#correct me if I’m wrong because some of these I wasn’t 100% on

[berryetto]

Tales of characters and their flowers and plants for Tales of Festival 2023!

▪︎ Alphen (Tales of Arise) - Hyanciths

▪︎ Cress Albane (Tales of Phantasia) - Daisies

▪︎ Stahn Aileron (Tales of Destiny) - Cineraria

▪︎ Kyle Dunamis (Tales of Destiny 2) - Cineraria

▪︎ Reid Hershel (Tales of Eternia) - Lilac

▪︎ Lloyd Irving (Tales of Symphonia) - Sandersonia

▪︎ Emil Castagnier (Tales of Symphonia 2) - Pilea Peperomioides

▪︎ Veigue Lungberg (Tales of Rebirth) - Evening Sunflower

▪︎Senel Coolidge (Tales of Legendia) - Forget-Me-Not

▪︎ Luke fon Fabre (Tales of the Abyss) - Aster

▪︎ Caius Qualls (Tales of the Tempest) - Wisteria

▪︎ Ruca Milda (Tales of Innocence) - Chamomile

▪︎ Kor Meteor (Tales of Hearts) - Daylillies

▪︎ Yuri Lowell (Tales of Vesperia) - Clemantis

▪︎ Asbel Lhant (Tales of Graces f) - Kalanchoe

▪︎ Milla Maxwell (Tales of Xillia) - Pink Hibiscus

▪︎Jude Matthis (Tales of Xillia) - White Hibiscus

▪︎ Ludger Will Kresnik (Tales of Xillia 2) - Apple Blossoms

▪︎ Sorey (Tales of Zestiria) - Great Bougainvillea

▪︎ Velvet Crowe (Tales of Berseria) - Red Salvia

▪︎ Allen (Tales of Link) - Purple Tulips

▪︎ Ix Nieves (Tales of the Rays) - White Anemone

▪︎ Kanata Hjuger (Tales of Crestoria) - Morning Glory

▪︎ Leo Fourcade (Tales of Luminaria) - Cornflower

[bibuckaroo]

sooo… BI! BUCK!

i got to THE episode of all the controversial takes and i honestly think it was a well thought out episode. i’ve heard that this episode is from buck’s point of view and i felt like this episode was purposefully misleading and confusing, so i’m attributing that to the fact that buck himself is confused about what’s going on.

we get his scene with tommy in the beginning of the episode, showing that yeah, he might be interested in him, because why else would he go down to where he works to get a tour? (and i do believe he was attracted to him, 100%, but i also think that what may make him attracted to tommy is the similarities he sees with eddie, since he can’t even go an entire conversation without mentioning him) and then eddie arrives there and there’s a shift in the atmosphere immediately. also important to note, that buck talks about how he’s only dated people he’s met on calls and even mentions the whole first meeting with taylor and the helicopter and tommy himself says that never ends well because they’re always grateful at first, and like, correct me if i’m wrong but buck and tommy met on a call, and the gratefulness can come into play too, since tommy helped rescuing bobby and athena (yk, buck’s pseudo parents) and it’s not far off to say this since buck himself at the end of the episode refers to that and tommy helping them and whatever.

at first, watching the episode some scenes could be explained away with getting to be closer to tommy, him asking eddie incessantly about the vegas trip and wanting every last detail and even with chris, but by the scene in the gym is already pretty clear who he’s jealous of. he’s trying to get eddie’s attention so bad it makes him look stupid, he even orders a basketball to believe delivered to the fire station, for the sole purpose of getting a reaction and when he talks to maddie about this whole thing, he admits that he did all of this to get eddie’s attention and maddie scolds him, because this is not healthy for buck, his insecurities made him hurt someone he loves.

also, tommy was definitely interested in eddie, saw that wasn’t going to pay off, switched gears to buck, because saw how desperate he was (an adjective used on the show itself) and saw he was the easier one to score and even so, he expected buck to realize he was trying to get eddie’s attention.

now onto my boy eddie, he did not deserve this at all!! he said so himself he invited buck multiple times and buck always turned him down!! and then he made a new friend and got hurt in the process, honestly, i would be pissed actually!

finally, about tommy… bringing him back was a decision and i’m not saying that it was a good one, i do not like him, he left with a sour taste in my mouth and this episode did not put him in a better light for me. he was probably interested in eddie and probably knew he had a girlfriend and was trying to woo him anyway. then his whole talk with buck? about him wishing he was part of the 118 like that when he was one of the co-conspirators to make it a living hell before? nah, miss me with that! and nobody talks about it! pisses me off!! also, him saying “evan” was getting on my nerves, heard this was a deliberate choice and that the actor was not allowed to say “buck” which makes me think about the fact that only the people who truly know him call him “buck” and eddie and maddie only called him “evan” in moments they needed to get his attention.

i’m glad about bi!buck, don’t get me wrong, but i wish it was with someone who we liked from the start and would be good for him, i mean him and josh had more development than that!! but anyway, i’ll take my wins with my losses ig.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for making a post about an adult making a sexual comment under one of my sfw work posts as a minor?

FYI, sorry for any bad spelling, I have really bad dyslexia.

(🐶👀❤️ for future finding)

Cw for sexual comments to a child, online harassment, and mentions of grooming.

Just for context this didn’t happen on tumblr, this all happened on twitter (yes yes the Elon musk rat site that we all hate) and I’m putting this here because I use both twitter and tumblr and I want a second opinion.

here’s the characters before we start

Me, (17 trans masc)

nsfw account (22 they/them)

so recently I posted a tweet that was a fun fact type tweet about a character from a show I like. Along the lines of “this character can play the tuba!”

Then a 18+ account (this will come up later) replied with “he must have a strong mou*gets shot*”

this is a common meme format but it was obviously nsfw in nature. Now don’t get me wrong, I am in a fandom for a more mature show and understand 18+ accounts may engage with me, and not check my bio. But putting a blatantly under a sfw post and not even bothering to check for my age is just- really disgusting. Not to mention this account had replied and liked many of my tweets.

I gave it a few hours to see if they would correct the obvious mistake, cuz sometimes I back track and realize a mistake, correct it and move on.

but nothing, radio silence. So I replied to their comment stating they had made me incredibly uncomfortable and that I was a child, and then made a small post since a few my adult mutuals follow them (for context I have like 100 followers and they have over a thousand)

it wasn’t a “call out post” just a simple “hay this person did something wrong and I’m telling my tiny bubble of people because some of you happened to follow” I wasn’t trying to get anyone canceled basically.

I didn’t put their @ in the post directly, just a screen shot of the inappropriate replay and their profile showing some mutuals follow.

they then quote retweeted me, telling me “I could have just blocked them and moved on, and that this is a 18+ fandom so I shouldn’t even be here” (it’s actually a 16+ show but whatever)

mutable of their followers processed to gang up on me and tell me I was a pathetic and should leave the internet forever, repeating with the person had said in their quote retweet when ever I tried to argue.

I ended up having to full on private my account because I was so triggered (I’m a grooming victim so this whole situation made me feel almost sick)

I know the person fucked up, but was the post not ok? At first it felt like it was warranted but now I’m second-guessing myself and thinking that I might be the one in the wrong. Should I have just done what they wanted and blocked and moved on?

AITA?

[silverfoxstole]

And… it’s done!

Took just over a week and the seam ripper got a workout but the Dark Eyes coat mark II is finished:

I had to make a few more adjustments/corrections as I went along:

The day after I set in the sleeves I noticed that the right shoulder dart was slightly too far forwards, which meant the sleeve head and shoulder pad had to come out so I could unpick the top of the seam and move it to the right place, something that helpfully removed the one little tuck I’d ended up with at the same time. Unpicking resulted in the fabric tearing so I had to take some extra on the seam when I restitched it, but this actually hid some of the holes from where I’d taken out the topstitching the day before which was a plus so I won’t complain! I also took the sleeves up by 3/4 of an inch when they proved too long even for someone with gibbon arms, an adjustment I must have made before but didn’t make a note of on the pattern.

Because I’m never satisfied I changed the collar again, rounding the ends slightly as it still looked too pointed. It was too high as well but I think I may have taken a bit too much off when I cut it down; not much I can do about it now. After I’d attached everything and topstitched I realised that it wasn’t meeting the lapel on the left side by about a centimetre which meant yet more unpicking to put it right. The edges aren’t sitting completely flat, something that’s annoying but that’s my fault for not rolling them over far enough when doing the topstitching.

The front edges were sticking out at an angle towards the bottom so I took some more off the seam to level them out.

