, proclaiming, “You’re insane,” and you grin at her, raising a testy brow, “It’s just manners, Ellie.”

When Ellie had imagined the dynamics of your relationship – but not relationship – it was you saying please. Preferably whispering it with your fingers in her auburn hair. Please Ellie, please do that again.

Ellie sits up from your lap, shaking the image away.

She takes in the curve of your brow, and the teasing slip of your lips. She dips closer – sudden, quick – and relishes in the way your mouth falls open an inch.

“I’m not begging you,” she whispers, not bothering to hide how mesmerised she is by your mouth.

“No?” you speak, matching her lazy tone. You nod to her, “I thought you’d be into that.”

Jesus fucking Christ, what’s happening right now? Ellie thought you’d help plan her essay and be done with it – she’d hoped for some flirty banter, but this was different. This was… Ellie leans closer, propped up by her hand that she’s planted beside your thigh. “If I say please, I want intricate detail.” “If you say please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” This girl…

“Whatever I want?” Ellie quirks. “Yeah,” you respond, and you press your forehead against hers, tone breathy as you repeat, “Whatever you want.”

Ellie can think of a lot of things she wants. For starters, she wants to close this gap and finally kiss you, but she says, “Please tell me your story,” and you smile, all teeth.

“It was Halloween.” “You said that.” “n, we were really drunk, and she’s like – straight straight, right?” You say straight like someone would say sorry. “Mm,” Ellie hums, her belly swirling. She hasn’t moved a fucking inch. Her palm is cramping, but hell if she’s going to lean away from you right now. This is a whole other kind of foreplay. “We’re in the bathroom.” “Here?” she asks, needing details – information. What day was it? Time?

You nod, and your nose brushes against hers. Her face blooms red again, and the brush of your touch makes her brain fuzzy. “We’re making out, and I thought she only wanted to kiss, but then she starts tryna take my top off.”

There’s a sincere edge to your tone. Your eyes are wistful, but you’re beaming – spurred by the excitement evident in Ellie’s eyes.

“Things get heated. She’s touching me everywhere, you know, hands just, between my legs, on my chest. Says she’s wanted me for ages but couldn’t say it, I mean, she’s got a boyfriend.” “A boyfriend?” Ellie asks, and fuck, that makes it worse. Or better? Either way, her body begins to ache like it did that morning – when it was just the pair of you and the world was quiet. Thrums electric and Ellie’s suddenly worried about the electric bill. “Yeah – frat boyfriend. Frat president boyfriend.” “Look at you, miss home wrecker.” You roll your eyes, “you want me to finish the story?” “I said please, didn’t I?” “You’re the worst.” “So…she’s taking your top off.” “Yeah. Then she’s taking my pants off, too. Then says, she’s never been with a girl before, can I show her?” Ellie pulls back with a groan. She can’t help it. Pulls back and falls into your lap, imagining you showing her how to fuck.

Her eyes are glazed over, like she’s somewhere else, thinking, about something else. She rubs her face and listens to your sweet giggle.

“Sorry,” she says, settling back, and you hold your hands up.

“No worries, take your time.”

Ellie waits – patiently. Waiting for you to divulge more information. Please carry on, she thinks. Please please please.

She feels like a kid at camp listening to the teens tell a ghost story around the campfire. And then what?

“You made her come?” she whispers, failing to hide the excitement in her whisper. A small, thoughtful smile finds your lips, and you lean down, hair brushing over her face.

Your thigh pushes into the back of her head, and you smell like a forest.

Your room smells like a fucking forest. Pine and vanilla.

The lights are dim, cloaking the room in a warm glow. She swears she hears trees swaying in the distance, but she realises – faintly – that it’s just the blood rushing in her ears. No trees here, she thinks. No bloody forest.

You’re looking down at her, eyes glittering in the warm light. After a stress-filled silence, you nod, whispering, “against the wall, cat ears still on. Made her come so hard it was dripping down my chin.” “Jesus,” Ellie whispers. Her legs fidget, trying to squirm from the warmth pushing between her thighs. She pushes her hair away from her forehead, even those it’s already tucked behind her ears. “Then what?” she asks, moving in your lap. Then what then what.

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Then we never spoke about it again.”

Ellie feels her eyes go dark with the memory. Imagines a film over them — lost in her own brain. Pictures you crawling on your hands and knees, on the prowl with your cat ears sitting pretty.

What was it you said again? That she was dripping all over your chin?

Her tongue peaks through her lips, pretty in pink, and she notices your small smile curve wider. Though, it’s not kind. It’s edged with something, as if you’ve made a funny and she doesn’t get the joke.

Ellie’s belly drops.

A laugh bursts out of your mouth, and she freezes. Nononononono, you didn’t. “I’m sorry—” you start, hiding your smile, and Ellie’s lips open in shock, then she’s snapping to -- jumping up from your lap, red all over.

She’s looking for her coat, hands shaking “nah, that’s not funny,” she’s saying, all while the faux image of you between a girl’s thighs buzzes behind her eyes.

It was her. She was the girl. She’d even imagined taking your cat ears off and putting them on her head. “Yeah, it was – Ellie,” you laugh, reaching for her hand, and Ellie’s body reacts to the touch.

You spin her into you, pouting, “Come onnnnn, I was playing.” “You’re mean for making that up. You’re a horrible person.” “Awhhh, I’m sworry. I’m sworry, come here –” You pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Be mad. Ellie thinks. Be mad be mad be mad—oh, but you’re so soft and warm.

She falls into you, hands catching your hips — holding you steady, as her head pushes into the curved gap between your throat and shoulder. You hold the back of her neck, hugging her close.

“I’m sorry, that was mean.” “Made me all worked up,” Ellie admits. The all-familiar ache is back. Then again, it’s never far when you’re around. “Yeah?” you quirk, the tone saying: tell me all about it. “Mm.” “Thinking about me with another girl?” She breathes a laugh, then breathes in your scent, the smell causing her to hold your hips tighter.

“You gotta write my essay now, make it up to me.” Your laugh rattles against her body.

“What you on about? I gave you free material to think about.” “What?” she laughs, squinting her face together. She pulls away, and you look up at her, chewing on your bottom lip.

You glance down at her mouth, and a breath gets caught in her throat. “Nothing,” You grin, and she cocks her head to the side, tightening her grip on your waist. “No, tell me. You made fun of me, you gotta tell me.” “I don’t have to do anything, Ellie.” “I’ll get it outta you.” “Yeah, how?” “You won’t know until it happens.”

“Weirdo,” you scoff, pulling away. “Let me walk you home, they wanna do a group meeting about some charity event later.” “Ooo, little miss sorority girl.”

You smack her chest, “Hey!” but Ellie grabs your hand, laughing as she pulls you into her, catching your hips again. You gasp in surprise, hands catching hers, and your chest pushes into hers.

She feels you focus on the cavern of her eyebrow scar, then the dust of freckles over her nose. The wild brush of her eyebrows, and the small, circular, chickenpox scar on her cheek.

Ellie gets confident or forgets the proximity of your relationship — nothing new — and rests her forehead against yours.

The world gets quiet.

The buzz of your music fades out, and all Ellie can hear is the small, clipped, and shaky sound of your breathing.

Your eyes flutter closed for a brief second, and Ellie wants to kiss you. Always wants to kiss you, but this is different. This is new and sudden and sweet. It’s soft. Gentle.

Your fingers graze over hers, and she imagines holding you like this forever.

Imagines doing this, as often as she likes.

All you’ve done together, and you haven’t even kissed yet. Ellie gazes at your wet mouth.

“Wanna come to mine? We don’t even have to smoke; you can just help me with the intro to my essay.” Your lips twist, and a small smile appears. “Ellie,” you whisper, tinged with a double meaning. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I can’t,” you whisper.

She breathes in deep, eyes closing as she presses her forehead against yours. “Not even for a second?” “Ellie.” “Please?” she whispers, looking at you, and your face falls. Your mouth opens an inch, the red of your tongue alluring. When you don’t respond, Ellie slowly dips lower and tentatively brushes her mouth against yours. Your breath catches.

The skin of your lips is pillow soft, and for the first time, she’s able to taste your lip gloss from the source.   “Doesn’t please get me anything I want?” Ellie hushes. The music has bled into the background, a hum in the walls of your room. It rattles through her toes and dances through her chest, forcing her heart to thrum with life. Your eyes are half-lidded, lashes brushing over your cheeks when you look at her mouth. “That was a one-time deal,” you manage to tease, despite the nerves radiating off of you. “So, I can’t kiss you?” “I never said that.”

Your tone is dangerous. Ellie’s lips quirk into a smirk. “I didn’t say please though?”

There’s a heated 30 seconds where you pluck up some courage. Ellie can hear the cogs turning in your pretty little head before you conclude that, “manners are overrated,” and press your cherry lips against hers, sticky and artificially sweet.  

The world stops in that movie magic kind of way.

Reality flutters to a pause, the music switches off, the natter from your roommates downstairs goes quiet, and Ellie can no longer hear the constant anxious beating of her heart.

It’s just you and your mouth – the press of your lips, no tricks, just the delicate touch of yours against hers.

Ellie is 15 again and playing truth or dare at that camp her uncle forced her to go to.

She’s picking dare and kissing Jessica Carter, the daughter of a man that owned a slew of Ice Cream shops in Salt Lake, and it means so much more to Ellie than it does to Jessica.

She feels the electricity of the kiss pulse throughout her body, like she’s got her soapy fingers in a light switch socket, and as she pulls away and Jessica laughs – giggles, cupping her wet lips, I can’t believe we just did that – Ellie feels the cavern in her chest close just an inch.

She was about to thank her, but then she thought better of it.

Pulling away now, there’s no Jessica, it’s you, and you’re pressing your fingers to your lips like you’re holding them out to a cat, nervous as to what’s going to happen next.

Ellie leans her forehead against yours, lips numb.

You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon. Then you kiss her again.

Ellie stumbles back from the shock, but you move with her, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed frame.

She makes a quick decision – pulls away and gets back onto your bed, hoping you follow her down. Thankfully, you do – quirk a nervous smile and knee walk over to her, spreading your legs and clambering onto her lap.

You sit back on her thighs with your knees pressed against her hips.

The position is a memory re-lived, except this time, you’re both alert – no sleep to mask the feeling, just the nerves pulsating through your veins. New new new, it’s saying.

Ellie reaches out and steadies your hips.

Taking a shaky breath, she slips her thumbs under the fabric of your shirt and runs the length of your shorts. The skin there burns, heat radiating off of you like a furnace, and it’s as if you enjoy the touch, as you take Ellie’s hands and cup them with your own, keeping them against your skin, before dragging them around your hips.

Ellie catches your eyes, breath lodged in her throat.

It stays there while you run her fingers up and under your shirt, painstakingly moving her hands over your stomach, over your rib cage, and Ellie’s heart swells in her chest as the tips of her fingers feel the underwire of your bra.

Ellie can’t decide what she wants.

There are too many options – kiss you, undress you – and she so badly wants all of them all at once. When you finally drag her palms over your breasts, she feels your nipples pressing through the thin and lacey fabric, and her belly swirls, the pressure pushing low.

Your breath rattles in your chest. “You okay?” Ellie asks, and instead of answering, you bow down to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s desperate. Tinged with the need to tell Ellie it's okay, it's okay, as you slip your tongue in her mouth. She groans.

