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liliasenbyhusband · 3 days ago

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Play stupid games

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Joanne x reader (company, f!Bobbie)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!!!, smutty thoughts but no actual smut, drinking, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, that’s it I think??

Tags: longing, established friendship between reader, Joanne, a bit more angsty than the other chapter, loneliness, drinking, hangover, flirting

Summary: Joanne comes home after Bobbie’s party to an empty apartment and has a hard time dealing with the loneliness that accompanies that.

Notes: Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. I have very mixed emotions about it. I hope you guys like it though. I’m hoping to be able to post the next chapter next weekend, but I can’t make any promises cause uni is really taking it out of me atm. As always, English isn’t my first language so please excuse any mistakes.

Words: ~3.7k

Chapter 1

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Chapter 2: Bobbie’s best friend

Joanne sighed as she entered her empty apartment, if she hadn’t been so hellbent on winning that stupid argument with Bobbie then she could have asked you to join her for a nightcap… would it still be considered a nightcap at 4 am in the morning..? She shrugged and decided to pour herself a glass of whiskey. She really did despise coming home to an empty apartment, especially when she didn’t get to properly say goodbye to you.

She had no one to blame but herself really. She could have easily let Bobbie win the argument and then asked you to go with her to her apartment. Or she could have at least taken a proper break from arguing to take her time to say goodbye to you. But at the time winning their little fight had been more important so now she had to deal with the emptiness that had settled into her heart, an all too familiar feeling whenever you weren’t around. Joanne hated a lot of things, but missing you might just be one of the things she hated the most.

She groaned at her own patheticness, she had just seen you, how was she already craving your company again? She blamed the alcohol for her neediness and the persistent ache that seemed insistent on haunting her whenever she thought about you for too long. She also decided to ignore the wet patch that had formed in her underwear, the result of being a little too flirty with you and her inability to stop her horny thoughts from taking over whenever you were around.

Joanne threw herself on her couch after taking off her shoes and began sipping her whiskey. She knew it was a bad idea to drink even more, but it was the only thing she could think to do to fight the sadness that had woven itself into every fiber of her being.

Her faulty plan to distract herself with more alcohol had been doomed from the start and it completely backfired when she failed to find something else to think of or keep herself busy with. The thoughts she had tried to repress took over, alcohol tended to have that effect on her… and yet she never learned from her past mistakes and continued to drink whenever her heart felt sad or empty. So, unable to do anything to stop it, she groaned as the memories and feelings from this turbulent past year and a half began to plague her.

Joanne had never entertained the thought of liking women.. let alone the idea that she might not like men. She had blamed the fact that her marriages never worked out on the fact that she had never met a man that could handle her or meet her high standards. Joanne had never questioned it… not until her third marriage had ended and she once again felt nothing but relief to be rid of another husband.

Surely she should have been more upset at losing her third husband, at another broken marriage… sure Larry hadn’t been perfect but he had been kind and gentle and patient. So why was she so happy to be rid of him? And that’s when it hit her, him being so patient and gentle had been the problem. He had started getting too close, he knew her too well and he was too kind, wanted to be intimate too much and loved her too much. Whenever she pulled away, he took a step closer and it was insufferable, so she had ended things.

With every husband she had found flaws, flaws that were too great to look past, that she could not stand, that irritated her beyond comprehension. And during every marriage she had made it impossible for the relationship to bloom and thrive, always finding new ways to pull back or taunt her spouse. It had started to make her question things, even during her marriage with Larry.

And then, when the expected hurt at losing someone, who so clearly loved her, didn’t follow, after she felt nothing but relief and guilt, she had started to really look at herself and her previous marriages. Of course with the help of some a lot of alcohol, because trying to do any introspection sober was a fate worse than death.

Joanne realised she had never felt attracted to her husbands… in fact she barely even tolerated most of them.. she couldn’t even remember why she had married them, other than it had been expected of her so she’d done it.

In the midst of this personal journey, Bobbie had introduced her new best friend to the group. When Bobbie had announced that she’d be bringing you to their next gathering, because she wanted everyone to meet you, Joanne had been skeptical of adding another person to their already big and chaotic friend group. She also wasn’t sure if she had the emotional strength to deal with meeting someone new right now. But it had seemed important to Bobbie, and whether she admitted it or not, she cared for her.. so she’d begrudgingly agreed to be there for the next gathering and had promised to be nice to you.

A decision she was now incredibly grateful for. When first meeting you she had started jokingly flirting with you, just like she did with most women she met for the first time, she found it usually eased the tension and awkwardness. Although most women never really matched her energy, usually just rolling their eyes or laughing at Joanne’s remarks. But then you came and you matched every dirty remark with an even filthier one and you had even managed to fluster her every once in a while, a feat only a very few people could claim to have accomplished. Meeting you had been like finally feeling a cool breeze after being trapped in a hot room for days on end.

And then she got to know you better, and you were so clearly and unapologetically yourself, she had to admit she admired it. You were no longer just a fun person to throw filthy comments at, but you had actually stirred something deep within her. She found herself feeling feelings she thought people had been lying about existing, she certainly never felt these butterflies around any of her husbands… when she began to truly think about it, the only time she had ever felt this giddy around anyone was during her college days when she had spent most of her time hanging out with her closest friend.

And that’s how all the puzzle pieces finally fell into place.. on a random Friday night at Bobbie’s, surrounded by her friends and while talking to you. Suddenly everything made sense. Why she had despised every single one of her husbands, how they had never been able to match her high standards, why she had felt so betrayed when her closest friend had gotten a boyfriend, and why she suddenly felt butterflies whenever you touched her. She was a lesbian… it was a crushing realization, accompanied by a wave of many intense emotions, both good and bad.

Joanne had never been more grateful for her ability to hide her emotions behind a well crafted mask and a strongly built wall than she had been that random Friday night. She had somehow managed to hold everything together till she got to her apartment, where she let the wave of emotions drown her completely while reaching for her familiar bottle of vodka.

The journey to acceptance had been a long and arduous one, especially since she refused to tell anyone about what she was going through, not out of a fear of not being accepted, but simply because she refused to seem weak. She had spent years creating this persona and she would be damned before ever showing her real self to these people.

The fact that she had developed a bit of a crush on you hadn’t helped this predicament either… she had only known you for a couple of months and hung out with you outside of the friend group twice and yet she had somehow managed to make this harder on herself than it already was.

And yet, somehow, she managed to slowly but surely start accepting this part of herself and her life had started to make a whole lot more sense now. She would never say it out loud, but opening up to you, even just a little, had helped her journey immensely and even though she hadn’t exactly come out to you, she still felt like you somehow knew, like you could see through her and, unlike with Larry, the thought brought her ease and comfort.

Her phone vibrating brought her out of her thoughts, as she checked who had messaged her, she noticed the time: 6 am. Had she really been lost in thought that long..? She sighed and downed the rest of her whiskey before reading the message Bobbie had sent her. It was a very poorly written apology, wanting to make sure Joanne hadn’t been angry with her after their little quarrel.

Bobbie was very clearly drunk, she always got anxious and began to overthink everything when she was drunk and alone. Joanne rolled her eyes and sighed but there was no real annoyance behind it, she cared a lot about Bobbie, and deep down she understood her more than she’d ever admit. She saw a great deal of herself in the other woman. She typed out a quick message, full of mistakes, reassuring Bobbie that they were okay and that she wasn’t upset about the argument. Quite frankly she couldn’t even remember what the argument had been about… the only thing she could remember was that it had seemed important to win it… but then again, to Joanne, winning any argument at all was always important

When she exited their chat, she saw your name right under Bobbie’s, which is when she remembered that she hadn’t sent you a text, to tell you that she had gotten home safe, yet. You and Joanne usually texted each other immediately after getting home…she couldn’t exactly remember when or why you had started doing it, but it was nice nonetheless. It made her feel like someone cared about her and it was always nice to know that you’d gotten home safe.

She had completely forgotten to text you this time though, too absorbed in her own thoughts to remember to let you know she’d made it to her apartment in one piece… so she quickly sent you a message, letting you know she had gotten home safely. In her drunken haste to reply to you, she had struggled to write a coherent message, the singular sentence containing more spelling mistakes than words spelled correctly, but she knew you wouldn’t care.. as long as you knew she got home safe.

Joanne groaned as she felt that familiar ache once again begin to settle into her heart upon seeing your name on her screen. Her little crush, attraction and fascination with you had turned into something much deeper these past months. She had tried to push it down, bottle it up, forget about it, but her feelings always found a way back to the forefront of her mind. Luckily for her, you seemed to be none the wiser, the years of perfecting the walls she had built around her heart had paid off.

Sometimes she dreamed about telling you how she felt or confessing to you that she was a lesbian, just so she could say it out loud to someone. And who better to tell than the only person she felt comfortable opening up to, even just a little? Besides she was quite sure you knew already or at least suspected something.

But then the shame and embarrassment kicked in.. how on Earth had it taken her this long to find out she liked women? She knew you wouldn’t judge her but… well maybe you should. She had gone through life proclaiming to know it all, telling anyone who would listen how she had life completely figured out and yet… she didn’t even discover this essential part of herself until fairly recently. Not only had it taken her multiple decades to figure it out, but it had also taken her three whole divorces… no she was too proud to ever admit this to anyone, even you. Accepting herself was one thing, having to deal with the consequences of her own actions was something entirely different. And what was the point, anyway? It was too late, she was too old… and there was no way you’d be interested in her.

“There is still time.”

She whispered into the cold air of her living room, it sounded desperate, like she was trying to convince herself of a lie. It was supposed to be comforting, a reminder that it wasn’t too late, that she could still explore this side of herself…there was still time. Except it didn’t feel comforting, instead it felt like a curse, there is still time.. there is always time… and nothing to fill it with, no dreams to be chased, no goals to be accomplished, no wishes to be fulfilled, no work to be completed… just time.. an endless stretch of time that she couldn’t seem to assign any meaning to. She stared at her now empty glass as the reality of having a future with no goals she wished to chase, settled into her once again.