When I made my first version, not knowing what the lining looked like I used up some ladybird satin I had left from a coat I’d made a few weeks before but this time I went for plain navy lining fabric which I think is probably more accurate (I could be wrong, of course; for all I know Paul’s hiding a funky lining in there. I know I would!):

I thought I’d put some photos of the two versions side by side so you can see the differences. The major changes were: returning the back side panels and creating the belt; shortening and shaping the collar; adding the pocket detail and the false bound holes behind the second row of buttons; topstitching round all eight buttonholes. I also felt when wearing it that the first coat was too short so I increased the length by a couple of inches. With hindsight I wish I’d narrowed the lapels a bit as they’re a lot wider than the collar but by the time I noticed it was too late to change as I’d already made the bound buttonholes. Never mind!

For comparison, old coat on the left, new on the right:

Overall, I’m really pleased with the way it’s turned out. It looks much more like the original, which is what I wanted, and though there may be tweaks I’d make if I was able I always feel that way; I’m never 100% happy with anything I make as I can always see room for improvement.

Obligatory dodgy mirror selfies to finish; I’ll try and get some better pics if I manage to wear it out somewhere in the next few weeks. You’ll probably have noticed that my version buttons up the opposite way round and that’s because - apart from the frock coat where it didn’t matter - I’ve never worked with mens’ patterns and changing the crossover would just confuse me. The shirt and waistcoat for my NotD cosplay both button this way and I wear my watch chain on the other side as well; I think that’s probably partly what Paul was referring to when he said upon seeing me in May that it was like looking in a mirror!

[physalian]

On Establishing Authorial Intent vs Character Voice (Specifically, in tragic queer characters)

Coming in hot with another controversial topic.

There is probably a better way to phrase that so what I mean is this: Your book’s message and your characters’ decisions don’t have to match, and if they don’t match, and your protagonist has a very polarizing personality or makes very controversial choices, unless you state otherwise, your readers are going to assume that your character is your mouthpiece.

In other words: If I write, say… a gay man, as a cis, female, queer author, and I write him suffering during the AIDS epidemic, and I write this gay man fitting every single harmful stereotype possible. I write this character that is everything Fox News wants you to believe about gay men and AIDS.

But in the last ¾ of the book, the man has an epiphany with Therapy Speech where I, the author, reveal that I’m not actually a homophobe out to punish my protagonist and perpetuate these stereotypes, and my agenda is not, in fact, to bring the queer community back decades because people are stupid and won’t get to the end of my book to realize that…. Whoo boy, I have f*cked up as an author.

—

Have I dropped enough heavy-handed hints that I read a book that did exactly this? Not a gay man in the 80s, but a queer character nonetheless. Now this was a book that I had to finish. If I didn’t have to read it, I would have quit about ten different times throughout for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being very stiff writing that wasn’t engaging. The actions and thought processes and arc of this queer character were so insulting, so harmful, so off the mark, it was horrifying.

I stopped reading for a day and I’d already drawn all my conclusions and was not very nice in my feedback, but I had to finish it so I did, and the book addressed all my criticisms within the last 100 pages, out of 367.

Meaning: Anyone else would have actually quit and taken away from the book exactly what I did—that this was homophobic propaganda. “Oh but if you just make it to the end-”

Nope, not good enough. I read for entertainment and the book did not hold my attention. I need no more excuse to drop it for something better than being bored, and yet I held on through some nightmarish representation.

So.

How not to do this:

You are completely free and welcome to write unhealthy representations of any minority (why you would if you’re not that minority and not out to make a mess of things baffles me). Not every character has to be smart and well educated on proper representation. They don’t have to be a perfect Mary Sue that makes no mistakes and has no controversial opinions and does absolutely nothing that could hint at being problematic. That’s not what I’m saying at all.

Rather, that character can go ham, but you, as the author, must establish as quickly as possible that all of that is the character talking, not you. Whether it’s a queer character or POC or heck just a woman.

Have a dissenting voice (I like to call them harbinger characters) that serve as the author mouthpiece and is ignored and dismissed by the Problem Character. Harbinger says what the audience is thinking through the flavor and color of a character (so it doesn’t read as super preachy), trying to warn the character about the path they're taking, and Problem Character very cleary doesn’t give a damn about what they think. Critically, the narrative makes sure you know that the Harbinger is correct, and PC is wrong.

Have the PC acknowledge early on that what they’re doing is wrong, minimize it, argue against it, and attempt to justify their own behavior anyway. They know they’re the villain, essentially, and they just don’t give a damn.

Have an equal and opposite healthy character to counterbalance all of PC’s terrible choices. Different from the Harbinger in that they’re less obvious about their place in the story and just living life as that positive representation.

Give the PC a “descent into madness” where they start out a healthy person and through dramatic, understandable, tragic circumstances, they’re forced into this role that they’d never thought they’d succumb to.

Have the PC horrified at their own state of being but too hopeless to think they can escape from it. Have the PC know exactly how harmful they are, to themselves, to other people, and just convince themselves that it won’t get better, that they’re too weak or too afraid or too selfish, whatever.

Because I just rewatched these movies and they’re fresh on my mind, I’m going to use Caesar from the Andy Serkis Planet of the Apes movies. Caesar is your Jesus/Moses archetype: The Martyr. This is the paragon good guy leading his people out from oppression into the blessed lands of freedom. This is the guy with unshakable morals and a compass that points unfailingly North. He is the inspiration to the rest of the cast on how to act and how to be a good, healthy, moral, respectable person. He alone takes on the punishment meant for the group and is literally crucified, he could not be a more obvious paragon and Jesus figure of goodness and purity.

Until he isn’t.

Caesar’s “descent into madness” comes after humans murder his wife and older son, amidst an ongoing war that’s taking a toll on the ape community and his own psyche as they continue to lose numbers and ground and apes defect to the human side because of the villain Koba—Caesar’s foil.

He becomes everything he sought to destroy and his friend points out that he’s become Koba in all but name and his actions inevitably lead to his death because he is so consumed with revenge that he doesn’t escape the climax of the movie when he has the chance, and suffers a fatal injury. Caesar acknowledges this and basically says, “I know what I’ve become. I have to do it anyway. I can’t escape my own rage.”

All of this is believable and understandable and tragic. He was realistically pushed to these horrible ends by the story and we saw what it did to him.

The book I read had the Problem Character flip a switch because they were horny and thought another character was hot.

—

But once again I was faced with an author taking on far more than they were qualified to write, having a protagonist who identifies as a minority that already suffers enough prejudice and misunderstanding—a minority that the author themselves is not part of.

So once again because this keeps happening: You can and should write minority characters. You should not write the suffering of these minorities if you did not live it, because their suffering is not yours to profit off of and you will almost inevitably do it wrong.

[changbinisms]

Two Sides of the Same Coin - Choi Jongho x reader

Summary: Jongho had always been an enigma, holding most people at an arm's length, and you even further. What if there's a reason behind that?

wc: 1,797

non-idol au / office worker au

contains: minor angst?, jealousy, confusion over feelings, y/n is in denial, probably out of character Jongho, implications of alcohol, not proof read

[a/n: it's been a long, long time since I've posted a fic, and even longer since I wrote one, so I'm a little rusty. I'm not 100% happy with it but if I went back and reread it I'd probably talk myself out of it, so hopefully someone enjoys this.]

Few people had the pleasure of being in the company of Choi Jongho, and even fewer had the pleasure of having him enjoy the company too.

He always held the same stony-faced expression on his face, unless of course, he was in the company of his friend group. Then he could always be seen with a smile on his face, laughter leaving his plump lips, and his round eyes crinkled in delight.

That’s not to say that he was stuck up or rude, he just felt most comfortable around his friends, rather than the people that he only really saw in passing.

Unfortunately, you seemed to be stuck in some limbo in between. Not a stranger yet not quite a friend. You got on well with the rest of the group, some could say that you were friends. However, Jongho always seemed to hold you at an arm’s length. Which was a shame really since you had been quite enamoured with the man since you had started working at Aurora & Co. Media.

When it came to interacting with you, he always seemed to go quieter and developed a habit of mumbling. Some could say he had a crush on you but who could be sure? You hadn’t had enough interactions with him to know what he was like around people that he’d taken a fancy to, hell, you didn’t even know if he was interested in people at all. 

~~~~

The day seemed to drag in, almost as if it knew that you longed for the comfort of your cosy little flat, and the series that you had halfway binged into the early hours of the morning.

Staring at the clock in hopes of it making time pass faster clearly wasn’t cutting it anymore. Your day was almost done, and you’d ran out of work to do to fill in the gap between the start of your shift and the end of your shift.

Almost like a knight in shining armour, your view of the clock is obscured by Hongjoong’s lithe frame.

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I can count on you to turn up to the Halloween party, right?” his eyes almost pleading with you “half of the guys can’t give a straight answer on if they’re going, Hwa said he’s not going after the chaos at the last work party, and San and Wooyoung are going to be insufferable on their own,”

“Joong,” you chuckled at his distress, “you know I would never let you suffer through those two on your own,”

He physically relaxed at your answer, before a cheeky smile crept its way onto his face; “good - because Jongho is actually going to this one,”

And there it was… the “some” that could say he had a crush on you. Maybe Hongjoong had more of an insight into Jongho’s thoughts and feelings since he was in his inner circle, but you couldn’t quite work out what he stood to gain from telling you about a crush that may or may not even exist.

You let out a sigh.

“Hongjo-“

“don’t even try to hide that you’re happy about that, y/n” he cut you off, “we can all see the hearteyes you send him,”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, you fiend,” you hiss back, taking another peek at the clock, “oh would you look at that! My shift’s over! Bye!”

You quickly grab your phone, bag, and cardigan, and head to the cloakroom to collect your jacket and escape this conversation.

Unfortunately Hongjoong follows you, seemingly undeterred by your efforts to elude him.