It’s deep and low, echoing around the room, and there’s a fleeting second where Ellie is embarrassed, but you swallow the sound down, hips reacting, pressing into her crotch.

Ellie aches with the memory of before.

She wants to tease you, wants to say, you gonna come like this again? but you drag your lips over to her neck, and she whines pathetically.

Oh fuck, she thinks. Ellie goes liquid, like syrup. She melts into the mattress, hands relax on your breasts, and just – lets you pepper kisses over her throat. Let’s you run your tongue under her jaw, and her hips buck in response. Jolt up into your crotch, and your breathing changes, now coming out in long, deep pulls.

You mark her neck with your mouth, and Ellie feels the suck of your lips in her gut. Her hands go exploring, sliding over your tits, and she rubs her thumbs over your nipples, listening for your breathing stutter.

When you mumble a desperate fuck, into her throat, Ellie suddenly wants you on your back.

She knocks the pair of you over, and you fall back onto your mattress, grinning up at Ellie with a wild smile. You take her in. Eyes flutter over her like butterflies, taking in her statue as she sits on top of you. Suddenly, though, your smile changes. Goes nervous.

“What does this mean for us?” you whisper, and Ellie shakes her head, moving to kiss you again. Now on top, she swells with the feeling of control.

“Don’t think about it,” she mumbles, then tastes cherry again.

Ellie’s a hypocrite because all she does is think about it.

Up all night in bed, thinking about it. Thinking about how she wants you as her girlfriend, but she hasn’t even taken you out on a date yet.

Doesn’t know about your family. Your friends. Doesn’t know your favourite movie, or colour. All she knows is your weed order. The thought makes her sick with shame.

The mumble of her name coming out of your lips brings her back.

You stuff her shirt in your hands, and Ellie wants it off.

Wants your hands all over her, wants to grind her hips into yours like you did hers, with your hands on her hips guiding her.

“Wanna see,” you mumble, tugging at her shirt, and Ellie’s skin prickles.

She drags her hips back, the seam of her jeans pushing against her crotch, and sits up straight. She grins, all teeth, then fists the shirt, pulling it up her chest. The lines of her muscles are revealed, along with a few white scars that dot her stomach and back. She’s wearing a casual cotton bra, but you look at her as if she’s donning silk. “So pretty,” you whisper, blinking up at her, and that shame that sat inside of her dispels. You slide your hands over her chest, and the warmth of them pushes into her bloodstream. “Pretty?” Ellie quirks, needing something to distract herself from the languid movement of your hands. You trail your fingers over her ribcage, then push your pointer up her breast bone, mouth open an inch, ignoring her, and Ellie’s limbs go jelly.

You’ve got your goddamn explorer hat on as you drag the base of your palm between her tits, your spare hand lazily rubbing her hip bone.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, words coming out as a breathy whisper. You flash a small smile, “committing you to memory.” A dangerous pressure builds in Ellie’s heart. Her cheeks bloom red, her skin prickles, and she feels light-headed, as if you’ve removed all the oxygen in the room.

You hook a finger around the elastic of her bra and tug her forward. Ellie catches herself on the mattress beside your head just as you kiss her, pushing your tongue into her mouth and crotch up into hers.

She shudders.

The kiss is all tongue, desperate, as she bumps her nose against yours to taste you. She’s preoccupied with your mouth, so she doesn’t notice your hand sliding between her thighs. When she does, she forgets how to kiss. “S-Shit,” Ellie stutters, caught off guard. Your touch is gentle, just, lazily rubbing your fingers into her jeans. There’s a lot of fabric between you, thus Ellie’s left the chase the friction.

Resting her forehead against yours, she clutches the sheets beside you, rolling her hips into your hand. She blinks at you, opening her eyes, and you’re staring at her like she’s an artwork – trying to memorise every brush stroke.

You bump your nose against hers, flexing your palm. Ellie hums again.

“You sure you wanna do that?” she jokes, clutching onto any semblance of sanity. You give her a lazy smile, lips wet with her spit. “’s ’only fair.

“Not –” Ellie starts, but chokes, your knuckle just hitting the top of her pussy. Her eyes flutter closed, mouth opening an inch, and you must sense the shift, because you keep your hand there, nodding, knowing what she was going to say before she said it.

“Gonna make you come 'cause I want to, not ‘cause I have to.” “Fuck – okay,” Ellie relents. There’s no way she’s going to leave in the middle of this. She can’t. She’d probably collapse mid-way. A pressure pushes between her thighs, hot and constant. Her pussy clenches around nothing and she whispers something. Sounds like your name.

Been a minute since she’d had a hand other than hers between her legs.

Ellie lazily chases your palm, thinking that If she moves too quickly, this moment will poof into a dream. Doesn’t want to scare it away.

To hide her red face, she nuzzles into your throat, roles reversed from that morning, except Ellie didn’t have her hand between your thighs. She tells herself it’s her turn to do that next.

You pop the button on her jeans, and Ellie glances down at your hands, seeing/feeling them tug at the band.

You turn into her head, “Jesus, these painted on or something?” and Ellie breathes a laugh, “Didn’t expect someone else taking them off.” “I need easy access from now on, only sweatpants.” “Noted.” Your smile goes silly, “preferably those grey ones you wore when I came over that time, when I made you dinner.” “Thought you liked those ones, caught you staring at my ass.” “No you did not.” Ellie kisses your neck, “It’s so sexy when you gaslight me.” You huff, “You gonna help me take them off, or watch me struggle?” and a slow grin builds across Ellie’s face. “Wanna see you work for it.” “Well, you’ll be watching for a while. Enjoy the show!” you joke, trying to drag the denim off of her hips. You grunt loudly, brow furrowed as you tug.

Finally, you throw your hands up with a huff, then pout and cross your arms. Ellie’s leaned back at this point, and she mimics your face.

“Defeated by The Gap,” Ellie sighs. “I’m gonna put in a complaint. Tell them that their stupid jeans stopped my girlf—” you catch yourself, eyes widening.

Ellie goes still.

There’s a second where she hears the crowd cheering in the background, but it turns out it’s a kid crying on the street outside.

“What did you just say?” she asks, tone filled with awe. She cannot help the shit-eating grin that splays across her face. It’s so big that you have to cover your face from the shine. “I said nothing.” “Um, I heard something.” “You didn’t hear anything.” “I heard the word girl and then an ‘F’ sound.” “You didn’t! I’m telling you; you’re hearing things. Going crazy.” “Ummmmmm,” Ellie drags, squinting down at you.

She tries to pull your hands away, but you won’t budge. “I heard something!” “I was going to say, girl fellow!” “Girl what?” Ellie laughs, eyes alight with humour.

“Yeah—” you start, pulling your hands away and masking your features. You’re a beacon of control.

“Girl fellow. It’s this new thing I coined. A girl who is a fellow, as in friend.” Ellie squints, “Fellow means boy, you weirdo.” “No it—” you frown. “Does it?” “Yes, have you not seen Robin Hood?” You pause, “No.” “Oh my god!” Ellie erupts. “How have you not seen Robin Hood? I used to be obsessed with it.” “Everything makes so much sense now.” “The fuck does that mean?”

You push your hands into her hips, fingers tickling. “Do you have a pointy bow and arrow at home? A little green hat?” “Shut up,” Ellie laughs, trying to bat your hands away. She catches them. “That makes so much sense,” you start, joking around, “You’re far too into social justice.” “How are you bullying me about world change? You just called me your girlfriend!” “Fellow!” you correct. “That means girl boy!” You grin triumphantly, “Welcome to the 21st century, Ellie.” She rolls her eyes, “you’re so annoying.” “Your jeans are annoying.” “My jeans are cute.” You point a finger at her, “I’m gonna fight your jeans.”

Ellie dips low and kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “mm, my money’s on the jeans,” and you wrap your thigh around her ass, using it as leverage to roll her onto her back.

You suddenly slide down, standing at the edge of the bed and shoving your hands into the band of her trousers. With a determined look, you manage to pull them down, “fuck your jeans.”

They end up on the floor, and Ellie’s left in a pair of boxers and her bra. She’d clap for you if she wasn’t so suddenly dazed. You appear on top of her, and she automatically wraps her arms around your shoulders, humming contently as you kiss her.

When her brain comes back to reality, she manages to switch positions again, knees pressing beside your thighs. With a tentative touch, you trace your hand over her stomach, distracting her with the wet of your kiss.

When your fingers touch the band of her underwear, Ellie’s breathing changes. It’s all suddenly real.

“Wanna stop?” you breathe, tone sincere and gaze gentle. Despite the bubble in her chest, Ellie has never wanted to continue something more. She shakes her head, eager. “Fuck no.”

Your sweet giggle distills the tension. “Good,” you grin, sliding your fingers lower, “wanted to do this since I met you.”

The tips of your fingers drag over her clothed pussy, gentle and soft. Ellie releases a shaky breath.

There’s just a piece of flimsy cotton stopping you from skin on skin, but she’s so wet that it feels that way, anyway.

Her eyes flutter closed, the sensation lulling her, fueling her with dopamine, and she buries her head in the crook of your neck, flexing her hips to meet your hand.

You drag the corner of your knuckle up her clothed slit, pushing into her clit when you get to the top. Ellie groans quietly, and you grin into the side of her head, rolling your knuckle into her, and she moans.

“Fuck, s’good.” “Yeah?” you ask, and Ellie nods. Propelled by her quiet desperation, you twist your hand and push a finger against her damp clit – the wet fabric showing the lines of her pussy – and roll it gently.

The fabric in the way makes it dirtier, more desperate, and makes Ellie moan pathetically into your neck, forgetting you’ve got roommates. She chases your hand.

Hips stir up, wet heat coiling in her belly and pushing into her cunt. Is this what you felt? That morning in her apartment?

The fire is quick to rise, and it’s only been a couple of minutes of her grinding into your palm when her pussy clenches, heat pushing at the back of her clit.

“Mm,” she hums, inhaling a shaky breath. Her thighs begin to shake. “Baby, you’re gonna make me come,” she hushes into your ear, and she swears she hears you whimper. You turn to look at her, and pout, “Want it on my fingers, Ellie,” you admit, eyes innocent, wide with wonder, and Ellie’s jaw clenches.

Her hips lose their rhythm, and how the fuck is she in control right now? She doesn’t feel that way. Feels like she lost any semblance of control when you flipped her over and pulled her jeans off. “Fuck, okay. Okay. Shit. Take my – fuck,” she stumbles, and you push your fingers under the band of her underwear, asking, “Can I?” in such a pure tone that Ellie has to close her eyes and breathe through her nose. “Yeah baby,” she nods, “s’okay. Fuck. It’s okay.”

You drag your fingers through her pubic hair – eyes on her the whole time – before you stuff your pointer and index against her wet clit. You start to roll the nerve, and Ellie chokes on her spit. Her body shudders.

She’s in your goddamn dorm room in your sorority with your hand down her pants.

You’re watching her intently. Glazed eyes gazing at her features, fingers controlling the way her brows furrow and cheeks bloom red. It’s wholly intimate. Ellie’s slick coats your fingers.

“So hot, Ellie.”