No, you would never be into her, you needed someone ambitious, someone who could help you grow in life and would encourage you to follow your dreams… not a drunk old broad who spent her days doing nothing but complaining and drinking.

Joanne groaned as she got up from the couch, she really hated coming home to an empty apartment, her thoughts seemed to never stop when she was alone. With great difficulty she made her way over to her bed. She couldn’t be bothered to change out of today's clothes, so she just let herself fall into her bed. She’d regret all of this tomorrow morning.. or well, more accurately, later today.. but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Thanks to the alcohol, she managed to fall asleep rather quickly, but it didn’t provide her any solace. You haunted her dreams with your understanding eyes, witty remarks and comforting touches.

Joanne woke up feeling worse than she did when she had gone to bed. Not only did she have a massive hangover but having dreamt of you laying beside her and then waking up in an empty bed, in the same clothes she had worn yesterday, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes, had hit her harder than she would ever admit.

She slowly got out of bed, opting to take a cold shower before trying to do anything, needing to get rid of this smell and hoping to get rid of some of the brain fog.

When Joanne got out of the shower, she was entirely unaware of what part of the day it was, she had no clue how long she had slept, all she knew was that she needed a cigarette, an aspirin and something to eat… although her nausea did not agree with that last part.

She threw on the comfiest pair of pants she owned and one of her favourite blouses. As she was about to search for her phone, to try and figure how late it was, a knock disturbed the silence that hung in her apartment. A confused frown made its way onto her face, she was quite sure she hadn’t made any plans today, anticipating that she would be too hungover to follow through on any of them.

She made her way over to her door nonetheless, not bothering to check what she looked like. She would tell whoever was on the other side of that door they could fuck off anyway. She was not in the mood for any company.

The second Joanne opened the door she regretted not putting on her make-up or checking herself in the mirror. As her eyes landed on your smiling form, a bit of self consciousness began to creep its way into her mind.

Her confusion must have been clear on her face because you quickly began to explain yourself, holding up two cups of coffee and a bag that she assumed had some sort of food in it. You were clearly a little nervous as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“Judging by the text you sent early this morning, I figured you might have a rough morning or, more accurately, afternoon. So I reckoned why not surprise you with your favourite coffee and some breakfast.. I thought you might need it. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Joanne shook her head and softly reassured you that she had been awake already, electing to leave out that she had only been awake for approximately half an hour. She couldn’t stop the small smile from making its way onto her face, you were so thoughtful. She mentally cursed herself as she felt her heart flutter at your kind gesture.

She tried to act like her self assured self while letting you in, but she suddenly was very aware of the state she had left her apartment in after getting back home. Her empty glass was still sat on top of the living room table, her coat had been thrown on the first chair she had seen and her shoes were carelessly discarded in front of the couch. On top of that you had never seen her without make-up. The self consciousness that had already been creeping its way into her mind now doubled in intensity.

Joanne didn’t miss the worried look you sent her way, you must have picked up on her uneasiness. She quickly sent you a reassuring smile, muttering something about a hangover as she slipped her confident mask back on, before taking the coffee you had handed her.

“So what did you bring me for breakfast? Besides you of course?”

Joanne teased, her voice light while her lips twitched into a smirk. She found these type of teasing remarks usually helped her slip back into the persona she had created for herself. And trying to fluster you was also an added bonus.

She watched as you tried to hide the faintest blush by taking a sip from your coffee. She had noticed how you got flustered more often and easier lately, she sometimes wondered what had suddenly changed for you to suddenly become more shy. It reminded her of the conversation she had overheard between you and Bobbie yesterday. Maybe Bobbie was implying that it had been too long since you had gotten laid? Could that be part of the reason why you had gotten so easy to fluster? Maybe Bobbie had offered to introduce you to someone and then told you to take action, to not let her offer go to waste… it certainly would make sense.

That thought left her with a feeling she hadn’t felt in ages, jealousy. She internally groaned at her own stupidity. She had absolutely no right to be jealous, besides she didn’t even know if there was anything to be jealous of. She realised she might not know you as well as she thought she did. You had never talked much about your love life, at least not to Joanne… Bobbie seemed to know more though… she definitely knew something that Joanne didn’t.

The jealousy that she had felt earlier only got worse at that. This wasn’t her thoughts coming up with a hypothetical scenario.. this was reality…you trusted Bobbie more than her… maybe even liked her more than her. Joanne took a sip from her coffee, trying to stop the lump that had threatened to form in her throat.

She silently scolded herself, you were Bobbie’s best friend, it made complete sense for you to trust her more, share more secrets with her, share parts of your life that you didn’t with Joanne.

Her racing thoughts came to a halt when you spoke up to answer her question, a question she had completely forgotten she had asked in the first place.

“Pastries from that cute little bakery on the corner. If you still have an appetite after them, you can have your dessert.”

Your voice sounded light and playful and the wink you sent her way had a much bigger effect on her than it should have. She was quite sure she wouldn’t be able to get the image of eating you out on her couch out of her head for the rest of the day.

When you handed her the bag with pastries those filthy thoughts were replaced by a much warmer, softer feeling. She only now realised you had gone to her favourite bakery and as she opened the bag, she saw that you had not only gone to her favourite bakery, but you had also gotten her favourite pastries.

Joanne had mentioned that bakery and her favourite pastries once or twice and couldn’t believe you had remembered it. Any sadness that had previously tainted her heart was replaced by the comforting feeling that accompanied the knowledge that you cared enough about her to remember these little things.

A genuine and heartfelt “thank you” slipped from her lips as she looked into your eyes, the gratitude clearly displayed in her own.

The rest of the afternoon was spent teasing one another, talking about everything and nothing, as the sound of laughter filled the air. The contrast with earlier that day could not have been bigger. The sadness and coldness that had polluted the air of the living room mere hours earlier, had now been replaced with a warmth that could only come from time spent with you, watching you blush and hearing you laugh at Joanne’s dirty jokes.

The warmth still lingered even after you had begrudgingly left, reminders of your presence lingering in her kitchen and living room. Your discarded coffee cup on the living room table and the bag, with still half a pastry in it, laid on the kitchen counter. The emptiness that had taken hold of Joanne’s heart earlier had now been filled with a feeling only you could bring out in her, she didn’t have a name for it, not yet, but for once she didn’t care that she didn’t know. She just wanted to bask in this feeling for a little while longer, before the ache of missing you inevitably took hold of her once again.

#joanne x reader #company #joanne #fanfic #patti lupone

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s4nniebe4r · 17 hours ago

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the roommate

part three: cold front

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: a terrible storm comes, leaving you to fall incredibly ill

wc: 2.9k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance, sicker reader, caregiver san (eventually)

etc: yes, i’m aware this is a little longer than the previous chapters, but this is where the story starts to go somewhere… i couldn’t help myself, these kinds of works are my kryptonite. the perspective changes a little to san, but still keeps that same style... i guess? as always, this isn’t proofread!

previous part next part

It’s been a few months since you moved in with San, long enough that autumn had come and gone, and was replaced with the bitter grasp of winter. The warm hues of falling leaves feel like a blurred memory compared to the storm raging on outside. You hadn’t even noticed the season slipping away, too caught up in the mundane rhythm of life. Now, winter has made itself known with full force.

The heater breaks in the middle of the night. You don’t notice right away, curled up under layers of blankets, but by the time your alarm blares in the morning, your nose is undoubtedly a bright shade of pink, and freezing. The kind of freezing that makes it hard to muscle yourself out of bed, let alone start the day. You burrow deeper into your comforter, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself to go back to sleep. But the air in your room is sharp and biting, making it near impossible to get comfortable.

So, with a groan, you sit up, shivering as your blankets pool around your waist. You grab your phone and immediately see the message from your landlord. Heat’s out. No repairs until the storm clears. Stay warm. This must be why the price was so affordable, you thought.

A second notification then catches your eye—one from your university’s message board. Due to severe weather conditions, all classes have been canceled until further notice. Please reach out to your professors for individual questions. Stay safe.

At least there’s a silver lining.

“Great. Fantastic.” Your voice is hoarse from the night, and the second you speak, you feel the dryness in your throat. It’s easy to ignore, for now.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on the thickest pair of socks you own, adding another hoodie over your long sleeve, and wrap a throw blanket around your shoulders before stepping out of your room.

The rest of the apartment is just as cold as your room—maybe colder, considering how the hardwood floors only amplify the chill. You tighten the throw blanket around you as you shuffle into the kitchen. Tea first. Then maybe you’ll figure out how to survive the rest of the day and the unbearable cold.

San is already there, of course, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. Unlike you, he looks so completely unfazed by the temperature drop, like he’s dressed just as any other day. No extra layers, no sign of discomfort—just a hoodie and sweatpants, like the cold doesn’t even register for him.

You frown as you start the kettle. “How are you not freezing?”

He barely glances up. “How are you this dramatic?”

You shoot him a small glare as you wait for the kettle to heat. “I’m literally dying.”

“You’re literally not.”

You only huff, crossing your arms over your chest. The silence between you is thick, heavy with the weight of mutual stubbornness. It’s not like you and San talk much anyway, but something about the heater breaking makes the space between you feel more present. More noticeable, something else you actually share in common, although it’s something so frustrating.

As soon as the tea is done, you pour yourself a cup and immediately press it to your hands, savoring the fleeting warmth. The first sip burns your tongue, but you don’t really mind, you welcome it in all honesty, sighing as it spreads through you. Letting a smile form, even though it’s small, it’s there.

San watches, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re heartless.” You sniff, retreating to the couch. You cocoon yourself in a blanket, pressing the tea to your lips like it’s your lifeline. “I hope you freeze in your sleep.”

San scoffs, setting his phone down. “I won’t. Because I’m normal.”