~~~~

Despite your insistence that you were indifferent to the news that Jongho would be there, you found yourself panic-shopping online to find something that would somehow be both attractive and comfortable – there’s no way you can wear the pink, fluffy bunny costume you wore the year before, which was the product of an ill timed, dumb bet that you lost.

If anyone were to asl, you’d just tell them you were trying to rebuild your costume reputation. No one would know that it was actually an attempt to look good in front of Jongho.

Not that you wanted to look good in front of Jongho of course…

~~~~

Before you knew it, the end of October was upon you and you found yourself in the back seat of a taxi, wedged in between a (slightly) giddy San, and a (most definitely) tipsy Wooyoung on your way to the venue that your team leads at Aurora & Co. had booked for the party.

You prayed to whatever deity was out there to speed up the journey as there was only so much elbowing you could take from them (“oh come on! You totally imagine what it’s like to kiss him” “We finally won’t have to witness you both pining over each other anymore”) while Hongjoong sat in the front trying to contain his giggles.

Promise be damned, you were abandoning him at the first chance you get.

~~~~

Finally arriving at the venue, practically shoving San out the way to get out the taxi, you make your way into the venue, taking in the sight before you.

Twinkle lights adorned the high ceilings and gave the room a subtle ambience. True to typical fashion, your eyes immediately find Jongho, who had come dressed as a vampire complete with shirt, waistcoat, suit trousers and a typical gothic cape, with what you would assume to be droplets of fake blood trailing down his chin and almost trailing onto his neck.

Almost has if he could sense that you had arrived, he was already looking at you or, most likely, in your general direction (you did arrive with three out of seven of his friends), his conversation with Yeosang, the (at first) quiet man with a cheeky streak, seemingly forgotten.

The intensity of his stare proved too much for you, quickly averting your eyes with a light blush making its way across your cheeks.

Thankfully, you’re saved by your absolute favourite people to work with: Jeon Soyeon and, her equally devilish partner in crime, Kim Seungmin. Most people would assume that their personalites would clash, what with Soyeon having little time for shit-stirrers and Seungmin being the biggest shit-stirrer in the office, but it came as a surprise when they met and struck up what is possibly the funniest friend duo.

“Well look who decided to show up actually looking decent this Halloween!” Seungmin laughed, smile stretching across his face exposing his pearly whites. Beside him, Soyeon tittered and affectionately rolled her eyes. You wonder just how many times she had heard him say similar things before you arrived.