Her body flushes – she has to bury her head in your neck again, where she nods. She grinds her cunt into your hand, forcing you to press harder and roll quicker. “Mm, fuck,” Ellie swears, spit dribbling over her lips, drunk on your fingers, “Fuck, m’ gonna come.” She feels the familiar pressure behind her clit, the heat that sears – almost painful. You twist into her, nodding, saying, “Give it to me El’s.” Then, “please.”

The wave rushes up and pulls her under, rendering her voiceless and still, before it crashes, and she gushes over your hand, chasing the spin of your fingers as she shakes. “Mm, god, god, shit” she whimpers, voice muffled by your neck, trying so hard to keep quiet, but fuck, she’s not in control of her body. She clenches the duvet as her pussy clenches and un-clenches, clit spasming, whole body slick with sweat.

Her hips grind into your fist, eyes rolled back, mumbling curses into your throat, and she’s clenching the duvet so tight that her knuckles go white.

Then someone calls your name.

You freeze. Fingers go still.

Ellie wants to cry, but somewhere in her drunk mind, she realises the severity of the situation.

When you don’t respond, your name gets called again.

“Fuck,” you curse, then “Ellie, baby, I’m sorry, you gotta get off of me.”

Ellie manages to find the energy to roll off of you, and you get up, legs stumbling before you reach the door.

“Y-Yeah?” you call out through the wood.

Ellie lays boneless on your bed, breathing deeply through her nose. Her boxers are pushed low, pubic hair on show, but she doesn’t have the power to sort herself out.

She should be nervous at the idea of being caught, but fuck, her clit still throbs with the memory of your fingers. She languidly blinks at the ceiling, trying to calm her heart.

How the fuck did that just happen?

“Meeting soon, you coming?” the faceless voice calls, and you mumble a curse before saying, “Yeah! Gimmie a minute.”

When you turn to her, Ellie’s already gazing at you. You quirk a small, sad smile, and Ellie nods, understanding.

“Lemme just,” she starts, rubbing her face, “find the energy.” You giggle at her. “Let me help you put your stupid jeans on.” Ellie props herself up by her elbows, beaming, “My top down there, too?” “Got it.”

She manages to shove her jeans on, wincing when she knocks her sensitive clit. You eye her.

“Listen, I—” you start, clearly flustered. You motion to her, “—Would take better care of you after but.” “Whoa – what?” Ellie cuts you off, shoving her shirt on with a frown.

You purse your lips, “like, cook you dinner or kiss your forehead or something.” “You’ve already cooked me dinner, and you can kiss my forehead whenever you want.” “I mean. I don’t usually make a girl come and then dip.” “Oh,” Ellie frowns, “But this is different.” You pout, “Still feel bad.” “Don’t,” Ellie firmly spouts. She takes your hands and kisses your forehead. “I feel good, you should feel good.” “It was good?” you ask, suddenly lit up and eager to hear more. Ellie laughs. Her body is filled with a warm, buttery feeling. She’s still drunk on you, lethargic from coming, and she doesn’t have the space to panic.

Her subconscious tries to tell her everything that has happened that should cause her concern.

She nearly called you her girlfriend, then made you come on her double bed with a flowery bedspread. Now she feels bad because she doesn’t have enough time to give you adequate aftercare. Dude.

Still, Ellie shows no alarm when she kisses your forehead and says, “I’ll call you.”

It’s only when she gets home, looks in the mirror and sees her lips glittery with your lip-gloss, that reality sets in.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Everything

Summary: Dumped by her boyfriend, Y/N goes home with her tail between her legs, praying that her roommate, Dean Winchester, isn’t there to witness yet another failed relationship. But fate doesn’t work that way, and what seems like the universe conspiring against her might actually be what she’s needed all along.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, language, douchebag ex, Dean’s a bit of a dick at first, insecurities, heart to heart, frenemies to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry. This summary is awful. I hope you enjoy whatever this is 😅 Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

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The rain pours down, and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. You laugh bitterly at how the weather reflects your mood. Rain soaks your hair and clothing, your feet sodden and squelching; the stilettos you’re wearing offer zero protection from the torrents of water falling from the sky and running down the sidewalks.

You’re grateful for it, truth be told. At least this way, no one knows the mascara that runs in black streams down your cheeks is from the tears you’ve been crying over that asshole. The asshole you’ve been dating for two months who just dumped you at your local bar while sitting next to his date for the night.

Fuck, how did this become your life? How did you become this gullible, desperate woman who keeps falling for these kinds of men? Men who date you and sweet talk you, saying all the right things until they get what they want from between your legs and then leave you for someone prettier. Someone younger.

Maybe the asshole’s right. Maybe you are the type of girl to have a fun time with, not the kind to take home to meet someone’s mother. But fuck, that hurts to admit and fuck, you lose more of yourself with every asshole that spews those kind of lines to you. If you’ve said it once, you’ve said it a million times. You’re done with men. And this time, you mean it.

You turn the corner onto your street and stop in your tracks. Dread settles in your stomach as you see your roommate’s car parked on the side of the road. He just had to choose tonight of all nights to stay home, didn’t he? That’s all you fucking need right now. You consider turning around and walking away. Hell, he wouldn’t miss you. You were meant to be staying at the asshole’s place anyway.

But, this is your home. Well, the place you live, at least, and you need to go there eventually. Might as well get it over with. Your lip trembles, knowing you need to face the one person you really don’t want to right now, especially in this state. He already thinks you’re pathetic enough as it is.

You walk up the stairs, dread settling heavily in the pit of your stomach the closer you get to the door. You cast up a silent prayer that the only reason Dean is home is because he’s got female company over. At least then, you can get in, grab some whiskey and get to your room quietly and unnoticed.

“Hey, what are you doing home so early? Thought you were staying at Chuck’s tonight?” Dean says from the couch, not even turning to look at you.

“Yeah, well, plans change. Why are you here? Thought you’d be chasing some skinny ass, barely legal bitch at the bar.” Your tone conveys pure disgust, and you curse yourself for it when he turns to look at you. And, of course, he laughs.

“What the hell happened to you?” he buckles, scanning your absolutely hilarious appearance. “You look like someone threw you in the river and left you to claw your way back out again!” Dean laughs, and you huff, desperately trying to stop the fresh batch of tears threatening to stream down your face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, there’s a torrential downpour out there.”

“Yeah, that explains the puddle at your feet, but not the rest of you, bitch,” he laughs, and that does it. You know he’s not being serious; you constantly hurl insults at one another, and it doesn’t usually get to either of you, but this time, it hits differently.

“The only reason I kept you around so long is because you’re like a bitch in heat. Always needing to be fucked. But that’s all you’re good for, and it grows old pretty quickly.”

Your eyes water, and your lip trembles. A sob escapes unchecked, and you wish the floor would open you up and swallow you whole. “I’m going to bed,” you mutter and turn to walk away.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean says, his face softening into concern.

“What, Dean? What? You wanna laugh at me more? Call me a bitch again, huh? Look, I know you don’t like me, but you know what? A little compassion can go a long way. Some humanity might make me actually believe you have a heart.”

Your mind replays every conversation you’ve overheard Dean having about you with his brother, his friends, and his conquests, and your heart sinks to the floor at how true your words are.

“Who? Her? She’s just my roommate. Baby, you don’t have to worry about her. We’re not even friends, and she’s not my type. She’s basically my live-in maid. She cooks and cleans for me and pays me for the privilege.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what happened?” Dean asks, stepping towards you, frowning when you step back.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniffle.

“Come on, you’re upset. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? So you can make fun of me like you always do? We're not even friends, Dean. Stop pretending you give a damn about me.” The hurt furrowing his brow surprises you, and you scoff. “Don’t look so hurt, Dean. I’m only repeating your words back to you. I’m the live-in maid, remember?” you turn and walk quickly to your room, slamming the door.

Whiskey will have to wait until Dean’s gone to bed.

It’s been quiet in the main section of the apartment for over an hour now. It’s probably safe to assume Dean has gone to bed, and you can get the whiskey you’re so desperate to drown yourself in.

Leaving the sanctuary of your bedroom, you pad down the hall in your bare feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dean is a light sleeper, and he’d complained before about you waking him whenever you get up in the middle of the night suffering from a bout of insomnia.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” Dean’s voice makes you jump as it rings from the small dining table by the kitchen window. He’s sitting in the dark, with just the moon’s light shining enough to see his silhouette. “I was getting worried,” he states, sipping from a tumbler.

“Oh, so you do have a heart?” you respond. It’s a bitchy comment, and you know it, but you’re in defence mode after Chuck. “Might want to show it once in a while.”

“Nah. Makes me look weak,” he chuckles. His joke caught you off guard, and you let out a little huff of laughter. “See? I knew I could make you smile!”

“Barely,” you quip back and sit across from him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and filling the empty glass Dean must’ve put on the table for you.

“What happened, sweetheart? You left here tonight looking stunning and happy, and when you came home—”

“I was crying, and you called me bitch,” you state, watching Dean’s head drop.

“Not my finest moment, I admit,” Dean says as he reaches for the bottle and refills both glasses. “I didn’t know how upset you were, and I was only teasing you. If I’d known that it wasn’t just the rain that made your mascara run, I’d never have said it, and I hope you know that.”

“I really wanna believe that, but you’re always saying hurtful things,” you say, draining your glass.

“The things you said earlier,” Dean nods. “I didn’t mean… look, Y/N, you’re a beautiful woman, and some of the girls I bring home get jealous, you know? I say those things to keep them sweet.”

You nod, thinking it’s a fair excuse. Dean does have a lot of women over, and you’ve pulled out the sting from more than a few of them.

“As for what I say to Sam and my friends, well, they tease me about living with a pretty girl and don’t believe me when I say we’re just roommates,” Dean continues. You have to admit that was also sound reasoning. It didn’t excuse it; he was still a dick, but you understood it a little better.

“It’d just be nice if you stopped for a second and thought of me as a person with feelings before you say those kinds of things in front of me,” you say, filling your glass again.

“Alright, sweetheart, I promise I’ll work on that,” Dean agrees, and you notice he’s watching you intently.

“What?” you ask, feeling uncomfortably exposed under his gaze.

“What happened with Chuck,” Dean asks again.

“I don’t want to tell you,” you sigh.

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you whine and hit your head on the table.

“Come on,” Dean says, topping up their glasses again. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise whatever it is, it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“I got to the bar, and Chuck was there with another woman. He told me we were over and that Anna was his date for the night. Then, to rub salt in my wounds, as I was walking away, he told me that all I was good for was a great time in bed. Always up for anything, like a bitch in heat.”

“And then you came home, and I called you a bitch. Y/N, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dean takes your hand in his, and you can see that it’s a genuine apology, and he really does feel awful about it. “You know he’s wrong, right? You’re worth so much more than that?”

“I don’t think I am. He’s not the only guy to tell me that,” you shrug. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m done with men and dating.”

“You don’t mean that. You think I don’t know about all the romcoms you watch on Netflix? All those girly books you read.”

“Yeah, well, a fat lot of good they did me. I’m starting to see why people are boycotting Disney Princess movies because they’re filled with romantic disillusionment and give a false idea to women that their Prince Charming exists somewhere out there.”