You glare at him over the rim of your mug. “You’re a freak of nature.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you turn on the TV, searching for something mindless to distract you from the fact that you can feel the cold seeping into your bones, freezing you inside and out. The storm outside only gets worse as the day drags on, wind rattling against the windows, snow piling up on the ledges, practically taunting you. Every so often, you glance at the thermostat, hoping—so stupidly—that maybe it’ll magically fix itself. It never does.

San lounges on the other end of the couch, completely at ease, while you curl into yourself trying to conserve warmth. The worst part? It’s only the first day, and the forecast calls for at least a few more days of this.

And you already feel miserable.

You wake up to a room even colder than before. If the first day was miserable, today is unbearable. Your throat feels scratchy, your body is heavy from exhaustion, but you push the thoughts aside. It’s probably just from the dry air, nothing to worry about. Still, you hesitate before leaving your bed, knowing that the moment you step into the apartment, the chill will settle back into your bones all over again.

San of course, is fine. You find him in the same position as yesterday, sprawled out on the couch, a controller in his hands. He’s playing a video game, but barely—his movements are lazy, half-hearted, like he’s not even paying much attention. His hair is slightly messier, but he looks… comfortable. Perfectly content. The sight makes you irrationally upset.

“How,” you start, rubbing at your chilled over arms, “are you not cold?”

He barely looks up. “Mind over matter.”

You groan, stomping into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. At this rate, it might be your only source of warmth. And maybe, it would add some sort of soothing to your chapped lips, which already felt like they were cracking and so dry, it pained you.

San watches as you wrap yourself in yet another blanket, shaking his head. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You drop onto the two-seater couch with a dramatic sigh, pressing your warm mug to your face, rubbing it against your cheek. “I hate this.”

He smirks. “You hate everything.”

You grumble something incoherent, pulling your blanket tighter around you as the snow continues to pike outside. The storm hasn’t let up, and of course, the heater is still broken.

And you have no idea how you’re going to get through these next few days.

The third day arrives, but you barely register it.

The exhaustion at this point is crushing. It weighs on your body like a weighted blanket, pressing you deeper into the mattress, keeping you tethered to your bed. The cold that had once been a biting inconvenience now feels so overwhelming. Your head is heavy, your throat raw, your body aching in places you didn’t even know could hurt. Even under the layers of blankets and clothing, warmth is nowhere to be felt.

So, you try to sleep through it. Maybe if you sleep long enough, you’ll wake up and feel normal again. But the fever doesn’t let you rest. Each time you drift off, you wake up sweating, shivering, tangled in your blankets like they’re trying to strangle you—at this point you wouldn’t mind it too much, if it meant not feeling like this. The pounding in your head never fades. Your stomach churns unpleasantly, but you don’t have the energy to get up and find something to eat. It’s easier to just stay curled up, hoping that if you keep your eyes shut long enough, time will fast-forward through the worst of it.

At first, San doesn’t notice your absence.

It’s not unusual for you to keep to yourself. Most days, you both exist in the apartment without really acknowledging each other—passing by in the kitchen, sharing the couch in silence, or exchanging dry remarks about how much the winter has been draining this year. So when a full day passes without seeing you, he doesn’t think much of it. You’re probably just holed up in your room, avoiding the cold like usual.

But then, another day slips by. And it starts to feel… off.

He doesn’t realize what’s wrong until he’s sitting on the couch, half-heartedly playing a video game again, and his stomach growls. Automatically, his mind drifts to the last time he saw you. The first two days of the lock in, you’d make your way into the kitchen, bundled up in layers, grumbling silently to yourself about the cold while clutching a steaming cup of tea. But the apartment has been eerily quiet. Not complaints, no passive-aggressive shivering, no muffled TV sounds coming from your room. His fingers pause on the controller.

How long has it been since he’s actually seen you?

Something nags at the back of his mind, a small itch of concern he doesn’t want to even acknowledge. He tells himself he’s just curious, that it’s weird for you to go this long without irritating him with your presence. But the longer he sits there, the stronger the feeling gets. Finally, with a sigh, he sets the controller down and pushes himself off the couch.

The hallway is dim, and your door is shut as usual. He hesitates for a second before knocking lightly.

There’s no response.

Frowning, he knocks again, a little louder. “Hey.”

Still nothing.

There’s a strange, uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. He debates leaving it alone—maybe you’re just sleeping—so he puts weight on the heel of his foot to turn away. But then he hears it: the faintest rustling, the sound of movement from inside, almost sluggish and strained.

Without thinking, he tries at the door. It’s unlocked.

The second he steps inside, the change of temperature from your room hits him like a wall. Despite the rest of the apartment being freezing, your room is a furnace, stuffy with the trapped warmth of your body heat and heavy blankets. It’s suffocating, the air is thick with that distinct feverish scent, the kind that clings to sickness. And then, he sees you.

You’re curled up in a pathetic heap, tangled in a mess of blankets, your face flushed and damp with sweat. Your hair is a disaster, sticking to your forehead from the beads of sweat, your lips are chapped and cracked. Dark circles stain the skin under your eyes, practically swallowing you whole, and even in the dim lighting, he can't see you’re pale—too pale.

San’s stomach twists. You don’t just look sick. You look fragile. Completely drained, like the fever has sapped every ounce of strength from you. Wrapped in layers of blankets, you seem impossibly small, as if they’re the only thing keeping you from fading away entirely.

“Jesus,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You look like you’re on your deathbed.”

You barely stir at the sound of his voice. That’s what worries him the most. You’re always quick with a comeback, always rolling your eyes at him, always finding something to be annoyed about. But now? You don’t even have the energy to react. Your eyes flutter open for maybe a second, hazy and unfocused, not even registering the figure in front of you, before slipping shut again.

San exhales sharply. “Okay. This isn’t great.” He shifts into autopilot, moving before he even realizes what he’s doing.

First, he grabs the half-empty water bottle on your nightstand, frowning at how light it is. Probably days old. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with a fresh bottle, kneeling beside your bed, your head facing him. “You need to drink this.”

You groan softly, barely comprehending his words.

San clicks his tongue in annoyance, but there’s something else in his expression—something bordering on the line of concern. He props you up slightly, your back flush against the headboard, pressing the bottle to your lips. He tries to be gentle, one hand cradling the back of your head as he angles the bottle just right, making sure you don’t accidentally choke or spill. His fingers brush against the damp strands of your hair, feeling the feverish heat radiating from your skin. “Come on. Just a little, that’s all.”

You manage a few sips before turning your head away with a weak grumble. Even that small effort seems to drain you, leaving you slumped against him. Your weight is warm but unsettling, too light, like you might just slip away if he lets go.

San shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on you. His arm tightens around your shoulder, supporting you so you don’t slide back down into a heap. He can feel the quick and unsteady rise and fall of your breathing, the occasional tremor that runs through you. He keeps his hold steady, firm but careful, as if he’s trying to anchor you in place. The thought unsettles him.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re hopeless.”

So, he stands up, letting you down ever so carefully against the pillows he propped up near the headboard before disappearing again for a while. This time, he doesn’t just grab the soup and medicine—he also snatches the thermostat off the bathroom counter, his gut telling him it’s even worse than it looks.

When he returns, you haven’t moved an inch. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin—too much heat. He presses the thermostat to your forehead, brows furrowing as he waits for the reader. You barely react, only a small shiver running through you as your fever-ridden body instinctively tries to curl in on itself. It takes what feels like forever, but when it beeps, he glances down, and something uneasy curls in his stomach. San frowns, rubbing a hand down his face before muttering a curse under his breath. Your fever is alarmingly high. Not quite emergency-room bad, but enough that it’s making him start to second-guess himself, enough that he debates calling Seonghwa. But you look so out of, that he knows you wouldn’t even handle a phone conversation.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath. He watches the way your fingers tremble when you try to adjust the blanket. The way your breathing hitches like even the slight move takes effort. And it pisses him off—not at you, but at the situation, at the fact that you’ve let yourself get this bad. He continues to let himself move on autopilot, pouring out the right amount of medicine, making sure you take it, then setting the soup on the nightstand. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, why he’s taking the extra time to sit beside you, to tuck the blanket more securely around your shoulders, to make sure you’re warm but not overheating, his hand lingering there.

He shifts his grip on you, adjusting his hold so you’re not slumped at an uncomfortable angle. One arm supports your back, the other steadying your shoulder as he slowly eases you down against the pillows. His touch is careful and firm, like he’s worried you’d break under too much pressure. His fingers stay put for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls away, scowling at himself.

For a moment, he debates leaving. But then his gaze flickers to the soup, still untouched on the nightstand. If you couldn’t even drink your water… With a sigh, he picks it up, scooting closer to your bedside. He dips the spoon into the broth, blowing on it slightly before bringing it to your lips. “You need to eat,” He pauses, before continuing. “If Seonghwa found out I let you starve, he’d kill me,” San mutters, mostly to himself. At first, he tells himself that’s the only reason he’s doing this—because Seonghwa would want him to, he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he left you like this. But as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, something settles into his chest.

You make a weak sound of protest, barely turning your head away, but San isn’t having your nonsense. He nudges the spoon against your lips, watching as you hesitantly part them. You only take a tiny sip before exhaling heavily, like even that was too much effort. But he keeps at it, patient, spooning small amounts until you’ve had at least something.

You’re already drifting off again, half-asleep, fever-drunk and unaware of the way San’s gaze lingers. Your voice is soft, barely above a murmur, but it still makes him freeze.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” you mumble, voice slurred. Then, even softer, “I don’t hate you, you know.”

San doesn’t move, barely even breathes as your fingers weakly reach out for his sleeve, gripping onto it with the last bit of your strength. You don’t let go.

He should pry your hand off, it wouldn’t be that difficult anyways. He should pull away, let you sleep, leave you be.

But he doesn’t he just stays, watching you, listening to the quiet feverish murmurs that make something in his chest shift, something he doesn’t want to answer to.

He finds himself once again tucking the blanket closer around you, making sure you have water within reach, lingering a little too long as he watches your breathing even out just a little.