“Minnie, you know fine well that I rocked that bunny suit,” you fired back “much better than whatever the hell you’re wearing right now”.

~~~~

True to office fashion, the party only took off from there. You had long since lost track of Hongjoong, San and Wooyoung, and more importantly, Jongho. You didn’t need the ribbing that you would get from your friends for so much as glancing anywhere he was stood.

Coming out from the restroom, the drinks that you’d had finally taking a toll on your bladder and took advantage of the large mirrors to touch up your appearance, you turn down the hall to head back to the main room and bump into someone. A someone sporting suit trousers, waistcoat and typically gothic cape…

“Jongho… hey!” you awkwardly state, “glad to see you came, I thought it was just rumours that you were coming,”

He seemed to not know what to reply with as he looked at you, mouth slightly agape. You suppose that’s on brand for him, at least he’s looking you in the eye.

“uhhh… anyway,” you sidestep around him, the awkwardness starting to seep into your bones “I was just on my way back, I’ll see you in there, I guess,”

You go to continue your walk back to the festivities when a hand around your forearm stops you in your tracks.

“wait,” he breathes out before continue, “I wanted to talk to you,”

“sure… what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I-“ he started.

You waited for him to continue but the silence only extended into even more awkward territory, the minutes stretching on and on. Feeling the need to get out of the situation before you started spewing absolute nonsense in an attempt to fill the gap.

You step away from him with a quiet “Soyeon and Seungmin must be wondering where I am, I’ll catch you la-“

Your words are interrupted with a short “what do I need to do to get your attention?” You’re stunned into silence, which Jongho takes advantage of by continuing, “Why does everyone in the office get your attention easily, but you can’t give me a sideways glance? What do I have to do? What do I have to do to get you to like me?”

His short monologue must have caused your brain to short circuit, the words with a hint of jealousy must have flipped some switch in your brain, as you responded with an “is that what you think? You think I don’t like you? If anything, I thought you didn’t like me, you very rarely actually look at me never mind talk to me,”

Jongho seemed perplexed at your words before letting out a “because I can’t. I can’t look at you without getting my words and thoughts all mixed up. I thought if I had a drink or two, I might have been able to work up the courage to talk to you and I messed that up,”

You didn’t know what to say, would anyone know what to say in this situation if they were put on the stop this way? You couldn’t organise your thoughts, your brain processing both nothing and everything at the same time.

So, you did the only thing you could make out in the chaos of your brain. You stepped closer to him and placed your hands lightly on his shoulders and closed the gap.

Your lips pressing to his, relishing in his soft ones. He didn’t respond, his posture stiff causing you to regret your actions. Maybe you misinterpreted what he said, maybe he was wanting closure and nothing else.

Your thoughts finally got the better of you and you start to pulling away, ready to gush excuses and find the nearest exit so you could make your escape and think out how you’re going to get out of this one on Monday, when his body starts to catch up with his brain, and he does something you didn’t think he would.

He kisses you back.

~*~*~*~

[xhoneygirlxx]

i just know for a fact Eddie doesn’t know any celebrity names but he knows the most random shit.

i’m just picturing husband or dad! Eddie, somewhere around 30s/40s in age.

you guys are in the car and maybe the basic radio is playing or you’re hooked up to the bluetooth, either way there’s music playing.

Dua Lipa’s ‘Dance the Night Away’ comes on and even though you’re paying more attention to the cars that pass by, a thought pops in your head.

“Baby,” you turn to him, “do you know who sings this?”

For a second he just listens and you can see the gears turning in his head like he’s trying hard to figure who’s voice is coming through the speakers.

“Yeah, it’s Jen Montana.” Eddie says it with so much confidence, smiling brightly that he could remember.

When you correct him and tell him the actual name, he proceeds to tell you that Jen Montana is a real person and she was a very famous popstar. He clearly meant Hannah Montana.

Another time you guys are in your living room sprawled out on the couch, lazing about. Deciding that you had enough phone time, you asks if he wants to watch a movie and he quickly agrees, saying there’s on he really wanted to watch.

Leaving your spot on the comfy sofa, you pad to the kitchen to make some popcorn. When you return Eddie’s got his Ipad in his hand, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, tapping away on the screen clearly looking for something.

“I thought we were watchin movie, baby.” You say and he turns his head up at you, tongue still poked out from when he was concentrating.

“We are! I just couldn’t remember the name of the movie I wanted to watch s’all.”

“Well just tell me the actor or actress and i’ll use the remote to look it up.” Sitting back down in your spot, you place the bowl on popcorn between the two of you.

“It’s that one with Sofia Mascara girl.” popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth, he stares straight ahead at the tv like a small child, excited and ready to watch something.

You’re lost, completely and 100% lost. Who the fuck was he talking about because that clearly wasn’t a person. You’re still staring at him like he has five heads, trying to work every part of your brain to understand who he meant. Turning his curly haired head back to you, his eyebrows furrow at your expression.

“What’s wrong?” It’s almost annoying how unaware he is sometimes.

“Eds, that’s not a person.” you try to say it calmly, not wanting to get upset over something this stupid.

“Yes it is, babe! She’s the girl in that one movie! Remember?” He rolls his eyes at you, like you’re the one who said something ridiculous.

“That narrows it down to like, a thousand people.” You deadpan and he huffs.

“The one movie when she’s like screaming and her boyfriend where a bear costume!”

“That’s fucking Florence Pugh, Edward! Not Sofia Mascara!” He laughs at how angry you get and it makes you even angrier.

“Yeah, yeah, same difference.”

It boggles your mind how he can’t remember a single celebrity’s name, but he can remember things that no one else does.

The two of you are laid out in bed, the darkness taking over the space. You’re eyes grow heavier, sleep about to take over your body.

“Do you ever think about what Aron Ralston is doing?” Eddie’s voice is thick with sleepiness.

“Who?” Your lips are smooshed against the cushion of your pillow, causing your words to sound muffled.

“The guy that chopped off his arm when he got stuck in the Grand Canyon! They made that movie with the Green Goblin’s son.” You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s looking at you in a strange way for not knowing the man’s name.

Either way, you’re too tired to argue or even indulge in this conversation.

“No, I don’t think about what he’s doing during his day.”

“Maybe you should, dude almost died ya know.” He says to you and you almost want to stop talking.

“Okay, well I’ll send him an apology in the morning for not thinking about his daily routine. Can we go to sleep now?”

So yeah, Eddie doesn’t know mainstream artists and actors names but he can tell you any random fact you wanna know.

-

-

-

[godeaterazathoth]

Issues I have with ikevamp

That I’m venting here because they won’t leave my skull

*Content warning, we’re talking about men in the past, they did some bad stuff*

Part 1, historical inaccuracies

I’m I history nut so this really gets to me, since I know the deep details of these peoples lives.

The timeline, ok so the game takes place in 18th France, correct me if I’m wrong but I think it is in the second empire (1852-1870) considered there is a noble class, yet you can clearly see the Eiffel Tower which was completed in 1889, there is no mention of the 1889 exposition, so it must be after the tower had become permanent, by then the 3rd republic was around, if we are in the republic the Count wouldn’t be called that by the npcs at all the parties he goes to, no matter which we’re in, NOBODY mentions Napoleon III at, NOT EVAN HIS UNCLE (WHOSE SOMEHOW BECAME CASS CONSCIOUS!)

How does the time travel work, example, Dazai died in 1948, his plan was seemingly to wait until he’s born in 1909 then kill himself as a baby, but then he decides to use the magic door, what are the consequences of 2 Dazais existing at once or him erasing himself from history, he’s a pretty important literary figure, does someone else replace him or does the space time continuum collapse?? Is the future Vlad sees set in stone or can it be changed, just copy someone else’s time travel bit!!!

So straight up these guys aren’t who they say they are, we’ll go through 1 by 1

Napoleon- doesn’t mention he left the love of his life to marry a girl 20 years his junior (like think how interesting it would be if he’s conflicted about love cuz he had to give it up for political reasons) -that scene where MC talks about all the ‘good’ that he did in Europe, like committing war crimes against the Spanish and Portuguese and Eastern Europeans, being a coloniser, killing the slaves he freed when they asked for more rights, killing thousands of men in a meaningless war (ligit H*tler vibes)

Arthur- goofy irl, literally believed in fairies, had 5 children and married twice but he never mentions any of this, he cheated on his first wife while she was dying of TB, he was a liberal unionist (tldr didn’t like Irish people) he was anti-immigration, might have committed fraud. We’ll get to the other issues I have with him.

Leonardo- fruity as hell, vegetarian

Mozart- they got his character completely wrong, the guy was a complete man child, vain, broke, by the end of his life his career fell off (Beethoven better composer), in love with his cousin 🤢, had a s*at fetish 🤢🤢🤢. The hole Salieri thing didn’t happen.

Vincent- they made him too mentally stable, I’m all for him being meek, but the guy had serious issues that they ignore, he ate paint thinner, was rejected by his both crushes, WHY DOES HE HAVE BOTH EARS, DID IT GROW BACK, THEY SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIM WITH ONLY ONE, also he should be ginger smh. Oh yeah and they never mentioned the s*ecide attempt.

Theo- doesn’t mention his wife, or son, WHO HE NAMED AFTER VINCENT, his wife is the person responsible for Vincent’s work not being completely forgotten, was way nicer irl.

Issac- tbh hotter irl, low key ace, maybe a fruit, kinda mean, the only thing they got right was the major virgin vibes.

Jean- WHY MAN!??!! Even if the didn’t want a lesbian route, they could have gone with any other guy from the 100 years war, Edward black prince, idk WHY GENDER BEND ONE OF THE MOST PROMINENT WOMEN IN HISTORY, I’m fine with the delusional trans dude lie, but they say that he was a guy all along, THEN WHAT WAS THE POINT OF HIM BEING BURNT AT THE STAKE IF HE WASN’T CROSS DRESSING???!!! was he double cross dressing??? This is the worst of them all, give me the girl boss we deserve (revers fate)