“This is more serious than I thought if you’re losing faith in the Disney Princesses!” Dean chuckles, and it makes you smile slightly. “Seriously, though, I think this is more about the men you date than you, sweetheart. They are way out of your league.”

“I am not out of anyone’s league, Dean. If anything, it’s probably the other way around,” you huff a bitter laugh.

“I’m out of your league,” Dean says quietly.

“You have that backwards. I’m the one out of your league. You’re gorgeous and charming, and I have seen the girls you bring home, and they are the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. I can’t compete with that.” The words spill out of you before you can stop them, and you think Dean might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell when the only sliver of light comes from the moon shining through the kitchen window.

Dean laughs, and it takes you aback slightly. “I have called you beautiful or some other variation of it several times tonight, and not once have you picked up on it. Those women are hot, sure, but you… You are on a whole other level of hot. You are stunning and so much classier than they will ever be.”

You scoff at his words, not believing them but not wanting him to know they affect you. You know Dean’s type, and it is definitely not you. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. There’s a reason Sam and Cas and Benny are on my case so much about you, and it’s because I really, really, like you—”

“So, all the insults and barely tolerating my presence was what,” you smirk over at him, “you pulling my pigtails and pushing me over in the playground?”

“When you put it like that…” Dean cringes. “I guess it was. Look, you’re hurt and sad, and we’ve had a lot to drink, so I’m not going to push you to tell me if this is one-sided, but I will talk to you tomorrow when we’re both sober.”

The warmth of the sun wakes you, and you stretch in its gentle heat. You’re not nearly as hungover as you should be, and for that, you’re grateful. Dean had some interesting things to say last night, and you’d rather your brain was running at full capacity.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen, mindful that Dean’s door is closed, so it’s likely he’s still sleeping, and start the coffee machine. 

You busy yourself with clearing up from the night before. You rinse dishes, put them in the dishwasher and put the almost empty whiskey bottle back in the cupboard. You grab your and Dean’s favourite mugs and place them next to the coffee machine.

Taking the cleaning spray, you spritz all the surfaces and wipe them down while patiently waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

“How did I manage to find the only person in this city who likes cleaning?” Dean’s groggy voice sounds from the doorway, and you smile.

“Morning, Dean,” you say as you pick up the coffee pot and fill his mug. You place it on the breakfast bar and fill your own before hopping onto one of the stools and making yourself comfortable.

“Morning, sweetheart. Thanks,” Dean says as he picks up his mug and takes a sip. “So, about last night…”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I’ve wasted enough time, and now that my feelings are out there, I can’t sit on this any longer,” Dean pauses to take another mouthful of coffee. “I meant what I said. I like you, Y/N. I’m sorry if anything I did when I was in denial of my feelings hurt you. And I’m sorry for pushing you away and making you think I hated you so you wouldn’t find out how I really feel.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say,” you say. “I used to like you in that way, but with how you were with me, I turned it off because, for the past year, I’ve been thinking you don’t like me, and I don’t know if anything is still there for you.”

Dean nods, looking a little deflated by your words, but it’s clear he accepts them. “Can I at least try and make you get it back?”

“I don’t know—“ you begin, but Dean cuts you off.

“Please, Y/N. One date is all I’m asking for,” Dean begs, and you feel your resolve waning. You know you still have feelings for him.

“I’ve seen the girls you bring home, Dean. And I’m nothing compared to them,” you try. It’s your last bit of fight, the last time you’ll be able to give him an out from this.

“You’re everything, Y/N. And I mean that. You are smart, funny, kind, beautiful… you’re everything they weren’t. Please,” Dean begs again. “Just one date. Let me prove it.”

“Okay,” you nod with a small smile.

“Yeah?” Dean says, breaking out into a boyish grin.

“Yeah. I’ll go on a date with you, Dean.”

“Awesome!” he grins, looking like he just answered the million-dollar question. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

[ken-dom]

NSFW Ken Headcanons

Warnings/content: It’s pure smut, Ken definitely has a penis in this, hand job, oral, praise kink, begging, aftercare, gn!reader

I originally posted this to my main blog but I'm re-posting all my work here to have everything in one place due to an unresolved tagging issue on my main

Sometimes cries out a strangled ‘Sublime!’ when he cums

Speaking of cum, it’s glittery ✨

Usually announces when he’s close because he’s so excited about it

Would be happy to dry hump as long as it’s with you, but give him a handjob and it changes his life forever

Takes him a few times to get over how good it feels when you bring him off to begin with, but after he’s calmed down a bit he’s laser focussed on your pleasure

Learns your body really quickly

Literally cannot keep his hands off you once he’s had a taste and he wants you to touch him all the time, too

The first time you suck him off he’s pretty sure he died of pleasure and came back to life while you were kissing him after

Total horn dog once you open up his eyes to all the different ways you can make him feel good

When you first got together he would cum in his pants just from making out if you were pressed against him just right

On that note, he really likes it when you press your thigh between his legs while you make out

Such a needy, whiny mess

Every moan and gasp he elicits from you is the sweetest praise he’s a ever heard, so he memorises every little touch and every reaction they get

He is SO loud, and at the slightest touch. You have to kiss him to swallow his moans if you’re trying to be quiet, or, if he’s feeling ✨kinky✨ he’ll let you put a hand over his mouth

Huge kink for begging, he discovers. You moan out a, ‘Please!’ one time and that’s it, he’s obsessed

Really good with his hands. Like. It’s unreal how skilled those elegant fingers are

His gaze is so intense when you’re making out and pull away to catch your breath or tell him what you want to do to him

Likes to see your face when you cum. And if you make eye contact too, he’s done for

Loves you to tangle your fingers in his hair when he goes down on you

Feels so safe when he’s with you and it’s slow and intimate and he can bury his beautiful face against your neck, gasping against your skin

Whimpers so needily when you praise him. During or after

Praise him too much too soon and he won’t last

But it doesn’t matter because he’s eager, and he will happily start all over again and take his time on you while he regains his strength

Doesn’t actually take him long at all to get hard again so you’re not left waiting if you want him to fuck you

Doesn’t matter how many times you get together, he cheeks always flush when you start kissing him

If you mess his hair up he tries to keep it that way so he can show off to the other Kens’

Always really excited to try new things with you, surprising you with ideas for positions he’d like to try, and later new sex toys when he discovers them

Almost feints when you explain what 69ing is

The BIGGEST cuddler after sex

And sometimes takes the opportunity to show off his muscular arms with a cheeky smirk

Melts when you squeeze his big muscles or caress his chest

His aftercare with you is brushing each others hair and putting matching pyjamas on to cuddle while he tells you how amazing he thinks you are for being turned on by him and satisfying him so thoroughly

[emersonfreepress]

help i'm alive

So! Long time, no see. 2023 was a whole goddamn lot lol

I don't have a demo update to share yet, but that's because I had to scrap nearly everything I managed to write during a very, very, very bad stint of writer's block last year. I hadn't even realized it had been a block like that until I went over my work so far last month and realized it was bad -- like, trust me; a slog to read that didn't even sound like me. It's been extremely frustrating but I've finally broken free of that and it's been easy and actually fun to write again for the first time in actual years. I just hate giving updates that have no actual news in them. And I really had nothing to share other than: I deleted thousands of words and feel so much better now 😅

Anyway, little about my demo plans have changed: I'm still putting out the Chapter 3 demos in Choicescript/on Dashingdon and then will be going dark to move things over to Twine. Where I am in the process right now is... feeling like 35% done with the overhauled version of this chapter and 50% done for the next demo update.

As far as asks, I'm... not really sure what to do?? I believe I've read them all (I love you guys), but so much time has passed since getting most of them that I'm not sure if it's, like... still pertinent??? To go back and answer them?? I suppose some of them like character asks could be, but all the nice messages of support -- that feels weird since I've practically ghosted this blog since August! Idk. Y'all tell me what to do with 'em and I'll do it. Maybe I should make a poll.

Uh... that's really all there is to say regarding the game! I've added some personal stuff after the cut, but if you're done here: Thanks for reading and sticking around. It means the world, for real.

So what has occupied my time all this time? Doctor, therapy, money, and friends. And improv! But especially the first two. There was a lot of non-writing related stuff fucking up my ability to focus and write, so hopefully with my mind and body both feeling a lot better, I can get back to being present and active with the game. I didn't realize how physically unwell I was until last year and it's been like... life-long issues I've been treating. It turns out it's not normal to feel exhausted enough to sleep at any given time, at all times, for your whole life! wow!!

I also uninstalled Tumblr from my phone back in February, so you could say I'm sort of generally focused on offline life. (And what an interesting coincidence that my writer's block dissipated shortly after that...) I also just moved!! The last two weekends have been so expensive and stressful -_- But I can't even compare the old place to the new. We're basically paying the same price for idek how much more space. The cats are so happy; which means the house humans get to be happy.

My schedule is finally freed up from constant medical shit (there was a 3-month stretch this winter with multiple doctor appointments literally every fucking week 🙃🙃🙃). My mental health is doing a lot better -- literally incomparably better compared to where I was this time last year. There's live comedy now (which I dabble in, to be clear lol), but I've finally found myself able to like... balance it all. The physical and creative energy that goes into it all, anyway. The lovely thing about improv is that you kinda just show up and do your thing -- it doesn't cut into my writing time so much as it costs energy. Unless I end up in this comedy debate show thing next month, which I am very excited to give up writing time for

So like... Life is life-ing and I'm just vibing. Or something? I'll be around.

Thank you all again so much for your interest, support, patience, and readership <3

[mochinomnoms]

This is a very specific thing I said to my friends so if they follow your blog then they would know who I am but the whole thing of buy one get two free deal came from something that is common in my country where in local bazaars they sell these showering kits that came with shampoo, conditioner and a bottle of liquid soap my mind clearly infected with twst could only think about the octotrio being one of these packages Azul is the soap, and the twins are the shampoo and conditioner and the three of the products are wrapped with tape so you are forced to get the three which is oddly cute to me but onto the main thing!

Came up with another octotrio polycule idea since yuu represents a shrimp in Floyd's weird lenses of seeing the world sometimes if done intentionally or not you tend to clean up the twins or patch them up even fixing up their (poorly put on) uniform Jade got dirt in his face when he was in a mountain trip? Come here you careless eel and wipe out the dirt then you can talk about your new findings BUT WASH YOUR HANDS FIRST

Floyd decided to do parkour or maybe he just dumped a whole smoothie on himself because he was hot and used the drink to cool off and there you go, disinfect the wounds or scratches and putting silly cute band-aids (one time he got mad that his favorite design was out and you placed a mushroom design band aid since he still needed one, remind yourself to go stack up with the band-aids before Jade goes and sniffles about his dear brother using his favorite band-aids)

I am thinking that since the twins are a bit much more affectionate or aren't as busy as Azul is, you are doing one of your "Nurse/cleaner shirmp" (Floyd gave them the name) on one of the tweels and you guys were in Azul's office so he sighs trying to get attention he wishes that he also got his own nurse/cleaner shirmp affections if he doesn't say it out loud he can and will break his pen/ink flask and oh no! His gloves are completely ruined!! Clearly coaxing you into helping him with the mess or when he does voice his wishes about it when you two/three are present the tweels are quick to tease him about it "I thought that octopuses didn't go to cleaner shrimp stations?" or "Would you be able to provide protection in exchange? I thought that octopuses weren't predators" Okay that was rude, it is on. Of course that he can protect the shrimpy and if octopuses didn't go to cleaner shirmp stations then he would change that! Overall silliness and sweetness (They are having a discussion about planning to surprise you with a visit to the coral sea and going to visit their parents!!) they might turn almost anything into a friendly/loving competition and you are trapped in them but they are still so sweet and caring for you and each other 10/10 definitely a unique dynamic but awesome either way

(the same anon forcing their brain to fabricate more octotrio polycule ideas)

I think Floyd takes the most delight in seeing you care for them like an actual shrimp. He thinks it's endearing and will definitely make efforts to get dirty or mildly hurt so that you'll attend to him.