And then he catches himself staring, when he realizes the weird, uncomfortable pull in his chest, he scowls once more. This isn’t his problem. You aren’t his problem.

“This is stupid,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. But he doesn’t leave.

Not yet. He can’t.

#choi san #san #san ff #san fanfic #san fluff #san soft hours #san x reader #ateez ff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez san #ateez fluff #ateez soft hours #ateez soft thoughts #choi san x reader #choi san fanfic #choi san ff #choi san fic

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tragedy-of-commons · 8 hours ago

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this is such a cool one!! thank you for tagging me os (￣▽￣) ,,, some of these are wips and some of these are posted!

given words: key, rain, look, trail, wonder new words: away, shard, smile, cloud, gone

KEY

You dump your wallet and keys onto the tile with a clatter, pinching the bridge of your nose. [...] "You make it sound like I've been scheming," Black Swan chuckles. You're fairly certain she has been scheming. She's been leaving out guided meditation pamphlets on your nightstand, depositing aromatherapy candles on the rim of the bathtub, and not to mention the wheedling - always picking apart your sentences, looking for something that'll only disappoint her. ── until tomorrow (black swan)

RAIN

“But if I had to guess who you are,” you turn your back to him, making sure the thing doesn’t overflow. “You’re the rain-bringer. Hah!” Aventurine understands you’re just joking, that you’re playfully chalking the termination of the drought up to the appearance of a bizarre stranger. The timing would get a laugh out of anyone. Well, anyone but him, that is. ── yellow rose (aventurine)

LOOK

Your first true impression of him is that he’s polite, if not a little careful; you aren’t facing him, not when you’re being so aggressively bombarded with powder, but you bet he isn’t looking at you either. “I know,” is your response. “Everyone’s talking about it.” “Mm. Why wouldn’t they be?” ── helpless as we share it (wip for luka alnst)

TRAIL

“What a nice place! I guess we should greet them, and then start unloading?” He nods. It’s still cold out, but less so than at school. Stepping out onto the pavement gives you a little thrill, and you trail behind Dan Heng, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets as you stare at the front door. It has a little brass knocker in lieu of a doorbell, and you reach out to grasp it on instinct. Your hand brushes his that had reached out at the same time. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. ── homecoming (dan heng)

WONDER

He has nowhere to go, no memories, no social or life skills (probably), and you doubt anyone else will have a kinder reaction than you unless they’re plain stupid. You want to tell him to get lost in that same tone you use when someone encroaches too far on your lifestyle - it works wonders. If you get loud and unpleasant enough, it’ll send him packing, you’re sure of it. So why aren’t you getting started? Why can’t you tell this too-human-non-human to just scat already? ── a deciduous thing (boothill)

alternatively,

You left Alhaitham in room 330, trundling in and out of elevators and through elaborate corridors - the catacombs that led you to the banquet hall was just a prelude of confusion and adversity. For most of the party’s duration, you could barely hear yourself think (as expected), but wondrously, no one paid you enough mind to strike up conversation. One glance at your laminated, nametagged lanyard was enough to scare them off. ── step away (alhaitham)

Writing Tag Game 🏷️

Rules: I'll give you five words. Find the word (or the closest approximation you can) in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

My words were: Touch, Heat, Lick, Time, Ache — tagged by @oncasette, original post here! (This is such a sweet idea, thank you for thinking of me!!)

New words: Home, Dream, Hand, Think, Feel — Tagging: @solifloris @irandial @zara-renata @kentofic @grabby-smitten @comatosebunny09 @leighsartworks216 and anyone else who writes!

Touch

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own? — (Monster)

Heat

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves. — (Technical Difficulties)

Lick

You’re feeling everything too keenly: the water licking at your throat, the darkness beneath you, around you, waiting to pull you under and fill your mouth. You never feel further from Rafayel than when you remember he calls that darkness home. — (Practice Makes Perfect)

Time

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. The world can wait; he wants to punish you first. — (To Remain Silent)

Ache

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood. Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. — (Perspective)

#suggestive cw #games n stuff #sorry for the second reblog. i was having LITERARY DIFFICULTIES apparently :sob:#anyhway my tags on the last reblog were very intrigued by your excerpts os i am Looking i am Looking !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LOOKING !!!!!!!

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iamnmbr3 · 2 days ago

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This isn’t meant as an accusation but after seeing some of your posts I have to ask, are you pro-Israel and if so, why?

Oooh. Definitely a totally in-good-faith ask that isn't at all a (poor) attempt at a gotcha and didn't come in response to me posting about antisemitism. Anon, I don't really know what you mean by being pro-Israel. I've actually been pretty up-front on this blog about my views of issues pertaining to Israel, the situation in Gaza, Palestine, the West Bank, and antisemitism - which are, actually, separate things shockingly, despite what a lot of uneducated people who insert themselves into nuanced discussions seem to believe.

If you check my Israel, Gaza, Palestine, and antisemitism tags I think it's not hard to get an idea of my views. I think antisemitism is bad and should be condemned and that some people try to be antisemitic and then claim they are just being pro-Palestine despite not actually knowing or caring about Palestine at all. I think Netanyahu is a despicable, corrupt wannabe dictator and he and the Israeli Far Right promote terrible, inhumane, and illegal policies that are a danger to the whole region and that will cause more suffering for Palestinian people and for Israelis too and that Netanyahu needs to be removed from power and pay for his crimes (which probably would have happened already if not for the October 7 attack). I think anyone who didn't do everything to get Harris elected despite Trump's obvious embrace of Netanyahu and the Israeli Far Right in contrast to Harris and Biden's very public efforts to work for a ceasefire (which they achieved!) has blood on their hands and is directly responsible for what is happening now under Trump and is an ideological fraud who needs to be held accountable for their actions and the consequences.

I think Hamas is a deplorable and violent terrorist organization and that anyone who actually cares about Gaza would be condemning it since shortly after Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005 (a withdrawal that remained in effect till AFTER the October 7 attack) Hamas seized power there and has been brutally oppressing, terrorizing, and murdering Palestinian people in Gaza ever since. I think the terrorist attack in Israel on October 7 was appalling and also unjustified and I don't think rape or torture or murdering babies are ever justified or a form of "resistance." I think Jews are indigenous to Israel as demonstrated by historical and archeological records. I do not support genocide which is what the destruction of an entire country would be and thus think Israel has a right to exist and that anyone who says otherwise is a deplorable bigot. I think harassing random Jews in other countries is just antisemitism and is in no way a valid way to criticize Israel's policies.

I support a two state solution as the only viable long-term path for regional peace and stability. I think many people in the West who claim to care about Palestine couldn't actually tell you the difference between Gaza, the West Bank, Palestine, the PLO and Hamas and thus should stop trying to center themselves and should shut up and stop getting in the way of actual activists' work.

I have been very clear about all of this. And yet often when I post about antisemitism I get "well meaning" asks like this wondering if I "support Israel" and why I would do such a thing.

I've been clear about my views on Israel (which is an entirely different issue than antisemitism) so what these asks REALLY seem to be about is trying to shame me for speaking out about antisemitism and for decrying the narrative used by some antisemites that their antisemitism is really just pro-Palestinian activism, when in reality, it is anything but and they don't see Palestinian people as anything other than a convenient shield for them to use when attacking Jews which is despicable and racist. Palestinian people are human beings who deserve rights, freedom and dignity, not to be used as a tool to help bigots avoid accountability.

#asks #Israel #Gaza #Palestine #antisemitism #political #politics

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cleolinda · 2 days ago

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Weekend links, March 2, 2025

Silent Hill 2 update: If you sneak over to my Patreon, you can watch the first commentary video already (I'll be replacing it with an updated version). I’m still working on the timestamp writeup (links, sources, etc.) and, uh, that updated version with some corrections at the end. I’ve also been formatting the writeup for Tumblr and, uhhh.... it’s like four posts. It’s honestly just embarrassing. But I know what the carving on the church door you might not even notice says, I know why all the oscillating fans are turquoise blue, I’ve found a thematically relevant Goya painting hidden in a shop you don’t even have to enter, and now we all have to suffer for it.

The second video’s been recorded but isn’t uploaded anywhere, and I’ve finished taking notes for the writeup. I’m taking so long that I might honestly just clip out a few excerpts and put them on my YouTube channel (I have a YouTube channel) (in theory).

(Yes, watching other people play video games IS a valid way to enjoy them, and it’s how I got into playing in the first place.)

Meanwhile: I just wanted to address the idea that medication obscures your real personality, and I ended up writing a memoir.

Reblogs of interest

It was a bad week for celebrity deaths: Roberta Flack ("Killing Me Softly"), after two years diagnosed with ALS; Michelle Trachtenberg (Buffy, Gossip Girl), after a prior liver transplant; and then, under circumstances that still haven’t been explained, Gene Hackman and his wife Betsy Arakawa.

Now, it’s important to know about the political protests happening in the U.S. (and I hope people run HARD with “Impeach President Musk” for maximum in-fighting), but it was “Vermont insults” that gave me the most joy.

"NASA released the clearest pictures yet of our neighbours in the solar system"

What Queen Nefertiti may have looked like in real life, improved

Microsoft is shutting down Skype

Joann Fabrics is going out of business (+ online alternatives)

“YOU FREAKS CRASHED THE DASHCON SITE AND THEN SOLD OUT THE TICKETS IN UNDER 30 MINUTES” (“I need you all to understand this is a post from February 22, 2025”)

“Help your local library; get books out even if you know you can’t read them all!”

Ursula K. LeGuin: “As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation”

This full-series retrospective of Animorphs, however brief, is so unhinged that I went and legally downloaded the entire set of books.