Dazai- not depressed enough imo, he was a leftist, again missing wife, their were two su*ecide attempts, guy lived through fire bombing, had a few children that he is fine to erase from existence.

Shakespeare- probably a fruit, again never mentioned his wife and kids, btw the way he talks is annoying, some people don’t think he’s real.

Faust- NOT A REAL PERSON.

Sanson- too young, this guys is 67, really liked the guillotine, just saw execution as his job didn’t really care, had a wife and kids.

Vlad- Ok is he supposed to be Vlad THE impaler? Cuz he’s not evil enough, or is he a Dracula reference, cuz he can’t dance that dance either, why did they call him Vlad if he isn’t a blood thirsty war criminal.

Count- not enough history to work with.

Part 2, problematic moments

So I ha have seen some posts on the low key misogynistic way the MC is written and treated and there are a lot of issues wit white washing history so another trigger warning ⚠️

Misogyny- the MC of this game is not the best, I know she’s a self insert but she has no backbone at all. She lacks agency I’m most of the routes, like the MC getting kidnapped is a troupe in all these games, but Emma can escape on her own, Kate has ⚽️, even Alice had more depth to her, seems the only thing MC can do is cry and wait to be saved, I swear she gets kidnapped once in every route, I think they could have given her more character to work with. Another thing, but Jean being a man is bad, really bad, she’s a feminist icon but they made her a man, it’s sought of saying that women aren’t capable of this so she had to have actually been a man.

Handling of SA, important one here, I’m ok with the flirty guy, but I really hate Arthur, he doesn’t just flirt with her in chapter 1 he assaults her and acts like he did her a service, and she just forgives him!?! I’m fine with a guy that sleeps around, I like Jin and Nokto fine, but the way Arthur talks about women, always calling them Birds (if they were going for English slang it doesn’t work cuz he doesn’t have a cockney accent) or worse Skirts, it’s dehumanising, and shows that to him women are vehicles for sexual pleasure and aren’t on an equal level of understanding. There are smaller parts to, Leo kisses her without consent, the Count hides the truth from her, idk but Theo calling her a ‘hound’ sounds like he’s calling her something else…

Minor points on classism, I’m not expecting the communist manifesto, but all these games aren’t very good at dealing with class deviation. In Vlad’s route, the orphan boy thinks he can impress the rich girl, this is the 19th century, capitalism is on the rise, but there’s no comment about how it’s impossible. The little school Napoleons runs is strange, considering he was in a position where benefited from poor people existing and staying poor, ( side note, he’s teaching them swordsmanship when ww1 is right around the corner, just saying they won’t need it in the military) called MC out as a social climber, these games sought of depict the past through rosé tinted glasses, there’s only passing reference to how fucked people were in the past, Also all the historical inaccuracies above tie to this.

Anyway love to hear some other opinions, (I started playing this game before my transition and have always thought it it was wired, it’s my personal least favourite just cuz I couldn’t really get into any of the guys, my OC ended up as a Carmilla reference so….)

I have seen a post talking about some of the issues before so that’s what got me to write this out, if you disagree or want to add anything I’m all ears 👂

Thanks for reading 💗💖💖💕💓💝💗🥰🥰🥰❤️✨✨✨✨❤️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[justthewayuare]

The treatment of sluts

I’m not the first person to write about this topic and I don’t want to dive in here deep into societal problems with slutshaming. But I think about it a lot - there is an interesting approach within the show to this.

I talk about how both characters in the show and the audience treat so-called sluts of the show. Yes, it’s about Boston and Top. But also about Sand and Ray. Because it’s quite clear that all four of them have - or had before by the point we’re now - an active sex life. With Boston, Top and Sand it was spoken out loud, with Ray wasn’t but come on. Like he is horny as fuck.

And the way he just casually raised the car roof here without stopping a make out session - I don’t believe for a second he never did it before.

But Ray also spends a huge amount of his life being blackout drunk so maybe his sex life is not that intense at this point. The other three? 100%

But the approach towards Sand (and Ray) is very different than towards Boston and Top. And it’s partially because of car scene, of course, but not only about that. Top and Boston both constantly judged for their sex life in the show and out of it. And I think characters view on those who actively engaged in casual hookups speaks volumes. It happens in all of the main dynamics but differently.

Friend group. So the whole Boston-Mew drama about feeling superior to the other cause of having/not having sex is amazing. Those two are very dramatic about it. Boston going crazy about Mew’s virginity while Mew being arrogant ass towards Boston’s sex life is just everything. I love it.

Like really, Mew, honey, there is nothing wrong with sleeping around. It’s not something that needs correction. He’s fine.

Cheum said nobody would be happy in a relationship with Boston. And why?

That’s her reason. While so many real reasons exist for her it’s just Boston being a slut. And it’s just interesting to me for two reasons:

1. Boston didn’t say anything about relationship. Not everyone wants a relationship.

2. Monogamy is not the only option, you know? Some couples are great without being inclusive and it’s fine.

We never see anyone talks on Ray about it and, well, Ray is a depressive addict and that’s what should worry people around him more, rightfully so. Ray is also the only one in that friend group who never speaks about others sex life.

Top and Mew. Mew is really getting paranoid by the episode 5. Every time he sees a man looking at Top he gets nervous.

And yes, Top slept with Boston, but Mew seems (at least for me) unaware of that. He’s fine when Top and Boston are near each other, but any random guy passing by Top? Even when Top doesn’t interact with them or even looks back at them.

And Mew really tries his best to be cool about Top’s past.

But he just can’t. It’s always present in their relationship. He can’t get over it to the point he decides to have sex with Top.

And maybe it’s not all about that and he also in love with him and blablabla but the reasoning is “I’m afraid he’ll get bored” and this is all about Top and sex and the role sex played in his life.

And while Mew doesn’t want to judge Top he usually judges people like Top, and of course he can’t separate it. He is not okay with the past Top has. He doesn’t trust him because of that past. So the audience doesn’t too (and also because we know Top fucked Boston obviously).

Boston and Nick. Nick is in a way the same as Mew. While he doesn’t seem to judge people for having sex life, he does it with Boston. He is obsessed with him being with someone else (read as: Top).

Just a reminder, he bugged Boston’s car just because he saw photos with Top. Just in case. While they agreed on being fwb and Boston never lied about having other partners.

And when Boston told him about someone else blackmailing him over sex tape, how Nick responded?

Yep. And while it was meant as a tease, it wasn’t. Nothing is ever a reason to record someone without consent (as that guy did. And Nick did. And Boston did). But Nick says it as this is justified because he really doesn’t like that Boston is a slut. And, well, the audience doesn’t like it too (besides all the other reasons of course).

Sand and Ray. I give it to them, in that particular case they are doing great. Not in a one point of the story not Sand or Ray had issues with other’s past sex life. They don’t even seem to care about it.

The one time Ray asked if Sand is fine with casual hookups he did it for a reason to, well, know if Sand will be into having sex with him. So when Sand said yes Ray was actually pleased with this answer.

And while their situationship progresses into something and Sand sees Ray with a girl, he’s not nervous or jealous. He teases Ray a little and a bit possessive but he is totally chill about it.

I had so much hope we’ll get a threesome with those two at some point of the story, but yeah. Second time they let a gorgeous girl walk away without even noticing. They are simping for each other so badly it’s pathetic. And adorable. I love them. No threesome for them I guess.

And when the fight at the end of episode happens Boston brings up twice that he thinks Ray and Mew had sex. As that has to make Sand feel even worse. But the thing is, Sand is heartbroken not because Ray potentially had sex with someone, even his close friend. I really don’t think Sand would care about it. Sand is heartbroken because Ray loves someone else.

So those two are only ones who don’t judge anyone, including each other, for having an active sex life (being sluts). And this is quite healthy approach (look at me, using word healthy to describe that one thing about OF, I don’t believe myself) to life and relationships. Any sort of relationship, including friendships, romance or people you don’t know but so ready to judge. And while them not judging each other, why the audience would?

I don’t know if the show does it on purpose or not. I do think it does with Boston and Top. But with Sand and Ray? I doubt it. It more looks like those to have enough other shit to worry about both within their relationship and outside of it. I know it’ll develop but by episode 5 characters biggest problems looks something like this:

1. Mew’s biggest problem is his relationship with Top and sex. And Boston.

2. Top’s biggest problem is maybe insomnia but also his relationship with Mew and sex. And Boston.

3. Boston’s biggest problem is Top and Mew and their relationship.

4. Nick’s biggest problem is his relationship with Boston and sex and Boston.

5. Ray’s biggest problem is depression and addiction and inability to love or being loved.

6. Sand’s biggest problem is his financial situation, debts collectors and working his ass off 24/7.

So maybe yes, those two just don’t have enough screen time to worry about sex too. And while I do think we will learn more about other characters, by that point we’ve seen almost half of the show. And the initial idea of who they are already formed. It can develop, but it won’t change.

And the approach to Boston and Top being sluts won’t change either. Whatever they do the “slut” part will be seen as their flaw, something they have to overcome (it is not). While Sand and Ray get a free pass on that.

The thing is, both Top and Boston do have flaws and things to overcome. But their sex life is not a part of it. Them having a lot of sex partners doesn’t mean they can’t be in relationship, or even monogamous, if that what they (or at least Top) want to. And if they doesn’t - nothing is wrong with it. It’s like trying to change something that’s not even broken on the first place, you know?

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Factory Reset (Dean/Reader)

Title: Factory Reset

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Female Reader