The other two have their own nicknames for you: Jade calls you and Azul My Pearl/Darling while Azul calls you Angelfish and the twins Dear(s).

It's Azul's way of showing affection, as he is quite reserved with his affections, at least until you're all in private. He does envy the liberal affections that the twins have with you, Floyd in particular doesn't care much about what others think, and Jade generally is more reserved than his brother, but will still give you chaste kisses when saying hello/goodbye. Azul, at most, will hold hands and maybe tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears, something he often does during quiet moments.

It may be silly, but he gets a little jealous at seeing y'all share PDA when he's still getting used to the new dynamic. So he's coaxing you to come help him clean up! Look at his hands, they're absolutely stained with ink! Won't you please help him clean up Angelfish? 🥺

It backfires as the twins also take the opportunity to “care” for Azul. Instead of letting you fuss over him quickly, they decide that this is a sign that he's much too tired to continue working, look at the mess he made! It's time to close his office early and cuddle pile in his bedroom!! Jade's making the extra effort to run a bath in the absurdly large tub in Azul's private bathroom, while Floyd is running around collecting pillows and blankets to make a nest/fort. You do your do diligence and help Jade tend to him, causing him to get more and more flustered.

The night ends with the twins teasing the silly little octopus for wanting some tending from the shrimp. They're complaining that he never asks for affection like that from them!!! Eels can be gentle too, we promise Azul~

[buckys-little-belle]

Oh! What about hcs for Bucky and little! Reader during the fall? I get cold super easy but I love the colder months!

Fall Fun

Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks of pumpkin carving, talks of Bucky being the Winter Soldier (Very very vague), Talks of (Bucky's) memory loss, Fall Fluff

Notes - I love fall! It's my favourite season and I had genuinely so much fun writing this!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

Bucky loves the fall, it's his favorite season. He's not too hot, or too cold, and he finds he enjoys seeing how beautiful change can be. But most of all he loves all the activities the two of you can do together.

Most activities are ones done outside, and he is aware that you react to the cold different than him. Sure this is his perfect weather type, but you don't have the same super soldier blood he does.

So he keeps an extra jacket and sweater in his truck for you in case you're in need of an extra layer. He's also got a flannel blanket at the ready for long drives, and when buying the truck he made sure to buy one with heated seats. He never uses them, but with how often you turn yours on, he knows it was a worthy purchase.

He loves the pumpkin patch to an annoying extent. He could truly spend days there, especially with you by his side.

He has a whole seasons pass that allows unlimited corn maze trips, as many hay rides as he wants, and a total of 10 professional photos at those cute little stands where you stick your head through and end up being a pumpkin person. Trust, he has every photo framed around the house.

He also loves picking pumpkins with you, you'll give them all names and he'll do his best to remember which one was named Frank and which one was named Jeff. And he can't say no to you, he really can't, so the front porch of his house is home to 20 pumpkins by the end of fall.

He only lets you carve three, because he know you'll get bored if he tried to get you to do more. You tell him what you want them to look like and he'll do his best to sketch and carve the pumpkin the way you like.

You'd never tell him but he's actually not very good at art things like pumpkin carving, and you think you could do a better job, but he won't let you touch the sharp carving tools so your kitty cat pumpkin is lopsided, the flower looks more like an explosion, and the classic pumpkin face carving has two very different shaped eyes.

Bucky has a Pinterest account, he does, and he always is looking for new things to do to entertain you and him. Which is how you end up in the middle of a forest collecting all types of different leaves, putting them in a small book to press and dry.

You love all the colours, and Bucky takes a bunch of photos of you playing in the leaf piles, or just photos of you walking through the pretty forest, and his favorite photo is the one of you holding two leaves up proudly with a big smile on your face. (They were the biggest leaves the two of you found that day.)

Bucky always makes you wear mittens even if you don't think you need them. You argue that they're winter accessories but Bucky won't have it. He buys you mittens with pumpkins on them, or little leaves, so they look cute. He secretly has a deal with the grandma two doors down, she knits him your mittens and he buys her copious amounts of yarn.

Also fall baking? Bucky isn't a baker, but he does his best when you suggest you two make cupcakes that look like pumpkins. They actually turn out well, but the kitchen ends up a mess! And Bucky vows to never bake again ... Which was a short lived vow because two days later you two are back at it again making chocolate chip cookies with orange coloured chocolate chips.

All in all fall goes well every year. And it's the only season Bucky actively records. You don't know this for a few years but he actually scrapbooks every fall. The books are in his office and he pulls them out when he needs to remember something good.

Pictures of you in the forest line a bunch of pages, some selfies of the two of you are tucked in there, and every picture taken at the pumpkin patch has a spot. Leaves that you two pressed are glued to the pages with care, and he makes sure to photograph what your carved pumpkins look like each year.

He finds he likes making scrapbooks. Once in his life he forgot everything important to him. And sometimes he wonders what he still doesn't remember because there's nothing to remind him. So he keeps these tucked away in case he ever forgets, he keeps them so no matter what happens he'll always have proof that he loved you, that you loved him, and that beauty can exist during change.

[thankskenpenders]

And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

[mdhwrites]

"In the first episode, Luz brings wild animals and fireworks to school without permission or without any regard to safety."

Isn't that just a case of Early-Installment Weirdness?

Boy there are so many problems with accusing this of that. See, Early-Installment Weirdness IS a thing. In TOH, one of the best examples of that is how in the same episode that Amity goes "I've never seen a spell like that cast before" you also have the power glyph. A famous one from another cartoon is how Andrea of Molly McGee starts as an EXTREME bitch but quickly shifts to more so being unaware and selfish, rather than actively malicious. Hell, I know one of my own series has it where I have a transmuter in the first chapter change pancakes into a pot of flowers which I made WAY too casual for the amount of energy shifting to something living should take.

A common thread between all of these though are that they don't show back up. Andrea's characterization becomes consistent AFTER the shift to it and she never goes back to being as bad as she was in her first appearance. The power glyph is never mentioned again, MAYBE visually it's seen like once on the coven head but glyph magic is just Luz's. And yeah, my own story sticks to its power costs better afterwards. That is the biggest sign of Early-Installment Weirdness because in the long run you can see that these elements were dropped because they were incongruent with the actual goals of the show.

But do you know what does keep appearing? This characterization of Luz. S1 is filled with times when Luz will disregard other people's feelings, fuck something up because of it and then have to make amends. Episode fucking two reinforces the idea that she treats the world as fantasy. Yesterday's Lie actually HINGES on the idea that Luz is actually selfish and uncaring of those around her because she could not appreciate what she had and that she had to be special. This is what Vee calls her out on. It's also why, in the blog you're referencing with this, I bring up how in S3 she has a dilemma where a decision that she made on her own blew up in her face. In response to that, instead of thinking ANYONE else should comment on it, she makes a drastic, big deal decision... That also gets her out scott free from all consequences which is exactly what she did when she ran to the Isles. I'm not even exaggerating. In episode 1, Luz decides to stick to the Isles because otherwise she has to go to a camp she doesn't want to where she'll actually have to put in the effort to improve as a person and respect reality so she sticks to her fantasy world. In S3 Episode 1, she decides to abandon AN ENTIRE WORLD to their fate, that she believes is her fault, so that she can stay at home and live with her caring mother and new sister while she will also send her friends to ostensibly their deaths because of how big of a deal this is. And like in that blog, S3 E2 only reinforces the idea that Luz only cares about what is important to Luz when her goal on the Isles is not beating the Collector, she says that to everyone who doesn't know the truth, but instead to find Eda and King, make sure they're safe, and leave. She tells that to her mom, the only person who knows already she doesn't give a fuck about this place.

That's also without bringing up btw the signs that reference her early montage that appear in S3 E1, meaning the show wants you to remember it, especially when Luz sighs at the sign. It is NOT an element that is just one and done and a whoops on the writer's part. It is the first action in a long, LONG line of selfish, unthinking, uncaring actions for our 'protagonist'.

Our protagonist who is told that she has never, ever, done anything wrong. That's abhorrent. See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[russellsppttemplates]

You're the best papa (Pierre Gasly)

A look into Pierre and Y/N at the beggining of their journey into parenthood for the fourth time

Note: english is not my first language. You know what's better than a small blurb? Blurb like moments compiled in one place, at least I think it is!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions pregnancy, post partum

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Here's your coffee", Pierre croaked out, setting the mug on your bedside table after he kissed your forehead, "I have our little miss here, changed and ready for some food when you're ready", he added, sitting next to you on the bed as your baby girl rested on his chest.

Celeste was eight days old, but because of the initial check ups and the fact that you delivered on a Thursday, the hospital kept you for the first few days, so it was only the second day you and Pierre had been home with your new baby. Pascale and Jean had taken the other three kids with them on a small getaway for a few days so you and Pierre could settle in a new routine, FaceTiming you every night still.

"Mama has had a sip of the good stuff", you said, finding a good position on the bed before you stretched your arms out, "so now you can have some good stuff too, baby girl, come to mama", you cooed, laying her on the pillow so you wouldn't need to support her solely with your core strength and helping her latch, "there you go, my love", you brushed her soft hair.

Pierre got to go to the bathroom and then dowstairs, coming up when Celeste was done with feeding, "I can burp her", Pierre smiled, grabbing a muslin cloth just in case she spit some up, "I have the pad ready for you in the bathroom, and we can head downstairs afterwards because I'm getting breakfast ready, too", he smiled, kissing your forehead before he grabbed Celeste, cuddling her to his chest as you slowly walked to the bathroom. Even though the c-section had been successful and there were no complications, it was still abdominal surgery to some extent, so moving around was something you had to be mindful about, and having a pad to catch anything that might have been in there made you feel safer and more comfortable.

Heading downstairs, again in a slow waddle, you say Pierre cooking what looked like scrambled eggs, your baby girl safe tucked in his chest and held by a sling, "you know, I'm quite jealous of her because she gets to be carried around in your chest all day", you said as you approached Pierre, kissing his back before peeking to see your daughter's delightful sleeping expression.

"I'll hold you when she goes to nap on her bassinet, deal?", he teased you back, carrying the plates back to the table so you could eat.

.

Having your husband at home while you were recovering was something you saw as an incredible privilege not everyone had, allowing to actually sleep when the baby slept. You woke up with Pierre cuddling you in bed, starting to trace shapes on his hands, "are you up?", he asked, "I am", you whispered.

"I just changed her and fed her, and she's back asleep after I talked to her for a bit", he said, "how is your incision site feeling?", he asked, "it's good, moving around is still weird, I have this weird feeling that makes me think that all my organs are just going to drop out as I walk", you giggled, appreciating his attentiveness.