“Good night to only the team names at the Seattle women’s hockey club” (personal favorite: Rink Pony Club)

Sometimes I wonder what the Victorians would think of “naked” dresses. Anyway, I really like Elie Saab

All they know is charleston, shake cocktail, eat hot chip & lie

“stop what you’re doing right now and look at archaic period terracotta fox scratching its head”

“The bath house duck spirits from Spirited Away, taking a dip in this lava lamp”

Tumblr: Where “Pelican Childcare” is inherently funny

Crow Time: Business bird

Gorgeous Dominique Ramsey art with a Langston Hughes quote

Grocery cats (“but then you scroll down and it’s like oh, there’s a team of cats ringing up that lady’s tea and jam”)

Look this bunny in the eyes and you will understand why I tagged this “become ungovernable”

“where is that cat with the kind and reassuring face”

Paint me like one of your French bears

Hi. 1 quastion

Video

LOTR film fandom has been going strong for 20+ years and we’re not gonna stop now (re: Pippin’s song in Return of the King)

Zelenogorsk is sand bathing

The sacred texts

Periodic reblog: this massive catalogue of parody lyric tweets

“The neurodivergent urge to do this,” or: the origin of a very popular reaction pic

Personal tags of the week

Wet Beast Wednesday is worth a look, plus the newest Beneficent Chain Post (happiness will come to you. “When You Least Expect It. Probably Late March”).

#weekend links #linkspam

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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨Cuffed - Part 4/4✨

Summary: Dean reluctantly tags along to a Halloween party, but things take an unexpected turn when he meets you. What starts as playful teasing quickly turns into undeniable chemistry, leaving Dean caught off guard in the best way.

-Halloween-Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 6381

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💛

Within seconds, you were both tangled in the backseat of the Impala, Dean already fumbling with his belt, his breathing heavy with anticipation. He glanced at you, a teasing grin on his lips as he worked to free himself. “You just gonna sit there, sweetheart? Don’t wanna help?”, he asked, his tone light but laced with heat.

You smirked, knowing exactly what he meant, getting undressed yourself, but not needing to bother. Leaning back slightly, you raised an eyebrow, letting him catch the glint of mischief in your eyes. “Why would I need to help, Dean?”, you asked innocently, your voice soft but dripping with suggestion.

Dean paused for a split second, his eyes darkening as they drifted down to your legs. He tilted his head, realization hitting him. “Wait… you’re not wearing any panties, are you?”. His voice was rough, thick with desire, as his fingers momentarily stilled on his belt.

You bit your lip, shaking your head slowly, enjoying the reaction you were drawing out of him. “Nope. Figured it’d save us some time”, you teased, leaning forward slightly, your eyes never leaving his.

Dean let out a low groan, his voice dropping as he muttered, “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”.

You watched as he finally managed to pull his belt free, undoing his jeans and pushing them down along with his boxers. He wasted no time, and when you glanced down, you could see he was already hard, his arousal clear and ready.

He shifted beneath you, his hands moving to grip your hips firmly. “Well, now that you’ve made it so damn easy…”. His voice trailed off as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing, heated kiss.

Dean's breath hitched as he eased himself into you, the warmth and tightness enveloping him completely. His head fell back slightly before resting against your collarbone, a deep groan escaping his lips as he felt every inch of contact between your bodies. The sensation was overwhelming, intense in a way that seemed to pause the rest of the world.

"You feel… so damn good, baby", Dean murmured against your skin, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you to meet his slow, deliberate movements. The car creaked slightly with each motion, the leather of the seats squeaking softly in the quiet night.

You wrapped your arms around him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt at his back. "Dean…", you breathed out, the sensation of him moving inside you sending waves of pleasure through your body. You moved together in a rhythm that was both new and familiar, a dance you had come to know well but that never lost its thrill.

Dean lifted his head to look into your eyes, his expression filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, more vulnerable. "I could stay like this forever", he confessed, his thrusts picking up pace, each one driving deeper, pulling a moan from deep within you.

The intimacy of the moment, combined with the raw physical pleasure, was intoxicating. You held his gaze, lost in the depths of his eyes, feeling as though you were seeing into a part of him that few ever did. "Dean", you whispered, your voice a mixture of desire and emotion, "don't stop".

His response was to kiss you deeply, passionately, his movements becoming more urgent. The kiss was a perfect echo of his physical movements, deep, consuming, and relentless. You responded with equal fervor, your body arching against his, craving more of the connection that seemed to transcend the physical.

As Dean’s body moved against yours, slow and deliberate, you could feel something deeper unfurling inside you. It wasn’t just the physical connection—though that alone was enough to send waves of pleasure through you with every deliberate thrust. It was more than that, something that had been quietly growing between the two of you over the past few weeks, in the moments when his guard dropped, in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You could feel it now, more than ever. The way he touched you, his hands gentle but firm, like he was savoring every moment, memorizing every part of you. His lips brushed your skin—your collarbone, your neck, your jaw—with a tenderness that was in stark contrast to the rough, hardened persona he wore like armor most of the time. And with every touch, every breathless kiss, you felt yourself sinking deeper into him, into this moment.

As his hands guided your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, the intensity of it wasn’t just in the pleasure; it was in the way he held you like you were something fragile, something he wanted to protect. That thought alone made your heart ache in a way that was both beautiful and terrifying. You were falling for him, you realized, in a way that went far beyond the surface-level attraction that had brought you together.

Dean’s forehead rested against yours, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as he moved inside you, slow and steady, his rhythm perfectly attuned to yours. His eyes flickered open, catching yours in a way that made the world seem to slow down. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. There was something there, something raw and real, and it made your heart pound in your chest.

You bit your lip, your hands sliding up his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as you whispered, “Dean…”. Your voice was soft, filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn’t quite put into words, but you knew he felt it. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, in the way his grip on you tightened just slightly, like he didn’t want to let you go.

He responded by kissing you, slow and tender, as if he was trying to tell you something without using words. His lips moved against yours in a way that made your entire body shiver with warmth, a warmth that spread from your chest down to your very core. Every touch, every movement felt like a promise, like he was letting you in just a little bit more, letting you see the parts of him that he kept hidden from the world.

And you wanted to know those parts. You wanted to understand every facet of him, the good and the bad, the light and the dark.

As his pace quickened slightly, the heat building between you, you felt your heart swell with the realization that you were falling in love with him. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure that made this moment so intense—it was the way you felt about him. The way he made you feel, safe and wanted, but also seen.

Your body moved in sync with his, the slow burn of pleasure building with each thrust, but your mind was lost in the thoughts of him, of what this was turning into. You had never felt this way before, this undeniable pull toward someone, this connection that seemed to go beyond anything you had experienced before. And it scared you a little, how much you cared, how much you were starting to need him in ways you hadn’t expected.

Dean’s breath was hot against your skin as he whispered your name, his voice low and rough with need, but there was something more behind it, something that made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t just calling out to you; he was grounding himself in you, in this moment. And you realized that he might be feeling something similar, something he wasn’t quite ready to admit but was there nonetheless.

As Dean pushed deeper inside you, the world around you faded even further away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate cocoon of pleasure. The way he held you, slightly lifting you by your hips, created an exquisite tension that heightened every sensation. You could feel every inch of him, every thrust igniting a fire that spread through your body like electricity.

“You feel so good”, he breathed, his voice thick with desire as he watched your face, looking for any sign of what you were feeling. He pushed one more time, deeper and harder, and that’s when everything seemed to explode inside you.

The wave hit you with a force you weren’t prepared for. It crashed over you, leaving you breathless as the pleasure spiraled out in a dizzying rush. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the enclosed space of the Impala, and with every pulse, you felt yourself tighten around him, your body instinctively responding to the intensity of the moment.

Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, his eyes dark with passion and admiration as he watched you come undone beneath him. “That’s it, sweetheart”, he urged, his voice low and rough. “Let go for me”.

You couldn’t hold back, the sensations crashing over you in waves, each one more intense than the last. The heat between you was all-consuming, and with every thrust, every movement, you felt closer to him than ever before. It was as if he was reaching into your soul, pulling out everything you were and wrapping it around him.

“Dean”, you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm.

You felt every pulse of him inside you, each throb sending electric shocks through your body as he reached his peak. His breath hitched, and with one final thrust, Dean groaned deeply against your neck.

“Fuck”, he murmured, the word a mix of pleasure and disbelief, as he released inside you. The sensation sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, amplifying the aftershocks of your own climax. You could feel the warmth of him, how intimately connected you both were in that moment.

Dean’s head fell against your shoulder, his breaths coming in heavy, ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the heat radiate from his body. It felt safe, comforting, and utterly intoxicating.

“Shit”, he finally breathed out, lifting his head slightly to look at you, his eyes still heavy with desire but also filled with a softness that made your heart flutter. “I didn’t expect that”.

You chuckled lightly. “Neither did I. But I’m definitely not complaining”.

Dean’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist, as if he was still trying to memorize every inch of you. “You’re something else, you know that?”, he said, his voice low and genuine.

You bit your lip, a blush creeping across your cheeks at his compliment. The warmth of his gaze sent butterflies dancing in your stomach as you felt a mix of pride and shyness at the intimacy you had just shared.

As Dean adjusted himself, you reached into the middle console and fished out a tissue, your fingers shaking slightly from the residual excitement. You took a moment to clean yourself up. Your heart raced, and the aftershocks of pleasure were still pulsing through your body, making the mundane act of tidying feel electric.

Dean watched you, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you—glowing, a little breathless, and undeniably beautiful.

“Need any help with that?”, he teased, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned back against the seat, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the view.

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully as you finished up. “I think I’ve got it under control, but thanks for the offer”.

As Dean reached out to help you back into the front seat, his strong hands guiding you gently, he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I didn’t plan for that tonight, you know”, he mumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I actually just wanted to talk”.

You smiled, settling into the seat and adjusting your dress. “Oh, really?”, you teased, glancing at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “Because it sure didn’t feel like ‘just talking’ back there”.

Dean laughed, running a hand through his hair as he buckled himself in. “Yeah, well, things escalated… quickly”, he admitted, smirking as he shot you a sideways glance.

You could feel the warmth between you again, but it wasn’t just the heat of the moment—it was something deeper, a connection that had begun to grow beyond the physical. As he started the engine and the familiar rumble of the Impala filled the air, you felt a sense of calm wash over you, content in the knowledge that this thing between you wasn’t just about the heat.