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean's admired your hunting skills and prowess for years. You have a relationship with the eldest Winchester built on mutual respect and a level playing field when it comes to handling monsters and having each other's back.

When a wrong assumption he's had for years is corrected, it leads to both of you being presented with an opportunity to explore and be honest with the feelings that are hiding just under the surface.

Word Count: 14,801

Tags: Dean Winchester Gets Pegged, Strap-Ons, Friends to Lovers, Bad-Ass Hunter/Reader, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Power Dynamics, Taking Care of Dean Winchester

Notes: Posted on AO3 4-17-22. Inspiration for this story - I saw this on my Twitter feed one day, with the poster applying this to Dean Winchester: I’m that sub who talks shit until your dick slams me so hard it hits my factory reset and I’m like “How can I help you today, Sir?” Read full notes on AO3, where there’s also a link to the PodFic version. 

Chapter 1

“I had it under control.” Dean tosses back another shot of whisky.

You scoff, pouring him another. “Sure, Winchester. That’s why I had to bust in, guns blazing, to save your competent ass from a pack of werewolves.” 

The both of you are doing that dance you always do when you land on Sam and Dean’s bunker doorstep. It’s the Who Hunted It Best Competition. Sam tapped out early, like he always does when you two got going. He’d rather go do some research, or head back to his room and sext with Eileen, than get drunk and listen to the chest-thumping. 

You’re sure if you were on the outside looking in, you’d probably agree with Sam. It’s been hard-earned and taken years, but your reputation as a resourceful, resilient hunter is one you wear with a badge of honor. And, when you can revel in the times you’ve saved the legend that is Dean Winchester… well, you aren’t going to pass that up. Hence, anytime you are within a 100-mile radius of Lebanon, you end up here. 

Dean’s always been grateful; considers you one of only a handful he’d want to have in his corner if Sam wasn’t available. But, it doesn’t mean he’s going to cop to your skills being better honed than his anytime soon.

Really, the discussion is getting so heated at the moment, that you wouldn’t be surprised if Dean pulled out his dick and draped it atop the kitchen table to compare lengths.

Even though you don’t have a dick.

Well, at least not a real one.

Your strap-on is tucked away in your duffle.

Dean volleys another example. “Oh, and who had to get pulled out of a collapsed crypt after almost being breakfast, lunch, and dinner for a ghoul?” He nods with conviction, and points at you with a finger from the hand holding the tumbler, before another tilt downs the drink. All of that beautiful neck exposed, his chin pointing toward the ceiling. His throat bobs with the slow swallow. He smacks his lips and releases a satisfied, “Ah. Beat that.” But, you spot it. The little glint in his eye that reminds you, convinces you, his bravado is all for show at the end of the day.

You rub your palm along your face. “The well has run dry. We’ve rehashed every Dean in Distress story I can think of.”

He jabs the same finger in your direction as he continues, his hand clutching the now empty glass. “That’s because there are so few of them.” His face is relaxed. The faraway gaze and flicks of spaciness he displays has you smiling.

You check the timepiece on your wrist. “No, it’s because we’ve been at it for two hours.”

His brow furrows. “I-no-we-shit. Time flies when you’re with good company.”

You nod. “Agreed.” You clink the bottle’s neck along his glass and down another gulp straight from the source.

He’s staring at you with this “I’m not sure I should but I’m gonna say it anyway” glance. Oh, boy. That look from Dean before he opens his mouth ensures whatever comes out will be either memorable or mortifying. “Speaking of damsels in distress…”

“Were we? Are you admitting that you are, in fact, a damsel?” You quirk a brow up with mischievous intentions.

He shakes his head and frowns. “Please.” He raises a hand. “You gotta give me the details on Bridger. It’s been years. The statute of limitations has to have expired by now.”

You can feel your brows knit together now as you try to put a face to the name he’s mentioned. “Bridger?” You question your memory again aloud. “Bridger?”

His lids widen, eyes bulge, chin nods in encouragement.

“Lana Bridger?”

His mouth parts in excitement, jaw almost unhinges as the nodding quickens.

“What details would I have on Lana Bridger?”

“Aw, come on. You saved her from that vampire nest in New Orleans.”

You nod. “Saved you, too, if memory serves right.”

He waves a hand in exasperation. “But, I wasn’t the one that shared a bed with her after. She was sooo appreciative and kept going on and on about how she didn’t know how she could ever express how thankful she was.” He rolls his eyes.

“Are you… you think we hooked up?”

There’s so much disappointment in his face in the blink of an eye it’s downright comical. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You huff.

“Okay.” He’s deep in thought. “How about Crystal Thurman?”

“No.”

“Rebecca Creston?”

“No.”

“Avery Sandler?”

“Those are all women, Dean.”

He shrugs. “Duh.”

You lean back atop the stool. It finally makes sense. The reason why the notorious flirt that is Dean Winchester hasn’t ever full-on hit on you. In the almost twenty years you’ve known each other, he has never once made a wholehearted attempt to get into your leather pants. “Not that I have a problem with it, but I’m not into the ladies.”

You can see his brain go completely blank for a few seconds. His eyelids blink and complete the reboot. “You-you aren’t?”

“Why would you think that?” You are thoroughly amused now and extremely interested in hearing the thought process that came to this conclusion. You take another swig from the bottle and decide to be generous and pour him another.

He isn’t even aware of the drink in front of him. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never gotten wind of you with any of the male hunters in our circle.”

“That just means I’m picky. And, I was taught not to shit where you sleep. The men I’ve had relations or relationships with are never tied to the business.” You stare at him. “That’s why you thought I was into chicks? Because you couldn’t find a chauvinistic pig that said he banged me?”

His face is turning all the shades of red on the color wheel. “Well, no, that’s not the only reason.”

You beckon with a come hither gesture using both hands. “Spill.”

He sighs. His gaze darts around the room. “I-I may have one night-while we shared a hotel room-accidentally thought your duffle was mine-and started to unpack it while you were out grabbing dinner.”

“And?” 

He brings the liquor to his lip and mumbles, “I found your strap-on.” He drinks quick and taps the glass back onto the surface.

You mimic his tap with the bottle and vocally process the information. “So. Wait.” Even his neck is flushing while he listens to the stop and start of your words. “If a woman owns a strap-on, she can only be using it on other women?” You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow. “Dean? Really? You’ve never had a woman…”

He scoffs. “What? Hell no!” He grabs the bottle and pours one for himself this time. Another swallow. Far be it for you to be the one to point out that his continued drinking is only making him more talkative. “I mean, women have gotten a little curious back there, but…” He clicks his mouth shut at your grin. Then, a beat later. “How’d you get into it?”

“Pete.” You can only imagine how wistful the smile on your face is, reminded of the tall and lean yoga instructor. “He was a call-up at 3 am when I was in the neighborhood buddy for years. We’d get into all sorts of stuff. You know how it can be after a hunt. The release you need, all the different ways you try to get it…”

He nods, chin resting atop a palm propped up by an elbow on the tabletop. His eyes stare with interest. 

“He was the one that suggested it. I wasn’t sure at first. But, when I was ready to give it a try, well, he was a great teacher. He let me learn all over him.”

That statement has Dean clear his throat. “So, what, you only like submissive guys?” His arms are folded now, pushed closer toward the middle of the table. He’s leaning in.

“No. That would be pretty limiting. And, if you think that’s what pegging’s all about you have a lot to learn.” A soft chuckle emits at the blush reddening the apples of Dean Winchester’s cheeks. You attempt to reel in your amusement. “Besides, sex is whatever you want it to be when you have a partner you can be open and honest with. Communication is key. Just like consent. I enjoy sex all kinds of ways. Using a strap-on, well, that’s just one little aspect.”

Dean huffs. His eyes go wide. “It wasn’t little.”

“How far back was this accidental sex toy finding?”

“I don’t know. Like five years ago, maybe?”

“What color was it?”

He sighs. “Purple.”

“Oh, yeah. That was Big Bertha. She was one of my favorites. Sad day when she went into retirement.”

Dean’s mouth hangs open.

You laugh. “You gotta work up to something like Bertha. I haven’t had anyone regular enough in my rotation to even broach the topic of Bertha. I have smaller ones I bring on the road with me.”

“Just in case, huh?”

“I’m always prepared for anything, Winchester. You should know that by now.” You yawn and stretch. “Well, this has been quite the stroll down memory lane.” A stand has you leaning over Dean and you tap his shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the showers and then turn in. Night.” You offer Dean a sharp salute before disappearing around the corner.

It’s not much farther down the hall before you’re met with a tired Sam trudging his way to the kitchen in bare feet. “Oh, wow. You two are still at it?” He frowns, hair mussed and lids heavy.

Both hands raise. “I’ve tapped out. Shower and sleep for me.”

The very real possibility that Dean will share what he’s found out about you tingles your senses. But, Sam’s respectful and hardly the gossip spreader. So, you smile and squeeze his biceps. “Avoid getting sucked into the Drunk Dean Drain.”

His lips quirk up. “You always could drink him under the table. I don’t know why he keeps trying to best you.”

*

Dean’s staring at the kitchen wall after you’ve left. He doesn’t know for how long. All he’s thinking about or trying to anyway - things went static and fuzzy a half hour ago with all the liquor - is you.

How could he, Dean Winchester, have been so off about you? 

You’d been a pain in the ass when he first met you on that New Orleans hunt. But, you’d proved your worth and then some, swooping in and saving him and Lana Bridger from the vamps. When he closes his eyes now, he can see you practically flying off the rafters, swinging from a length of cable. You even did one of those superhero, down-on-bended-knee moves when you touched the ground. Right in front of his rope-bound frame. You even had the balls to wink at him before standing to face the vamps that swarmed and circled. 

Dean Winchester wasn’t sure what a swoon felt like it. But, he was pretty sure he’d come damn close to swooning at that wink, even with his life on the line.

Your machete sliced into undead flesh, ancient tendons, countless vertebrae to dislodge vamp heads from their necks. Groans and cries and grunts filled Dean’s ears. Blood splattered and soared through the air with the beauty of an abstract artist tossing crimson atop a canvas.