"If you need anything, let me know, yes?", he requested, holding your hand out so he could kiss your knuckles, one by one, "are you ready to have everyone back home?", he asked.

"I think so, yes. I miss them a lot, and since your parents are kindly staying with us for a few days, I think it's a good way to finally get the whole 'four kids' thing under our belt", you admitted, "if there is anything, we will make it work, like we always do".

.

Overall, the kids had been pretty good, always carefully when they got near you, no matter how much they wanted to hug and climb on your lap, but always doting on their little sister, especially Élodie, who now felt like she had a live doll to play with, always helping you when it was time for a bath and peppering the smallest kisses in her sister's hands, while the boys, although sometimes cheeky, always wanted to help around and make sure mama and Celeste were doing good.

"Is everyone ready?", you heard your husband's voice from downstairs, making you walk to meet him, "Wow, guys! Doesn't mama look beautiful in her dress?", he said, making all the kids run to you, hugging your legs and torso carefully, "you look beautiful, mama! Do a spin!", Louis said, prompting you to turn into a blushing mess as you spun.

"You look gorgeous, amour", Pierre said as he kissed you, "it's still a maternity dress because this whole area is still trying to work itself out, and it's easy to reach for a boob if she's hungry, it's really nothing spec-", you were interrupted by him, "you look like the hottest mama, and I'm not even sorry for staring at you", he winked.

.

"Oh, I think she just scratched my arm", Alexandre said, "it didn't hurt or anything, but I think it was her nails", he pointed out, catching Pierre's attention, "Oh, yes, you're right. Can you go to her room and grab me the file, please?", he asked.

In a hurry, all three children said "I'll go!", promptly wanting to help as much as they could. "Careful guys, no need to rush!", you yelled, not wanting any of your kids to hurt themselves.

"They're just trying to be helpful, bless them", you commented, sitting Celeste on your lap so she would be ready when Pierre needed to file her nails.

"I have it here, mama!", Élodie said, giving you the small pouch containing the electrical nail trimmer, sitting next to you on the sofa so she could see what you were doing.

"I'll hold her, you can do it", you nudged Pierre, seeing him grab the small machine and testing it on his own.

"Are you going to let papa trim your nails? You even have some scratches on your cheeks too, little one", he told his youngest daughter, gently grabbing her hand and shortening the length of her nails before using a softer file to leave the nail edges as soft as possible, "Good girl", he complimented, not ignoring the way the words made you shiver before he grabbed her other hand, doing the same until she had nails that wouldn't hurt herself or anyone else.

Getting up to bring the pouch back to the room and grab a new muslin cloth from the drawer, Pierre bent down just enough to whisper in your ear, "you're also a good girl, the best girl, in fact", leaving you a blushing mess as you cuddled your baby.

.

"Oh, look at at that scrunch, princess!", you heard Pierre from the nursery, "let me grab my phone so I can send this to Uncle Charles!", he squealed.

Resting against the door, you appreciated the scene: Celeste was dressed in a cute onesie and she was scrunching in the most delicious way possible, with Pierre recording and smiling at her, "Oh, come here", he stopped recording when he noticed her fussing, grabbing her and holding her, "it's alright, babygirl, you're good, you're good", he tutted, smiling when he inhaled her newborn scent.

"It never gets old, does it?", you asked, grabbing his attention, "no, still as amazing as the first time", he replied, walking over to you since he was just about to leave the room anyway, "and you, still amazing as ever, too. Remember that silly day you told me you were afraid of not being a good father?", you asked and he nodded, blushing as he kissed your lips, "like I said, silly silly idea that one was. You're the best papa they could have".

[darkcircles4lyfe]

Morning, everyone…

In case you haven’t heard, we’ve just received notice that the manga will be ending in 5 chapters. To say that I feel shaken would be an understatement, but I think I can gather my thoughts in a list:

-I’m definitely not an expert on how volume publishing works, but this would leave us shy of 200 pages unless each of these remaining chapters is a bit longer than we’ve been getting lately

-I really, really, REALLY hope Hori was able to come to this on his own terms, but I’m not going to even consider speculating about that until it’s over

-In an effort to maybe hopefully enjoy these final moments, I am continuing to stay away from leaks, and I am also going to do my best to stay away from fandom in general for the most part.

-Right now I don’t think I want to do any meta or predictions or whatever anymore either. The end is just too close and I’d rather suspend my imagination to see where this goes. I realize that I basically dedicated this whole blog to writing reflections about what happened and what might happen after, but that has to come to an end at some point anyway. Maybe I will do some retrospective things, but only a few at most.

-HOWEVER. That doesn’t mean I’m leaving the fandom behind. Essays are fun and all but now I would much rather be writing fanfiction, especially the kind that explores concepts and relationships with more attention than they were given in canon. This doesn’t even have to be in a “fix-it” kind of way, just out of love for the world and the characters. And it’s awkward to try and approach these things until canon is actually done, because sometimes you want to keep it canon-compliant, or you worry about some earth shattering development changing the way you look at something, and overall you just want to have a clear sense of what canon is and isn’t, so you can riff on it and be smart about it. The closer we’ve gotten to the climax and the end, the less I’ve felt like writing any canon-verse fics even though I keep having ideas. That’s just a personal thing, because of what I like to write.

But now that the manga is really almost over, like reallyreallyreallyreallyreally soon, I’m about to be set free to take ALL of it and run. I hope some of you might be interested enough to stick around, even though you have no idea what my narrative writing is like. More than that I hope you know that the end of canon content doesn’t mean the fandom will die. I’ll be here.

[miodiodavinci]

anyway as for the long and short of how i'm doing currently (mostly the long)

so two weeks ago i sprained my wrist at work lifting boxes, and it's been a slow recovery even with the help of a brace, stretches, rice buddies, and ice packs. i've had to basically put a lot of my hobbies on hold because i've been saving what little i can do with my wrist for all the job prep i need to do on the weekends (i.e. making flyers, updating spreadsheets, creating presentations, moving more boxes, etc...)

hobbies are even further on hold at this point because this last week i injured my shoulder as well, and i can feel that my ankle is getting ready to go with it. i'm doing what i can to minimize the damage (i.e. got a work cart, have had coworkers come with me to storage, actually sitting down and resting when i'm on break, etc...) but there's not a lot that can be done considering these are Core Aspects of my job and my contract goes until spring (and also like. whole complex situation where i can't leave without screwing over myself and a lot of people i care about)

it's a shit situation all around, but at the very least i'm getting paid a reasonable amount and it's covering my expenses jfgjksdhkfg

(though for all the work i do, god oh god i wish it was doing more than just covering my expenses)

having to take a break from my hobbies has put me in a weird headspace, though. or like it's less of a weird headspace and more that there's finally this pause that has me reevaluating what i want to do in my spare time

i've been consumed by work for the past like four years of my life, this last year was kind of the culmination of that. between completing my internship, finishing my degree, surviving The Horror (read: had a really, truly horrifying cancer scare last year), doing the yamaha collab, and taking care of the flurry of job-hunting stuff that needed to be done post-graduation, i don't know if i actually got a chance to so much as breathe until august

. . . . except in august i immediately collapsed and rotted the entire month away skjdfhgkhsdf

i'm burnt out, i think. like. genuinely, really severely burnt out. the more i think about it, the more i feel like i just need a year of doing nothing.

just. absolutely nothing.

which i've told myself in the past. several times. always in a big showy way. so much so that i feel silly saying it now because i've been saying it for years in the descriptions of my videos and in posts on my blog.

"i'm tired of being beholden to past me!! this year, i'm letting go of my expectations for myself and just doing what i want!!" (<< this user has said this at least 7 separate times and has failed to make good on it every single time)

but i think why i've never been able to follow through is because in spite of all the dropping projects that no longer interested me and not feeling obligated to see everything through, i still held on to the expectation that at the end of it, i'd still post something. but like.

i think posting doesn't really matter to me as much anymore??? if at all???

which isn't to say "i'm putting my foot down and never creating any new vocaloid work ever again," but it's also like. i can't let myself sit with the expectation of "yeah i'll just make things for fun!! and when they're done, i'll post them!!' because that changes the focus from making something for me into making something for others to see, which is. a different beast to care for skdjfgklhsdlfg

i keep seeing a lot of things where i have the opportunity to keep building on what rice and i were able to make as part of the yamaha collab: alternate box arts, matching galaco design, cool new english covers featuring bespoke cover art of the new designs but when i think of starting those, i feel utterly drained, and when i think of how i'll feel once they're finished, i imagine it'll be akin to "alright, i've checked that off the list. what's the next thing i should do not disappear and be a failure?"

. . . . . which is really, really separate from doing things as a hobby because they make me happy OTL

this past year i've really reconnected with my close friends (in part because i stopped having time to scroll online and didn't want anyone to know when i was online because i legitimately did not have the energy to respond) and i've noticed i really truly enjoy just batting around our ocs with each other so more than i've enjoyed any of the vocaloid work that i've put out in the past five years skjfghldkfg

i've been doing vocaloid things for over ten years now, and the collaboration with yamaha was quite literally something i couldn't have even dreamed of, much less imagined it would have just fallen into my lap the way it did. coming off the end of it and my internship though, there's this feeling that's been building for years now where it feels like the effort i put in is just not proportional to the satisfaction i get out of it. it feels more like something i'm supposed to do otherwise i'd just be squandering all the work i've put in and all the attention i've gotten.

. . . . . . i just want to live man 😂 i'm caught in a mental tangle that feels difficult to unravel. spring mio was at the end of his fucking rope, but fall mio is finally has the time to sit down with the slack and is wondering if it's worth it to keep pulling for all i'm worth when i can always just go over to my friend's house and have a funny little sleep over (metaphorical or literal both apply)

i'm not decided by any means but i'm definitely thinking about it.

it's the fact that it's been 2 years since i've released salvador, and i went into it thinking i'd be cool and professional about it, with lots of covers and frequent updates because i used to make lots of UTAU covers in high school, but then i got paralyzed by all the "shoulds" wrapped up in the process and i just. stopped working.

when i say i want to make X cover of Y song, am i really saying that i want to go out of my way to do all these things?? or am i just imagining what momentary satisfaction i'll feel to see another thumbnail on my channel??

...

(face in hands) this ended up being. a lot fucking longer than i meant for it to be jksdfhlkghsdkfg

hopefully most people have clicked away by this point w

it's the tear between the things i genuinely want (making things with friends that stay between us friends) the things i kind of want out of necessity (opening up commissions so i can supplement my income), the things i said i'd do and can't back out now on, and the things i told myself i would do but can't really must up plenty of positive emotions about (but can feel plenty of frightful, guilty emotions when i think of not doing them)

i'll figure it out eventually. even in the worst case scenario, i plan to keep my accounts up as archives, so it's not like my work will go anywhere w i'd still want it to be there once i decide i'm ready to come back to it w

[diy-fire-water-pups]

WELCOME TO OUR BLOG!

This is a blog for you to interact with some of the Paw Patrol pups: The Firefighter and EMT pup, Marshall; The Recycle Do-All pup, Rocky; and last but not least, The Cool Water-Loving pup, Zuma.

Before you can send asks or start a RP, please check the rules under the cut first. Hope to see you around and have some fun!