“Honestly”, Dean continued, his voice a little quieter now, “I just wanted to spend time with you. Get to know you more. We always seem to jump to the fun stuff, but I like talking to you. I just… didn’t expect tonight to end like that”.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. The night had already been unexpected, intense, but something inside you didn’t want it to end just yet. You glanced at Dean, who was focused on the road, his profile bathed in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. His words about wanting to get to know you more lingered in your mind, and you decided to take a leap.

“The night doesn’t have to end here”, you said softly, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence between you.

Dean turned his head slightly, curious. “Oh?”. There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but also that playful spark you had come to love.

You bit your lip, feeling a little nervous but pushing through it. “Lina’s out with Sam tonight… so I was thinking… maybe you could come over? No backseat this time”, you added with a smirk, trying to keep things light even though your heart was pounding in your chest.

“No backseat, huh?”, he teased, but there was something deeper behind the humor—something that told you he was just as intrigued by the invitation as you were nervous to give it.

“Yeah”, you replied, your heart racing a little faster now. “I figured we could actually talk… or, you know, see where the night takes us”.

Dean glanced over at you again, his gaze softening. He reached over and gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “I like the sound of that”, he said quietly, the playful edge in his voice dropping, replaced by a sincerity that made your chest tighten in the best way.

As the Impala purred beneath you, the drive toward your place felt like it stretched on forever, the air between you thick with unspoken anticipation. Dean’s hand stayed resting on your leg, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment as your nerves settled into excitement.

When you finally pulled up to your house, the familiar sight of the front porch light flickering in the cool night air, you felt a mix of comfort and excitement. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you stepped out of the car, and as Dean rounded the front of the Impala to meet you, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. There was something about him being here with you, outside the usual rush of your encounters, that made it feel like a new beginning.

Dean held the door open for you, his usual smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you unlock the door. “So”, he said as he stepped inside, glancing around the quiet space, “no Sam, no Lina. Just you and me”.

“Yep”, you replied, turning to him with a grin as you kicked off your shoes and flicked on the living room light. “Just you and me”.

Dean shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair, his eyes never leaving yours.

The house was peaceful, the air still, and the sense that you had all the time in the world made the moment feel different—like you could actually take your time, explore this thing between you.

“You want a drink?”, you asked, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Beer, maybe?”.

Dean smiled, nodding. “Yeah, sure. Beer sounds good”.

As you disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing two bottles from the fridge, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This wasn’t like your usual whirlwind moments with Dean—there was something softer about it, something more meaningful. When you returned to the living room, handing him a bottle, Dean was already sitting on the couch, looking comfortable, at ease.

“Thanks”, he said, taking the beer from your hand and cracking it open. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the weight of the evening settling in.

“What now? Am I supposed to be on my best behavior since we’re out of the car?”, Dean said, breaking the silence with a playful glint in his eye.

You laughed, sitting down beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you. “I don’t know”, you teased. “I guess that depends on whether you can behave”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “I think I can manage… for a little while”. His voice was lower now, that teasing edge fading as he turned to face you more fully.

An hour later, you found yourself lying in your bed, the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the curtains. The air around you was still and peaceful, a stark contrast to the passion that had filled the space just moments ago. Your head rested on Dean’s chest, your body fully relaxed, completely spent in the best way possible. His strong, steady heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of your time together.

For the first time, you were completely naked with him—both physically and emotionally. It felt intimate, like the walls you both had kept up were gone now, leaving only raw honesty between you. You had never felt more vulnerable or more comfortable at the same time.

Your fingertips lazily traced along the defined muscles of his stomach, brushing lightly over the sharp lines of his V-line. Each soft stroke sent gentle shivers through Dean’s body, and you could feel his chest rise and fall as he let out a soft, content sigh.

Dean’s arm was wrapped around you, his hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt incredibly intimate. His fingers occasionally tightened their grip on your skin, pulling you just a little closer to him, as if the nearness wasn’t enough.

“You okay?”. Dean’s voice rumbled through his chest, low and soft, his tone a mix of concern and tenderness. He tilted his head slightly to look down at you, his eyes half-lidded but still filled with that undeniable warmth that made your heart flutter.

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before answering. “I’m more than okay”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good”.

Dean chuckled, the sound deep and warm, vibrating through your body. His hand slid up to your shoulder, tracing soft patterns across your skin. “Good”, he said softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I was worried I might’ve worn you out”.

You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the comforter wrapped around the two of you. “You did”, you admitted, your fingers still tracing over his skin, earning another slight shiver from him. “But in the best possible way”.

Dean’s grip on you tightened for a moment, a quiet satisfaction settling into the room. You could feel the tension from the past few weeks—those unspoken moments between you—begin to melt away. This wasn’t just another fleeting connection, something physical that would burn out as quickly as it started. It was something more, something deeper, and you both knew it.

For a while, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, your bodies intertwined in the most natural way, the quiet rhythm of your breathing syncing as you both came down from the high of the night. Every so often, Dean would run his hand down your back, his touch soothing and reassuring.

You shifted slightly, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him, your fingers still dancing lazily along his stomach. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”, you said, a soft smile playing on your lips.

Dean looked down at you, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’ve been told that once or twice”, he teased lightly, though there was something genuine in his eyes that told you he appreciated the compliment.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. “I’m serious”, you said softly, your tone more sincere now. “You make me feel… safe".

Dean’s expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing was gone, replaced by something more real, more vulnerable. He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re safe with me”.

You pressed another soft kiss to his chest, closing your eyes as you let the moment wash over you. “I’m glad you’re here”, you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with all the emotion you hadn’t quite been able to put into words yet.

Dean’s arm wrapped around you tighter, pulling you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m glad I’m here too”, he murmured, his voice low and tender.

You stayed like that for a while, just basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. There was no rush, no need to fill the silence with words. Everything felt right—comfortable, easy. It was like you had found a place where you both belonged, together.

After a while, the peaceful silence between you and Dean naturally gave way to soft conversation. It was easy, comfortable, and though Dean was careful not to reveal too much about his real life—the hunting, the supernatural world—he still shared little parts of himself, fragments of his past and his relationship with Sam, moments that made you feel like you were getting a glimpse behind the armor he usually wore so tightly.

You talked about everything and nothing, from favorite bands and childhood memories to the little quirks that made each of you laugh. You learned that he had a soft spot for old movies and classic rock, things that reminded him of simpler times, and he learned more about your life, your hopes, and dreams. Every now and then, his fingers would absently trace over your skin, and you found yourself doing the same, the quiet intimacy between you deepening with each passing minute.

Before you knew it, hours had passed, the clock ticking toward the early hours of the morning. Dean’s voice was a little hoarse from talking, and he laughed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Man, I didn’t realize how thirsty I am”, he said, shifting slightly beneath you.

You smiled, your cheek still resting on his chest, and looked up at him. “I guess all that talking does that to you”.

Dean chuckled, gently untangling himself from you as he slid out of the bed. “Yeah, I’ll grab us some water”. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he stood up, pulling on his jeans and heading toward the kitchen.

As he left the room, you curled up into the warm cocoon of the blanket, sighing contentedly as the night replayed in your mind. There was something special about this, something different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it felt real in a way you hadn’t expected.

Just as you were settling deeper into the comfort of your thoughts, you heard a soft knock on your bedroom door. Before you could respond, the door opened slowly, and Lina peeked her head in, her face lit with curiosity and a playful smile. She was wrapped in a robe, clearly having just slipped out of her own bed.

“Hey”, she whispered, tiptoeing into the room, her eyes wide with amusement. “Are you awake?”.

You blinked in surprise, sitting up slightly in the bed. “Lina?”, you whispered back, pulling the blanket up to cover yourself. “Yeah, I’m awake. What’s up?”.

She raised an eyebrow, her grin widening as she crossed the room. “Oh, nothing… just wanted to see how your night was going”. She plopped down on the edge of your bed, her eyes scanning the room as if she could read every detail of what had happened.

You flushed slightly, knowing Lina had a pretty good idea of how your night had gone. “It’s… been good”, you admitted with a soft smile, trying not to give too much away.

Lina chuckled, her eyes gleaming. “Just good, huh? I saw Dean’s car outside, so I’m guessing it was a little more than good”. She wiggled her eyebrows, teasing you.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Fine, okay… it was amazing”.

Lina grinned, clearly pleased with your answer. “I knew it”. She leaned back slightly, crossing her legs.

You eyed Lina, raising a brow, sensing there was more she was holding back. Before you could ask, Lina’s face broke into a wide grin, and in a high-pitched voice, she blurted, “Sam’s here!”.

Her tone—and the way her face flushed—immediately gave it away. You didn’t even need to ask for clarification. Your eyes widened as a grin of your own spread across your face, and you leaned in closer to her, playfully pushing her shoulder.

“Oh my…”, you whispered, eyes twinkling with excitement. “You guys finally did it, didn’t you?”.

Lina bit her lip and nodded, clearly trying to suppress her excitement, but it was obvious she couldn’t hold it back. “Yeah”, she whispered, practically bouncing in place, “it finally happened. I don’t even know what to say… It was amazing. He’s just… so sweet, you know?”.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sweet? That’s not what I was expecting to hear”.

Lina rolled her eyes, but the smile didn’t fade from her face. “Oh, trust me, he’s definitely got that sweet, caring side. But let’s just say… there’s more to him than that”.

Your laughter bubbled up again, and Lina giggled too, the two of you momentarily caught up in the joy of sharing your stories.

“So, are you guys like… a thing now?”, you asked, your voice softening as you took in the shift in her demeanor. It was clear there was something more behind her words, just like there was something more growing between you and Dean.

Lina paused for a moment, her gaze softening. “I think so”, she said quietly. “I mean, we didn’t have any big talk or anything, but it feels different now. Like, more real. And I think he feels the same way”.