Minutes later, bodies everywhere, he watched you free a chained-up Lana on the other side of the room. You sauntered over to his frame next. The sheathed machete rested in the holster strapped to your leather-clad thigh. You were bloody, out of breath, eyes wide with adrenaline, chest heaving.

You were beautiful.

“Is this how all our hunts together are going to end up, Winchester? Me saving your ass?”

He’d fallen in love with you right then. He would have followed you anywhere. But, he wasn’t about to try and bed you after you’d been the one to save him. Not when he hadn’t proved his worth. And, especially when you weren’t tossing any obvious signals you were interested. The three of you celebrated and traded stories late into the night in the back room of the bar Lana co-owned with a local witch that practiced white magic. You were particularly friendly and touchy-feely with Lana, the buxom blonde. Even now it seemed like a logical conclusion that you were into the ladies when you took Lana up on crashing in her shoebox of a studio apartment above the bar. With only a twin bed.

He was pretty sure a place to rest your head wasn’t the only way you would be thanked. But, he was also pretty sure he could have shown you so much more appreciation.

Christ, twenty years of misguided assumptions.

A figure in the doorway pulls his attention. The hope and thrill that it’s you, returning with an offer to teach him some things, fizzles when it’s just his giant of a brother.

Sam squints in that telltale look of disgust. Dean identifies that easily, no matter how drunk he is.

“Dude?” Sam shakes his head. “Go wash some of that stench off you and get to bed.” He saunters over to the fridge.

Dean grunts and rubs an eyelid. “Why would I do that when I’ve got you to keep me company?” He works up the effort for the cheesiest grin in Sam’s direction. “Besides, showers are occupied at the moment.”

Sam downs half the contents of a water bottle in two gulps. He shrugs. “Like you two have never shared a shower before?”

The silence is deafening. Dean can’t muster any sort of response.

It’s Sam’s little, “Oh,” that bangs the final nail into Dean’s Ma’lak Box.

Dean slumps forward. Forehead knocks onto the table. It should hurt more, but everything he should be feeling is dull, distant.

“Wait.” Sam’s slid into the seat across from him now.

Dean groans.

“You’re telling me you’ve never… with her… ever?”

Dean can’t bear it. Even without looking, he can see the amazement and then the smug little smirk on Sam’s face. It sears into his brain.

“I always assumed you two got up to all sorts of stuff when she’d stay over.”

“Well, that’s the problem with assuming… makes an ass out of you and me.”

“Huh? Well, I hold her in even greater esteem.”

“Shut it, Sammy.” He lifts a finger and points to the back of his head, still resting against the tabletop. “Can’t you see I’m in pain?”

“Yeah, man. I feel for you. Being shot down for, what, decades? Can do a lot to your mental faculties. It explains sooo much.”

Dean growls and knocks a boot into Sam’s bare ankle. “Can it.”

Sam releases a hiss.

He sits up now and makes a concerted effort to eye Sam with force. Lids pop open as wide as he can get them. “I never got shot down.” He sighs, thinking of all the times he’d wanted you, wanted to take a stab and ask if you maybe wanted to try some stuff out with him. He legit wants to cry. He’s kind of glad he’s wasted because he can’t feel enough to produce tears.

Sam’s eye-bulging ability easily beats Dean’s. “Are you telling me you never tried?”

Dean corkscrews his mouth and shakes his head.

“Why not? She’s the hottest thing in combat boots and leather pants I’ve ever seen.” Dean watches his little brother immediately self-correct his objectification. “I mean, yeah, she’s one of the finest hunters around; but, a fact like that has never stopped you from an attempt to get laid.”

Dean looks past Sam’s shoulder to the kitchen doorway. In case you’ve decided to snoop, he lowers his voice. “I thought she wasn’t into dudes.”

Sam scoffs and raises both hands. “Again, never stopped you before.”

“Hm?” Dean ponders. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Sam shrugs. “There is one plausible theory.”

Dean waits. 

“You respect her enough that you cock-blocked your own douchey ass from fucking up the situation.”

Dean chuckles. “I think her cock did some of the blocking. But, yeah, you may be right.”

“Dean, you have reached the hallucination stage.” Sam stands and heads to leave. “Go to bed.”

An arm waves in his defense. “No, Sam. One of the reasons I thought she was into chicks was because I…”

Sam’s brows raise, frozen in place for the sentence to continue.

Dean shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Night, Dean.”

*

You’re normally asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow in the bunker bedroom you’ve laid claim as your own. “Sweet 16” - as Dean likes to call it - is close to his and dead ends in the same hallway. This room is the one place you always feel safe. It has to do with the Winchester brothers more than the warded fortress.

But, tonight, you’re restless. Your mind races with thoughts of the stupidest kind.

Dean hadn’t hit on you. Not once. In twenty years. But not because he didn’t want to.

Because he didn’t think you’d want him to.

You replayed the slight shift in his expression when he’d figured out how wrong he’d been. About you.

Yep, he was interested.

Why the hell hadn’t you gone with your gut when the opportunity presented itself so many times over the years? Been bold and brazen with the beautiful hunter as you were with everything else?

Because, in reality, all of that brashness veiled that obvious fact that you’d never measure up to the perfection of Dean Winchester.

Sure, he was a pain in the ass and ran hard headfirst into danger without a second thought. But, that was usually because his first thought was to save people and ask questions later. And, let’s face it, you kind of didn’t think you were on the same level as an archangel-coveted vessel with a chiseled jawline and a heart of gold.

Then again, you only live once right? Well, if you aren’t a Winchester that is. Why not take the man for a spin since he’s expressing what you’re pretty sure is interest? Well, the main reason not to is to avoid screwing up the friendship you’ve built with him. It’s not like he’d want something long-term with you, anyway. And could you manage a one and done with him? Maybe? Maybe if you both laid your cards out on the table and were completely open and honest.

Maybe you would, the next time your path crossed with Dean’s out in the wild or you made your way to Lebanon.

But you weren’t sure you could face him in the morning. No, it would probably be best to sneak out in a few hours before the sun came up. Send the boys a thank you text for the good night’s sleep and remind them to give you a buzz if they ever found themselves needing backup.

You flopped on your back. A deep sigh released from your lungs.

Your phone lit up with a notification.

Dean. Dean was texting.

It had been a good three hours since you’d left him in the kitchen. 

You swiped at the screen.

When you wake up, let me take you out for a proper hangover breakfast. Just the two of us.

You gulp. Oh, hell no. You definitely aren’t ready for whatever a “just the two of us” sit down entails. And, the fact that he’s texting you this late means he can’t sleep, either. Nope, you’ll most definitely be skipping out before the sun comes up. The more you ponder, the more you realize it’s probably best to tiptoe your way out of the bunker now. You won’t sleep. At least not here.

The tile and marble hallway echo back every shuffle and step you attempt to make when leaving your bedroom ten minutes later. When you were sure Dean wouldn’t bother with any more texts you hoped that meant he had dozed off. You knew his nighttime routine pretty well at this point. Normally after your catch-ups and your goodnight from the doorway of his room, he’d tumble onto his made bed, plug in earmuff headphones, and fall asleep to classic rock. There were a few times you’d watch him pop the mixtape that you’d made him years ago into his ancient boombox. That always made you smile.

You prayed he was doing that now.

Held breath, you picked up your heels and tiptoed in socked feet past Dean’s door. Number 11. If you hold on a few seconds longer and make absolutely no sound you might…

“Where you off to?”

The question, from behind, has you frozen in place. What the hell kind of ninja skills does the man have, opening up his door without a pip or squeak? The fact he can sneak up on you always pisses you off.

“The thought of breakfast with me is a terrifying proposition. I get it.” He huffs a laugh.

You sigh and turn to face him. And, man, that was a mistake. He’s showered, like within the last twenty minutes, cause his hair is damp and spiky. He’s wearing a Henley and some baggy sweats. You’re staring up at him more than usual without your three-inch boot heels. He’s gorgeous from any vantage.

“Can we talk? Before you leave?” He shrugs, clearing the way to enter his room.

You nod, pass the threshold, drop your duffle by the little corner table and slink into the chair next to it.

Dean’s clicked the door closed and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s leaning forward, elbows on knees, wringing his hands.

You take a stab at the silence first. “You recovered pretty quick.”

He nods and meets your eyes. “Yeah, tossed up most of the alcohol and dinner. Showered. Almost good as new.”

“So, what’s up?”

“I’m cashing in that IOU.”

You scoff. “The poker game from 2015?”

“Yeah, the one where I saved your ass by spotting you my five grand of winnings... So you could clear your debt to that mob boss from Hell’s Kitchen.”

You grunt in confirmation. “Well, I don’t exactly have that amount on me at the moment, Dean.” Why the hell was he bringing all this up now? “I’ll need time to get it to you.”

He’s still wringing his hands. “We’ll never speak of it again, wipe the slate clean,” he breaks the grip to wave a hand in front of his face, “if you’ll do me a favor.”

You frown. “What?”

His gaze studies the floor. “Would you be willing to… I mean, you can say no… I totally get that it’s a weird, out of left field…”

The sigh is long and drawn out from your mouth. “Spill it, Winchester.”

“I wanna know what it’s like.” He whispers.

“What?”

You spot the eye roll even from his downturned face. “Getting pegged.” He drags his stare up to meet yours. “I want you to peg me.” There’s a chuckle and a smirk, even though he’s blushing. “Might want to pick your jaw up off the floor.”

“I-” you shake your head, “Dean, there’s a lot-” you fumble, “that’s not something you decide lightly. And, asking me to repay a debt with a sexual favor…”

“I realize that. Hell, it’s us. How many times have we colored outside the lines?”

“That’s not helping.”

He continues, “Again, I’m not pressuring you into this. Forget the IOU. Christ.”

“Foot in mouth is a condition of yours I’m familiar with.” You struggle to piece all your thoughts into a coherent string. “Just so I heard you correctly - you want me to peg you?”

He smiles. “Do you not have all your accessories with you? You’re always prepared.”

Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “You want to do it now?”

“No time like the present.” The posture straightens and manages confidence in stark contrast to his bumbling moments ago.

It’s your turn to lean forward, hands wringing. “What happened, you do a bunch of Internet research since I left you in the kitchen?”