Ps.: Askbox opens from Friday to Monday early morning (GMT -3). It's closed as soon as I wake up.

RULES FOR INTERACTING

1- Be respectful. There’s an actual person sitting in front of a computer or holding her cell phone here, spending time to play as her favorite pups, interact with people she doesn’t know and have fun; Time which she could be using for working and earning money to not worry about what to eat tomorrow, if her own dog and cat will have their food too and if the bills will be paid in time or late again. I’m here to have a good time. If someone starts being a bother, I’ll make use of the block button and delete asks or whatever’s sent my way. I’m not wasting time with assholes.

2- Same goes for the pups, actually - if I feel someone’s bothering them, I’ll do the same as above. Even if I’m not the one affected but I feel the pups would be. 

3- If you wish to RP, please send a DM to my other sideblog, self-indulgent-paw-patrol, so we can discuss about plots first. You don’t need to DM me if you just want to send asks or interact with the pups, though, that’s only for RPs.

4- EDIT! Thanks to some encouragement and the positive reception this blog has been receiving, I'm willing to try RPing crossovers again (Never did it here before, but I've done in other askblogs I've moderated in the past in other fandoms). The thing is, PLEASE TALK TO ME FIRST! Sometimes I don't know your muse at all, so it would be good to get to know them a bit first, before we plot anything. The ideal is for you to have an "About" page for your muses so I can check them out!

5- I’m willing to RP ships, be it platonic or romance, but absolutely NO NSFW will be allowed here. From the possible ships with the pups in this blog, my OTP is Rocky x Zuma, followed by Marshall x Everest and Chase x Marshall. I’m open for shipping the pups with OCs, granted I get to know the OCs first.

6- Feel free to reblog any posts you may find in this blog, including the pups' answers to asks they get. The only posts you shall NOT REBLOG (but you can like) are the posts tagged as #RP if you're not the one participating in it. That's basic ancient Tumblr etiquette!

7- M!A (Magic!Anons) are allowed but within a limit! The effect will be applied ONLY to the ask that sent the M!A. I won't be taking M!As that intend to affect other asks or RPs. Dare the pups to do silly stuff all you want, but within this limit. Also, I'll still hold my right to decline a M!A for whatever reason.

Rules may be subject to change in the future as I see fit. For now, that's about it!

Now I'll take the chance to promote my friends' pups askblogs too just because I can XD Make sure to read their rules before interacting too!

@jurassicsnowpups - an askblog for Everest, Rex and Tracker!

@pcwpatrol - an askblog for Chase!

@taking-to-the-skye - an askblog for Skye!

@stretch-n-fetch - an askblog for Liberty!

[indecenthoney]

A Sight For Sore Eyes

---------------------------------------------------

There are days when I don't feel as confident as I should be. A bad representation of who I really am. I can get really judgemental of myself. But when it comes to you ladies... You could wear a hoodie and some sweatpants and I'd already be thinking about our future together... If you're new to this blog... I am delusional...

"Okay... Sorry... Forgive me... I'm a bit of a dumbass... Could you repeat that? Yeah... Mhm... Nope, you lost me again... Quick question... What the fuck do you mean you don't feel hot? Have you seen yourself? If you're ugly then I'm an atrocity... You're fine..."

But I do get it. I try to hype up my friends any chance I get. I even try to give them a little push to get them out of that slump. I will do what is necessary to support them.

"Okay okay... I get it... I get it... You just don't feel as pretty today... Is there any way I can help? You... don't know? Well... I have an idea... but you can't say no... Take my hand and I will help you out... Good choice... C'mon, we're going for a drive..."

I learned that the brain can be pretty mean and judgemental of ourselves, so it requires more "physical" proof of our worth. What better way to make my bestie feel better about themselves than to show them off?

"We're going to the mall, duh... We'll go out for a quick stroll after I pick out a few outfits for you... Sound good? Not like you can say no anyway... Will you relax it'll be fun..."

In actuality, this is more for me than them. I mean dressing them up to fit my preferences? A once in a lifetime opportunity. I get to spend time with them, spoil them, and even show them off a bit. True, my eyes may wander but I'm her best friend. What's the harm? Right?

"Here put these on while I pick some other things out... Yeah, I'll be here... This looks good... and this would definitely look good on her... Seems like she's done... and she's getting hit on... Hey... Fuck off she's with me... Me? I'm her boyfriend... Well, look at you... getting compliments left and right... Maybe you don't need me after all... Yeah yeah... I'm right here no need to be scared... I'll scare them off for you... Today is a little too much for you, huh? We can go home and relax then... By the way, you look really cute clinging onto me with that outfit... There's no need to be embarrassed... C'mon, give me your hand... Let's go buy it..."

On the way back home, our little experiment isn't over yet. There we are hanging out, showering her with compliment after compliment. Eventually easing her into a little request of mine.

"You do look good! Seriously... you gotta give yourself more credit... You look absolutely stunning in that outfit... Speaking of, I kind of also bought these outfits... Surprise! Do you mind trying them on for me? Pretty please?"

She eventually gets into it and smiles a little more. I go on to compliment her and take pictures as I cheer her on to pose for me. She's starting to feel better about herself. I'm falling in love more and more as she goes through the outfits. Her not noticing that each outfit gets a little more revealing than the last. Handing her the final bag of clothing; a skimpy little bikini. Watching her meekly peek through the bathroom unsure of herself. Giving her a warm smile inviting her out into the open. Her legs shaking, doing her best to cover up but to no avail as I scan her body from top to bottom. Standing up and slowly inching towards her not to completely scare her off, but enough to take a few steps back against the wall to corner her.

"Fuck... You really do look good in anything I put you in... Hm? What's wrong? Me? A little too close? C'mon dude... I don't bite... relax... You know... When I heard you didn't feel pretty... I really was determined to change your mind... Don't you feel pretty right now? Cause you are... Give me your hand... You heard me... See? Feel this? You did this... Not to mention, the amount of heads that turned on our way back to the car... Looking at you... like a piece of meat for them to feast on... I wonder what kind of sick basic shit they'd do to you... Aw, sweetie... There's no need to be scared... I'll protect you... I always do... How could I ever share what's mine? I love you terribly after all..."

Pulling her in for a kiss as she trembles in arms. Breaks my heart to see her fight it, but whatever. Trying to push me away but also feeling her slowly melt away in my kiss. After what seemed like forever, I pull back to give a short break and see my love struck bestie. Only to be pulled back to reality with smack on the face.

"That hurts... and here I thought you would feel the same way... No? No no no no... You keep saying NO! But here you are soaking wet... How fucking lewd... Look... Can't you see your juices coating my fingers leaving strings... LOOK AT IT! Was it my kiss? No? How could it be? After you reacted like that... So what? It was the other guys, huh? If it wasn't me then it must've been all those fucking guys... You like the attention, don't you!?!? What? S-scaring you? Sweetie... Oh sweetie... t-there's nothing to be scared about... It's me... I'm trying to help you... even if it means hurting you... You're just... a little lost is all... Let me help you... I love you... I love you... I love you..."

I would proceed to grab her by the hair; placing her on my lap ass up. Taking off what little she had on and fingering her wet cunt. Every echo of disapproval met with a slap on the ass. Her cries mixed with her moans unsure of what she should be feeling right now. Her body betraying her.

"I'll stop... when I want to stop... and making you feel pretty is my goal right now... Oh, sweetie... I don't think you mean it... I need you... to MEAN IT... There you go again... I'm tired of hearing you say that you don't want it... God... I really did spoil you... but that's on me... Why don't we set some ground rules? Every time you tell me to stop... I will spank you... Understand? When I make you feel good... you say thank you, okay? See? You're... not... listening... You're only hurting yourself... What are you supposed to say? Good good... See? And when good girls follow direction they get to feel good... good girls get to be rubbed sillly and have fun... bad girls get spanks... and we don't want to be a bad girl now, do we?"

Her back resting against my chest; her legs spread and eagerly awaiting my fingers. Feeling her shake all over knowing that any act of defiance will be met with a spank. It gets me excited hearing her tremble telling me she'll be good and that she will listen. How could this ever be wrong? I'm helping her. This is out of love.

"Going to cum again? It's okay, sweetie... Cum as much as you want for today... I'll even slide another finger in, okay? Shhhh... It's okay you can take it... That's it... Mhm... Thank you... Yes yes... You're being so good for me right now... That's my good girl... No... I won't spank you anymore... Cause you're going to listen right? You're a good girl now... Mhm... Good girls listen... and do you know what would make me really happy right now? For you to ride me... Can you do that for me, sweetie? Such a good girl..."

Watching her guide my cock into her wet cunt taking in inch by inch. Crying and shaking from the little orgasms as she inserts it into herself. Finally finding some relief as the tip of my cock knocks the entrance of her cervix. Absolutely brain-dead as she sits on the full length of my cock. Twitching and spasming on top of me. Her on the verge of tears, overstimulated but eager to please. Rocking her hips back and forth stroking my cock with her pussy. A mindless fleshlight seeking attention. A fuckdoll of my amusement. Bouncing up and down on my cock as she endlessly repeats how pretty she is.

"Now... tell me... Who's pretty?"

"Me... I'm pretty... I'm pretty... I'm pretty..."

"Yes, you are... The prettiest... It's okay it's almost over... you can move your hips now... and once you're done we can take a break..."

Cumming into the deepest part of her only to have her slam down even after my completion. Hugging her and telling her it's okay and that she can rest now. Giving her short soft kisses on the lips as she drifts off to sleep. There isn't a damn thing that I wouldn't do to make her feel better. I love her after all.

------------------------------------------------

Purely obsessed,

Honey

[canichangemyblogname]

@trans-buckleyy (this is my main), I got into watching 911 ~September 2022 and looking back through some of my old message/posts about it I was talking about how the gifs I'd seen on tumblr made me think buddie were together. So yeah I definitely got 'baited'/misled by the fans (I didn't start watching for buddie specifically, they just came up on my dash the most) - I commented at the time that a lot of the posts on tumblr about 911 felt like they were only through the lens of buddie shippers so I can see how so many people were misled, fortunately for me the illusion shattered as soon as I actually started watching the show. Though there's been a massive shift in attitude, when I first joined the fandom most people were happy shipping buddie and not believing it would ever become canon, now it seems like everyone has convinced themselves it will. Imo they're kind of setting themselves up for disappointment.

I’m sure I’ve said this before on my blog: capitalism combined with the white supremacist suppression, homogenization, or sterilization of cultures & traditions leads people to make consumption and products part of their identity. Fiction and fandom fill a need to belong that often replace real support systems and community (this is why so many in fandom feel lonely). Rather than a hobby, fandom is part of some people’s identity. So, pushback against popular fan interpretations— or fanon— can feel like a personal attack.

It seems to me that the blogs that just do fandom things to do fandom things—like shipping, that are happy to delineate between canon and fanon, and that understand that fanon is fanon and will likely never go canon are also the same blogs that love things like “rare-pairs” and “multi-shipping.” They seem to approach it from a “it’s never that serious” mentality and really just seem to want to have fun with it. It’s a hobby, not part of how they define themselves. Hobbies and interests are welcome to change, whereas people see identity as fixed and deterministic (it’s not, but that’s a whole other discussion).