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “Yeah, I get that”.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Dean stepped in, only to stop short when he saw Sam leaning against the kitchen counter, similarly dressed in nothing but his jeans, sipping from a glass of water. The two brothers locked eyes for a moment, both visibly surprised to see each other there in such a situation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, lowering his glass and letting out a low chuckle. “Well, this is unexpected”, he said, the humor barely contained in his voice. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here”.

Dean’s mouth quirked into a grin as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “I could say the same, Sammy”, he teased, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you to be out here… looking like you just rolled out of bed”.

Sam shrugged, clearly unbothered, and set his glass down on the counter. “Same goes for you. Didn’t think you’d be spending the night”.

Dean smirked, walking over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water for himself. “Yeah, well, plans change”. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a swig, his eyes flicking toward Sam, who was trying—and failing—not to grin too widely. “So… you and Lina, huh?”.

Sam’s expression shifted slightly, turning a little more serious but still relaxed. “Yeah”, he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess things are… progressing. It just kind of happened”.

Dean let out a small laugh, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, I know that feeling”. He took another drink of water before looking at Sam again, his usual teasing tone gone. “You good with all of it? I mean, things moving forward with her?”.

Sam nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah, I am. I really like her, Dean. She’s different, you know? It feels… real”.

Dean studied his brother for a moment, the protective older sibling in him flickering to the surface. “Good”, he said after a pause. “I’m happy for you, man. Lina seems like a solid girl”.

Sam smiled, visibly relieved that Dean approved. “Thanks. And you?”, Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Dean, the question hanging in the air. “You and her? Is this… serious?”.

Dean staring down at it for a moment as he mulled over Sam’s question. The quiet in the kitchen stretched between them, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. Dean took a slow drink, buying himself a few more seconds before finally answering.

“I don’t know”, he mumbled, his voice lower than usual. His eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s, then quickly darted away again. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings, especially not when it came to relationships. This was unfamiliar territory for him.

Sam could tell this wasn’t an easy conversation for his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know? I’ve seen the way you look at her, Dean. And she’s… well, she’s different. You don’t usually stick around like this unless it means something”.

Dean shrugged, trying to play it off, but even he knew it wasn’t working. “Yeah, she’s different. I don’t know, man, it’s just… it’s complicated. You know how my life is. Our life. The hunting, the moving around. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring someone into”.

Sam nodded, understanding but not ready to let Dean off the hook that easily. “You ever think maybe it doesn’t have to be like that? You don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length, Dean. Maybe she could handle it. Maybe she could handle you”.

Dean sighed, his fingers tightening around the bottle. He wanted to believe that—part of him did. But the other part, the part that had been burned too many times, wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know if I can drag her into this, Sam. She doesn’t know about any of it. And I’m not exactly a great guy to get involved with, you know? I’m not… I’m not the type of guy who does the whole ‘serious relationship’ thing”.

Sam smiled softly, pushing off from the counter and stepping closer to Dean. “You’re better than you think you are, Dean. And if you really like her—if this feels real—maybe it’s worth taking a chance”.

Dean looked at his brother, searching his face for some kind of reassurance. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, and the idea of opening up to someone, really letting them in, scared the hell out of him. But at the same time, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had when he was with you. Like you saw through the walls he’d built, and somehow, you still wanted to be with him.

“I guess I’ll have to figure that out”, Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts still conflicted. “I just don’t want to screw it up”.

Sam chuckled softly, giving Dean a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You won’t. Just be honest with her. Let her in”.

Dean nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He took another sip of water, staring at the floor for a moment before finally pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, enough of this talk. We both need to get back before the girls come looking for us”.

Sam smirked, grabbing his glass and heading toward the door. “Yeah, don’t want them thinking we ran off on them”.

Dean chuckled, the tension easing a little. “Yeah, let’s not give them any ideas”.

The brothers exchanged a brief, knowing look before heading back down the hall. As Dean made his way back to your room, Sam disappeared into Lina’s, and the house returned to its peaceful quiet.

When Dean reentered the room, he found you sitting up in bed, the soft glow of the moonlight casting a gentle light across your face. You smiled when you saw him, and just like that, the uncertainty that had been swirling in his mind seemed to settle a little. He didn’t have all the answers, but he knew one thing—being with you felt right.

He climbed back into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Sorry about that”, he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Got caught up with Sam in the kitchen”.

You chuckled softly, resting your head against his chest. “Everything okay?”.

Dean nodded, though his mind was still turning. “Yeah, everything’s good”. He paused for a moment, then added, “Just… thinking”.

You lifted your head slightly, looking up at him. “About what?”.

Dean handed you the bottle of water, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he shook his head with a little smile. “Nothing”, he murmured, his voice soft but with a hint of distraction.

You took the bottle, watching him carefully, sensing there was more on his mind than he was letting on. There was something about the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes that told you he was still thinking about whatever had gone on between him and Sam in the kitchen.

You took a sip of the water, then set it on the nightstand, deciding to give him a moment. “Doesn’t seem like nothing”, you said softly, your voice gentle but curious.

Dean let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against the headboard and running a hand through his hair. His gaze flicked toward the window, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the room. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“I just…”. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t usually do this, you know? The whole ‘relationship’ thing. I mean, not like this”.

You stayed quiet, giving him the space to gather his thoughts, feeling your heart start to race a little as he continued.

“I’ve never been good at… letting people in”, he admitted, his gaze dropping to the blanket as his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along the fabric. “But with you… it’s different. It feels different”.

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, your heart swelling with emotion. You could tell this was hard for him—letting down his guard like this, letting you see the vulnerability he usually kept hidden.

Reaching out, you gently placed a hand on his arm, offering a soft smile. “Dean, I get it. It doesn’t have to be easy, and I’m not expecting you to have it all figured out. I just… I want to be here with you. Wherever this goes”.

Dean’s eyes met yours, the uncertainty still lingering in his expression, but there was also a flicker of relief. “You’re good with that?”, he asked, his voice quiet, as if he was still wrapping his head around the idea that someone might actually want to stick around.

You nodded, your hand moving to gently cup his cheek. “Yeah, I’m good with that. I’m good with figuring it out as we go”.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t want to mess this up”, he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You shook your head gently, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “You’re not going to mess this up, Dean. We’ll figure it out together”.

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the soft hum of the night outside, the two of you wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. Dean leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the tension in his body start to ease.

“Okay", he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with gratitude.

You smiled, resting your head on his chest once more as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close.

As the quiet wrapped around you both, Dean's hand traced absent patterns along your back, the conversation lingering in the air but no longer heavy. He didn’t have all the answers, and neither did you—but for now, being together, right here in this moment, was enough.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @spxideyver

#jensen ackles #deanwinchester #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fanfic #spn fanart #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural

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voidoftheotherside · 13 hours ago

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PLEASE READ MY WHOLE POST UPDATE BEFORE FORMING AN OPINION. i don’t love getting into discourse but I haven’t seen anyone share this perspective so I thought I might as well, I am open to good faith discussion though.

I feel like what confuses me about the whole transandrophobia /transmisandry/ etc debate is that some people are thinking it’s the axis of misandry (not real) + transphobia and rightfully criticizing that concept, but I was under the impression it was about the intersection of sexism (based on agab & perceived “real” sex) + transphobia. And because transmisogyny is already taken and may induce dysphoria it ended up needing a different name, so the gender affirming but not perfectly descriptive transandrophobia (transandro + phobia not trans + androphobia) and the questionable transmisandry (yeah I don’t like and won’t defend this one) came about. This is why I think transandrophobia IS a valid term, HOWEVER I also agree that it’s definitely used wrong very frequently in an oppression olympics type way to minimize transfems experiences and even attack transfems. Which I do not support. But I feel like cutting out the term completely isn’t the answer because it can be used to describe, for example: certain types of malgendering, and issues around trans pregnancy care.

I’m gonna end this with another disclaimer in case the text was too long: NO “transandrophobia” is not transfems oppressing transmascs on a systemic level

YES there are people using the term transandrophobia to perpetuate harm against transfems, and that should absolutely be addressed, (I’ll try to find posts elaborating on this to tag in replies)

that just doesn’t necessarily mean the term itself should be thrown away. just like every form of oppression can be weaponized to exclude/shift the blame to other marginalized groups.

UPDATE: the above was my opinion at the time of posting but a very nice commenter linked to the coiners definition of transandrophobia, which explains a lot of what I’ve been seeing. Needless to say it’s not the above, and is imo more of an intercomunity phenomenon (that exists in various ways with various forms of oppression) than a form of oppression. So I’m now not sure what term should be used to describe the discrimination I talked about in my post, but I can agree it’s not transandrophobia. Maybe if I can’t find one I’ll coin it myself, who knows? But basically sorry for any confusion and thank you for the consideration.

#tags for reach/context #trans #queer #transandrophobia #transmisandry #discourse

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jesterkoops · 1 day ago

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Short tag-along on my previous post.

I think we need to be careful not to mix up the perspective of the AUDIENCE with the perspective of the CHARACTERS.

The reason I don't think Gemma being alive and being actually Gemma will have that much of an impact on the Mark/Helly dynamic is that Gemma being alive and still Gemma is a big reveal TO US, the audience, because we’ve operated on the assumption all along that she was not really Gemma, that she was braindead, that she was a clone, or what have you.

But for MARK, the character, it isn’t a revelation all because he’s been utterly convinced she’s alive and he’ll get her back this entire season. Her being alive was the driving force of his actions both as innie and outie. He DOES expect to find her alive down in the basement and get her out. He does know that Helly is Helena and Helena is complicit in holding his wife in the basement. So his entire behaviour this season has already been predicated on that knowledge, including the way he relates to Helly/Helena. That’s why that’s not going to change just because Gemma is actually alive. What IS going to change things is the REINTEGRATION. That is what’s going to change MARK's perspectives on things. Innie Mark will remember being in love with Gemma, someone who he had zero feelings for and towards whom he only felt a sense of duty to do what's right, and outie Mark will discover being in love with Helly, someone he didn't even know existed and whose outie is the woman partly complicit in holding his wife in the basement. I think that is the revelation for the character that will define the story moving forward. That is the underlying theme of the intro this year. Just as outie Mark is single-minded about getting his wife out of the actual basement, innie Mark will be single-minded about not letting go of Helly/getting her out of the metaphorical basement. Outie Mark might want to just resume his life outside with his wife, but innie Mark doesn't give a shit about that because his life is inside Lumon with Helly, not with a woman he's had zero emotional connection with.