There’s been a massive shift in attitude because the landscape has changed. Many of the most hard-core fans have staked their group belonging and (fandom) worldview around buddie. It was *the* singular 9-1-1 fanon relationship (the rest are all canon). It brought them together with people, people who they now see celebrating more on-screen queer representation. They feel spurned. Videos are surfacing of some of the most hard-core sobbing over Buck being confirmed as bi, but not getting buddie. They're telling their audience/followers that if buddie never goes canon, their quality of life will decrease, and they’re repeating many of the same things you (and many other fans) mention: they were led to believe this was a done deal, a foregone conclusion. How does one admit they’re likely wrong about “endgame” when they’ve spent the better part of 6 years supporting this and believing in it? They’re having far more difficulty accepting this than you did. Unlike you, actually watching the show did not set their expectations for what canon will likely be.

I also think there has been a massive shift in the way fandoms approach shipping since the end of Supernatural. A good chunk of the SPN fandom simply stopped watching the show, but continued creating for it. The fandom still dominates on fan-driven sites despite the show now being off-air for 4 years. Many SPN fans had largely given up on canon, preferring fanon, and admitted as such. Until “Destiel” went “canon.” (It didn’t, not really and not technically.) People shifted to this idea that they— the fans— could pressure networks and producers to canonize their ship (they can’t) or make decisions the fandom, a very niche part of an audience, would prefer (they can't). After Buck was confirmed bi, some of the most popular takes were, “This is revolutionary! Just 4 years ago, Supernatural was queerbaiting us all to superhell, and now we have 9-1-1 making a character bi 7 seasons in."

Ultimately, this idea they can pressure shows into making fanon a reality reveals that they have no concept of how television shows are made and produced or how decisions are made at the production and network levels. They are not going to persuade a network plus every writer, every producer, and every showrunner involved to agree to do what they want. But we still see fans in fandom believe they can get all these people to make decisions for the sake of fandom. Just look at the Our Flag Means Death fandom and their billboard fiascos.

Because buddie is part of how this subset of 9-1-1 fans define their sense of belonging, if Buck is in a relationship with anyone other than Eddie, this threatens their community and their relationship with the media itself. Tommy is to these 9-1-1 fans what Eddie was to Buck in 02x01: competition. This is why this same group treated the actresses who played former love interests like shit, too, including death threats and attempts to doxx or "cancel" them. Everything that challenges their (fandom) worldview must be removed. They can't and won't get the network to budge, so maybe they can try to get the actors themselves to quit or the producers to budge. After all, they have "direct" access to these individuals (they don't).

This all seems fantastical just writing about it. The logic doesn't logic, but logic isn't going to logic when social media creates parasocial relationships. Social media makes it seem like we plebians are closer to the patrician class because of how we're exposed to personal aspects of their lives. Repeated exposure to a media persona causes a media user to develop illusions of intimacy, friendship, and identification, and the more prevalent social media is in the media user's life, the more parasocial the online relationship becomes. So if your belonging and part of your sense-of-self identify with being a buddie shipper, then so, too, does the media persona, leading to people like Oliver Stark or Tim Minear being "number one buddie defenders" (they don’t care, y'all, I promise).

Now, add to this the way that m/m shipping has been constructed as inherently subversive (despite the reductive and sometimes regressive tropes that slash-fic uses) and as a form of activism, and you now have people not just identifying with shipping and staking their well-being on a ship, but also believing it is a morally righteous cause to campaign for. To them, they're fighting for representation and the expansion of queer stories. So, when the network and show expand queer representation without them or their ship, they're confronted with the reality that what they're doing doesn't do a damn bit of help. They're forced to ask themselves if their feverish promotion of and support for this ship may not have been about representation. I've seen some of them conclude that 1.) being forced to look critically at shipping is just misogyny because the majority of people in these fandom spaces are women, 2.) they're a queer woman, so, of course, it was about representation, they support and care about queer men and are an m/m ally (yet reblog posts about shooting us if we flirt with men in ways they don't like with the excuse "I'm a woman, I'm allowed to hate men"), 3.) actually, the buddie ship is "superior" representation because it is culturally diverse because Eddie's Latino (yea tokenization!!).

This all plays a large part in why they aren't taking it well when called out for homophobia and the xenophobic hypersexualization of Latino men because, to them, shipping culturally diverse m/m relationships is inherently "progressive" and "subversive" (again, despite the reductive and regressive tropes they use in their writing). They don't need to look critically at what they're saying or how they're hurting marginalized men because they believe they are putting moral pressure on the networks to be more progressive or subversive. Meanwhile, they're drawing rhetoric and ideas from existing queerphobic worldviews and legal structures (like echoing the rhetoric similar to gay panic, a US legal strategy to excuse crimes such as murder and assault on the grounds that the victim being queer led the perp to violence - a.k.a shooting a man for the way he flirted with another man) to tear down canon queer representation, just as they previously used misogynistic tropes to tear down Ana or Taylor or Ali or Marisol.

TL;DR— Many factors have contributed to the wide meltdown and "fandom schism" we've witnessed, not just the fact that some people explicitly started watching for buddie and have skipped whole swaths of the show to fit a "buddie interpretation."

[hetalia-club]

I'm not normally one to rant or anything but here goes.

I hesitate to tag this. but I feel it needs to be said, in fact I feel it HAS to be said or I think this fandom is just going to be done for within the next 5 or so years. People need to read this and understand what is happening within the fandom and not continue this behavior or turn a blind eye to it.

This fandom has a SERIOUS problem. I don't say that lightly either. I feel like 99% of this fandom are sweet and caring people. but we have that 1%.

This 1% is killing the community in this fandom. How is it okay to message someone, demand they make a statement on THEIR blog and when they say they don't want to talk about it you then tell them you wish they would die a horrible death?

TW for suicide and SA! (you have been warned) Long rant below. (preempted note to let everyone know that I am fine, I am not posting this for people to feel bad for me. I am using my own experiences as examples, but this is not a 'me' issue this is a fandom issue)

Why is that so normalized here? The vague blogging and the call to arms people in this fandom do is actually disgusting. Picking one person and just beating them down until they eventually leave the fandom and at the SAME people will be like. "Why is the Hetalia fandom so small?" Who wants to be in a fandom where making one statement that's not even bad could get you death threats?

I don't think the fandom realizes how hurtful what they say can be. Sure you might not have liked a post someone made because you disagreed. Well then scroll down, hit the block button and carry on with your life. Why do some of you feel it is acceptable behavior to make mass posts calling out someone or going into their inbox to tell them you wish they would kill themselves?

I say I don't like Spamano and people say they want me dead. I say I don't want to talk about IRL politics on my parody Hetalia blog and my life and entire country is threatened.

I say we shouldn't insert our ships into everyone's lives and let people ship what they want and not feel forced to appease you. and you guessed it people wish terrible things onto me and my body.

I feel the only way this behavior will change is if we start calling it out more. I know it will feel repetitive but I think ignoring it is only making it worse at this point.

I know a lot of people would read this and think "If you don't like it then leave the fandom" well YOU'RE the issue. This is not normal behavior. These are not actions of someone who is mentality well. Why should I leave a fandom I've been in for 10 years because some idiot cannot handle that I don't like shipping characters together? How is that impacting their life at all?

a few months ago I made a post and it was highjacked and someone totally just took it over and added their own thing onto it talking about SA. Totally out of left field not related to what I posted at all. I simply messaged them and asked them if they could please remove the comment as I am a survivor of SA and it don't think it was funny or appropriate to add onto my post and they just said. "No I can say anything I want to. I was talking about Hetalia so it's fine." like what do you mean no!? Who responds that way? What a normal considerate person would do is say "I'm sorry of course! I can just go make my own post." but no they just left it there. It's still there, won't say which post or who it was because it doesn't matter anymore.

But this is the kind of behavior I'm talking about. This weird entitlement of everyone being so defensive and angry all the time. Just wanting to pick a fight over nothing. You never know if simply saying something like (Example) "I don't really like Austria" Could land you 100 anons all saying they wanted you to off yourself. It's like a game of Russian roulette. It's a very stressful environment for a big creator to be in. All it really takes is the wrong person to see a post you made and disagreed with and all of a sudden they are making posts about you without mentioning your name but are CLEARLY about you saying "This person hates all Austrians, they are a neo-nazi and we should all block them and send them hate and also let's just reword what they said to make it sound 100x worse because people won't read the original post and they will just believe us." Who would want to be a creator in an environment like that?

would you believe me if I told you I still to this day am getting someone in my inbox calling for my r*pe because of the stupid fucking beauty pageant poll I did? Is that not insanity? Who is that person? Wtf is their life? I personally could not imagine sending hate to anyone for any reason, and if I did it would be off of anon and I would say it with my chest. Because in order for someone to push it that far they would have to saying some absolutely terrible stuff to make me take time from my day and life to give them negative energy.

The fandom is shrinking because of the 1% driving them away. They come after artists who draw a character in a way they don't like. They come after writers for depicting a character in a way they disagree with. They go after shippers for portraying their ship 'wrong'. They will comment on people's fun little head canons and just leave the rudest most unnecessary comments thinks like "He wouldn't do that" like okay?? Thanks for your insert betty sue. And it's always when you were never trying to set someone off is when they lose their minds. They do not understand even if a blog is big and has a lot of followers it is still THAT creators blog. they are a person not an identity who just churns out content for just you and they have to say and do whatever you want.

Another thing the 1% like to do on here is they will wait for you to say something and then they will jump to attack a person who does the thing you said you dislike and they will tell that person "blog name XYZ said you are a horrible person and I agree kill yourself" That one is a near direct quote I got not too long ago. I got several like that and actually had to message said creator and say "Why are you mad at me?" and they were completely confused, had no idea how they decided to attack me because of what they said. When I tell you that the 1% are sitting there frothing at the mouth wanting to send hate and death threats I mean that 100%

It's not JUST me either. All creators in the Hetalia fandom I'm sure could tell you about upsetting hate they received and had no idea what they even did or said wrong. I have spoken to former Hetalia blogs ones who I used to call my pals before I went on my hiatus and came back. They all said they left not because they started hating Hetalia but they left for their mental health because the 1% got too bold and unchecked. This was never an issue before quarantine. I know it brought a lot of new fans and that's great! But I also feel along with bringing in some wonderful people it brought in some really dark minded people as well. Saying "Just disable anons and move on" is also not a solution. these people are still here and if they're not bothering me or you they are tormenting someone else because that's what these people do. That 'someone else' may only need the tiniest nudge at the edge and they may just actually hurt themselves. You don't know people. You don't know what everyone is going through. You don't know what someone's life is like outside of here.

PLEASE Please! stop telling people to kill themselves. Stop telling people to go get R**ed in a gutter. Get some help talk to a therapist, a friend, a trusted teacher, a life coach, your parents, your sibling. anyone! And if you don't have anyone in your life you can talk to you can message me and we can talk about what you're going through. I'm sure any other Hetalian on here would say the same thing. Bloggers are real people.

International suicide hotlines

Website to help you find a therapist in your own country and in your price range

I know I will more than likely get hate for posting this. Which is upsetting to just know is going to happen but someone needs to say this because it's getting kind of out of control these last couple months I feel.

if you read this through reblog it, spread it around let the people who NEED to see it see it.