It will be a complete mess and I have no idea how they will develop this, but boy am I curious.

[I'm also having thoughts based on this about whether or not it makes sense for Helly/Helena to reintegrate at some point, but they're all still very confused and vague, so I'll need them to marinate some more]

#severance #severance speculation #mark s #helly r #mark scout #helena eagan #gemma scout #mark x helly #mark x helena #markhelly #markhelena

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prince-kallisto · 2 days ago

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☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ Ahhh thank you very much for your reply! You worded a lot of things I was trying to say much clearer- so thank you lots 😆💖

It’s very funny how some parts of the EN fandom has such strict, self-imposed views on the Yuu’s, and the “canonicty” of…OCs lol. When TWST is honestly very freeing with their gender norms and their MC. Honestly, I feel bad for the future Pomefiore MC already- I feel like no matter what, there would be no winning -v- But I’m really excited for their future concept!!

😆💖🐦‍⬛ I’m a Crowley yume, and I’m always gushing over ever line he says and taking it romantically. But that’s just me, and I know the game isn’t an Otome. It may feed us some fanservice both in and out of game (ie merch), but it won’t be an Otome. So it’s upsetting that a small yet vocal portion of the fandom are demanding it to be one for their one ship, while also disrespecting their fellow male and NB shippers in the fandom 🤷 female, male, or NB Yuu is still Malleyuu- but again, it’s for our imaginations, not a romance for the official manga to depict. It’s…ironic that a lot of these same exact accounts were criticizing a small group of BL fans who complained a “girl Yuu was getting in the way of their ship,” while they turn around and demand a girl Yuu for a “valid” Malleyuu lmao

😆💖 if you ever write an essay, I’d love to read it! I almost wanted to rant about it myself, but I knew I’d get off topic if I rambled too much in one post 🤣 I don’t understand why conversations about more diverse romance are always shut down. We ARE making our own- it’s just a shame that’s there’s very little support for them from bigger communities! And even in communities that are kinder, whenever a male or NB fan asks for recommendations, we’re always directed to completely non-romantic games just because the player character is neutral 🤷 while I’m grateful nonetheless, it goes to show how little there is out there for us male/NB fans of romance or “otome” style games. I really love the many routes, art styles, and types of romances in Otome, and I’ve yet to seen in replicated in a more gender-inclusive format. Maybe one day! 💖

I think in regards to fanfic, the main issue I have with self-insert or gender neutral fanfics is that there’s often still descriptions of a character left behind, usually afab descriptions. When everything is fully tagged, I don’t mind as much, but it can be a whiplash otherwise. This can also happen with descriptors in a self insert like…blonde hair or something, which unless it was tagged, is certainly NOT a characteristic everyone has

😭 ANXJHD. Yeah the whole Yuuka situation is so odd. I remember a lot of excitement when she was first revealed because, girl Yuu. But now that YUUNA is released, well I’m seeing some amazing yuri fanart between the two 😆💖🌷 but again, I’ve seen several cases (surprisingly???) of Yuuna being put on a pedestal for “being more of a woman” compared to Yuuka, which is so icky. I’m happy for the femme rep, but PLEASE do not equate this to the “first real girl” rep 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I tend to lean towards a femme style for myself irl (I like to be cute 🫡), and I think I just got so upset over the situation not only for the Yuuka treatment but the sudden dysphoria LMAO 😭😭😭

Ahh random note, but I’m always very fond of the Harveston event lines about Epel. A picture of his grandma in her youth looked EXACTLY like him- just in a dress. And all the other boys complimented the photo, mistaking her for Epel. When Epel was confused about what photo they were talking about, I believe Jade said “the one where you’re wearing a dress.” There was never any blubbering over the mere idea of Epel wearing a dress- it was just a charming photo that they thought was Epel in a dress 🤷

Idk it’s just moments like those that really make the twst world feel comforting that way 😆 the world is very diverse and lively, and that fact is cemented in the way that the game Yuu is genderless. All these “rules” and expectations in the EN fandom are completely contrary to the spirit of the game.

I loved reading your ramble! It was super enlightening and it made me happy to read- thank you for reading my long rant as well! ☺️💖🐦‍⬛ I’m really grateful that me and my nonbinary sona has been really accepted in my local community, I’ve never once felt unwelcome in these spaces. But when I gaze across the vast desert that is the rest of twst social media…I learn that even a cool girl like Yuuka is controversial 🤣🤣

Ahh these are the sort of topics I don’t know how to word well in English , so forgive me if I have roundabout explanations for things 😆 this is a bit of a vent, I apologize again for any mistaken words on anything 💦

But I guess I’m just a little disheartened by the EN fandom- particularly with the whole manga Yuu situation. I adore all the Yuu’s, I love all the Yuu OCs that this amazing and creative fandom has designed.

But I’m seeing an…over exaggeration? Or pedestal put onto the Scarabia Yuu, Yuuna Oujou, and the way some people have discussed the manga Yuu’s have made me a little uncomfortable.

I’ve seen some people be like “finally! A girl Yuu for the manga!” Or “finally! A Yuu who presents herself as a woman!” (This is way different than a celebration of a femme Yuu btw).

? Yuuka, the Savanaclaw Yuu, IS a woman. Some people have been claiming that she’s “hiding her gender” in the all-boy’s school, or “downplaying” her gender, and how they’re so happy that Yuuna is “unapologetically a woman.”

But Yuuka, even in her previous world, has ways presented as a bit more masc- a very bifauxnen, cool girl type of character who is resolute in her strength because of her judo experience. A translation of the manga I read even has her referring to herself as a “ordinary school girl.” It’s just her own personal style of presenting herself. She also exercises in a sports bra! The only troubles she has is the troubles ALL Yuu’s have: that they’re magicless and aren’t meant to be here at this school and this WORLD.

And frankly, it’s uncomfortable that I’ve seen so many people in the fandom act as if feminine style is the only valid way to present as a woman, the implications that Yuuka is not a woman from the way she chooses to dress or cut her hair.

I’m so so happy that people find joy in a very femme presenting Yuu- I love Yuuna just as much! But when the conversation begins turning into…implying femininity is the only way to be/present as a woman, that’s not…it just feels awful. Yuuka was our first girl Yuu, Yuuna is the second. They present differently, but neither of them ever once worry about having the “hide” their gender. Please celebrate Yuuna’s style if that’s what you mean, instead of the “true girl” Yuu.

And on another note, there is the very popular and so far very likely theory of a “boy-girl” pattern in the manga Yuu’s- especially since all the Yuu’s so far have been the opposite gender as the Disney villains of each dorm. Meaning, the theory is that a male Yuu is likely for Diasomnia.

And I’m seeing a very vocal crowd dismissing the idea of male Yuu in the Diasomnia arc, that they want a girl, they’d hate a male Yuu, “Malleus forgot it’s not an Otome so it has to be a girl Yuu!”, they want a girl to be with Malleus “because [we] want Malleyuu.”

And again. It just feels so…alienating. Malleus and Malleyuu personally isn’t for me, but I’ve spent many years hopping around Otome and romance games in the past, and male and NB fans of these genres are frequently told that they don’t belong in the fandom, that these games cater to women.

But most conversations bringing up the possibility of romance games bringing in he/him, they/them or even customizable pronouns for the player are often shut down in most community spaces. Games like TWST, with an ambiguous MC and individual interactions with a character of your choice (ie the home screen voicelines)- or even games like Obey Me or the Arcana, are a rarity have made me really happy and feel really comfortable in the fandoms. Even if the game’s audience is mostly women, the MC/Yuu has *always* had an open identity.

So…the concept that Malleyuu is only WANTED by a portion of the fandom ONLY it’s a girl Yuu just brings back those same feelings again. Of course you may have whatever Yuu you want in your own personal Malleyuu ship!! But one girl Yuu can never represent the whole fandom, one male Yuu can never represent the whole fandom. So it’s strange there’s this complete outcry at the idea of a boy, and in turn of non-het Malleyuu ships in the fandom.

The manga and the Yuu’s have never shown a romantic relationship towards any character- any fanservicey moments still remain from the game, no matter the Yuu it’s aimed towards. And not just from Housewardens- all the characters have their bits of fanservice! But it never goes farther than that in the main story especially.

With the reveal of Yuuna, the EN fandom has been celebrating the diversity and openmindness of the world of twst, and how customizable your Yuu’s truly are. Yuu is…you! Yuu can be whoever you want. But it all falls apart when a portion of the fandom see Yuuna as the only valid girl Yuu, when the mere idea of a male Yuu for Diasomnia or for Malleyuu is bashed and hated.

Or you know what- the idea of male or even NB Yuu is bashed entirely every single time there’s a damn announcement for the manga. A while back, the Scarabia manga announcements were mistranslated in English, and the gender ambiguous language for Yuu was accidental turned into he/him (which turned out to be Yuuna). And the level of vitriol I saw over the idea of a male Yuu was so fucking disheartening. And now it’s happening all over again with a future Diasomnia manga.

Is the manga and their Yuu’s really a celebration of diversity in the EN fandom? It doesn’t feel that way, at all. Perhaps I’m just being self centered about this, but I’ve found myself increasingly upset about how vocal these two issues have been, and I wish some people could be more mindful about it

Apologies for my incoherency in this vent 💦💦💦💦💦 this is NOT hate toward Malleyuu or Yuuna fans as a whole- or towards anyone in fact. This is just a vent and a slight critique just certain parts of the fan bas

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