A brow raises. “I did research the night I found Bertha in your bag.”

You swallow. Hard.

Then, suddenly, a look of utter rejection sweeps over his pretty face. “Look, I get that I’m not your type.” He mumbles, “don’t stand a chance even if you’re into dudes.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” You snip back. “This is a big deal, Dean.”

“Not so big of a deal if you’ll do it with a random hook-up.” His voice raises with the hint of an accusatory tone.

Yours raises back and you blurt before thinking, “Well, it’s a big deal when you do it with someone you care about.”

That unfurls any shreds of anger he was trying to stitch together. You see it fade. He softens. “That’s why I want to try it with you. I care about you. I trust you.”

You nod. “We can try it.”

His smile connects from ear to ear.

“But, not tonight.”

“Aw, come on.” He’s whining.

It’s downright adorable. You try not to laugh. “Did any of that research have you actually try anything with your own backdoor?”

He stifles another whine. Then softly admits, “No.”

“Thought so.” You bend down, unzip your bag and zero in on your toiletry kit that contains no toiletries whatsoever. You fling him the bottle of anal lube. “Lesson one. Start with your pinky and use a lot of lube. Read up on beginner anal play. I’ll check in with you in a few weeks. See how you’re doing.”

His mouth moves, neck and face flushed and blushed, as he squints and reads the directions on the back of the bottle.

“Trust me. You’re going to need to figure some things out on your own first. If you still want to give it a try, then we’ll talk.”

“Can I message you, if I have questions?”

You’re pulling on the boots you’d stashed in your bag. “Sure. I mean, it’s not like I’m Encyclopedia Rim Job,” you run your fingers through your bangs as you sit back up. He cackles. The study of his face has him turn silent. “Are you sure you want me to be the one to teach you all this?”

He nods.

You can feel your face warming. “One thing I’ve learned is to get over your hang-ups and read, get some various perspectives. And porn videos shouldn’t be your only source of research. I guarantee it will be a lot easier if you have a better idea of what you’re in for. Don’t confuse reality with porn again.”

“Got it.” He rubs a palm over the scruff on his chin. “Why don’t you head back to your room? I promise, no more talk about this for the rest of your stay.”

You eye him with suspicion.

He smiles. “I mean it. We will not speak of it.”

“I’ve got the Winchester Word on that?”

He crosses his heart. That cute little gesture he does on occasion when it’s only the two of you. “Hope to die.” That little phrase.

Which you always follow up with, “Again?”

That smirk. “Get some sleep.”

*

It’s been months with nary a word from Dean. Things happen. Hunting takes priority. People need saving. It’s not the first time the both of you have gone radio silent. You aren’t the best at nurturing and cultivating friendships. Neither is Dean.

But, the unintentional avoidance and obsession with work don’t ever seem to matter where he’s concerned. You can always pick things up right where they were left off after a drought of interaction whenever you happen to cross paths again. It’s never been awkward in the past.

So, why does the prospect of seeing him at Wallace’s place tonight make sweat bead up on your forehead? Make your mouth go dry and tacky?

Because the last time you saw him, at the bunker, he had made it known he would be interested in, well, you pile driving him.

And it hadn’t been discussed since.

It had only left you with more questions you were dying to ask him but were too embarrassed to attempt. The morning after that talk, you were so on edge at breakfast in the bunker kitchen Sam kept asking if you were alright. Dean smirked his way through a pound of bacon as you tried to brush off Sam’s worries.

Now, your truck key tucked away into your pocket, you strolled up the long walk to Wallace’s front door. You passed a half dozen familiar cars of fellow hunters. You bit the inside of your mouth, spotting the Impala.

Shit.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. If he and Sam had been within a days’ drive of the All Hands On Deck backup hunter call of course they’d be here.

Wallace had greeted you with a polite tip of his trucker cap and a firm handshake. He kept the pleasantries to a minimum, as usual, escorting you into the small kitchen where everyone was congregating over beers and buckets of chicken. You counted six hunters, not including you and Wallace. Sam was one, sat at the table, giving you a soft smile in welcome. You gave everyone a small wave and nodded in recognition.

“Well, I’m feelin’ a helluva lot more confident about kicking a ton of werewolf ass now that this one’s along for the hunt.” Dean tips his beer in your direction, leaning against the kitchen counter with a sassy grin.

You smile.

*

Camped out in Baby by the bridge entrance, you and Dean sipped on whiskey spiked coffee, waiting for the Full Moon to rise.

This was the pinch point in your group’s ambush strategy. If the bomb Sylvester rigged with silver shrapnel didn’t take out the entire pack, you and Dean would get some target practice. Firing rounds of silver into the werewolves that tried to escape on the only road leading off the farmland sounded fun to the two of you.

Dean razzes Sam on the other end of the phone. “I hope you and Inspector Gadget didn’t fuck up the detonator.”

You can picture Sam’s bitch face even if you can’t fully make out his muffled reply.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if you did, we’ll clean up the mess. Just give us a heads up if it goes sideways.” He clears his throat. “Be careful.” A tap ends the call.

You decide not to give Dean a hard time about the show of concern. The conversations have been almost normal since you rode to this spot along the creek. But, you’re both dancing around the topic - THE TOPIC - or trying to avoid it at all costs. You don’t want to push. Stifle the idea to mention it jokingly. 

What if he changed his mind? What if he really did his research and decided it wasn’t for him? What if he had an awful self-experimenting experience?

And, all the circle of thoughts does is make your stomach knot. Because no matter how much you talked yourself into the idea of providing Dean Winchester with a sexual favor “for the fun of it” - well, the more you wished it might lead to something else. Maybe? You ended up hoping over the numerous weeks he was using this request as an opportunity to get closer.

But as the sun began to set and he asked about your most recent hunt, you resigned yourself to the fact that for a brief moment you had been merely a novelty for Dean Winchester.

The Friendly Neighborhood Strap-On.

*

The whiskey sears along the crosshatch of claw marks between your shoulder blades. You hiss.

You hunch forward, sat atop the toilet of your motel room. It’s a fancier place than you usually stay at. The first one you rolled past entering town had a no vacancy sign.

You really don’t want to get blood on the sheets.

“You don’t want to get blood on the sheets in this place.” Dean voices your thoughts aloud. He’s tending to the battle scars you encountered when the lone werewolf snuck up on the both of you in Baby. The beast pulled you by the ponytail out of the open passenger window. You’re still shocked your head managed to stay connected to your body.

Dean had come to your aid in seconds, catapulting out the same window and knocking the werewolf off you. Dazed, you watched as a fury of fur and leather tumbled away, tangled together. Dean got the upper hand, straddled the attacker, and shot its face full of silver.

Now you were half-naked in a bra and leather pants feeling the woozy effect of painkillers. You’d popped four of them to help deaden the pulsing pain from your skull. And you let Dean Winchester pour whiskey on your skin to disinfect the wound and see if you need stitches.

His fingers glide along with the slick of the liquor down your spine. “Ah, you just need bandaging up, should be good.” There’s the rip of sterile packaging. He towers behind you.

You bite back the groan that wants to leave your mouth more because of his touch than any pain you’re feeling. You murmur, “Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Sexy.”

He chuckles. “Let’s get you patched up so you can rest.”

*

Dean shovels bacon into his welcoming plow of a mouth in the diner booth. It’s noon. 

You’d awoken from the medication-induced stupor about an hour prior. He’d stayed. Watched over you from the tiny two-seater in the corner of the room while you slept.

You both are waiting for Sam to deliver your truck so all can go their separate ways and see what other trouble one can find. There’d been a ton of things to take care of after the successful bombing. Sam had stayed behind with the other hunters. Apparently, also crashed on a couch; that couch being at Wallace’s. Dean rubbed in the fact to Sam there was no way it was as comfy as the one in your motel.  

Dean wrapped up the call to his brother right before his plate of pancakes and pig arrived. 

You spot the tip of his boot out from under the edge of the table tapping to “Renegade” by Styx. It’s the third song in his selection from the jukebox.

The throbs in your skull are pulsing along to the beat as well. The pain is fainter, duller. Your eyes have adjusted to the fluorescent lighting of this joint. The lukewarm oatmeal settles in your stomach. You think you’ll be able to keep that and the black coffee down.

Dean’s been studying you while he munches. You catch his stare. “I know you’ve got a hard head and all, but why don’t you come back to the bunker and rest up another day or two?”

Air blows out your lips. “You’re right, this head has gotten knocked around way worse. I’ll manage.”

His fork clatters onto the plate. His foot stops tapping. “Maybe.” His words are tight and tempered as he looks at you. “Maybe. Stop. Trying. To. Manage.” His face. That beautiful face. It’s full of concern and warmth. A contrast to the tone of his voice.

You have no response.

He breathes in deep through his nose. Continues. “Before we all go off half-cocked and smash some other monsters to bits, maybe we need a factory reset. Take some time and enjoy things. You know, the stuff we want the people we save to do with their lives.”

You offer a small smile. “Did you almost get your head twisted off like a bottle cap, too?”

He chuckles. Shrugs. “Maybe it got twisted on right. I’ve missed you.”

Your heart races. “I’ve missed you, too.” You try and state it as plain and neutral as possible.

Dean leans in, his eyes do a sweep of the patrons and staff, making sure they’re all occupied with their own business. When he’s satisfied they are, he connects his gaze with yours. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles.

You open your mouth to ask what for.

But he’s already spilling. “I was a jerk to ask you for that favor last time. I made things weird and uncomfortable. I know I made you feel cornered, like you couldn’t say no. We’re friends. I shouldn’t have tried to take advantage of that for my own selfish reasons.” He slips back, eyes on the bacon. His frame somehow smaller, utterly defeated.

Dean Winchester looks miserable with himself.

“Hey, friends are allowed to be jerks. Especially the ones that save your life on a semi-regular basis.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “You didn’t make things weird between us. I just never thought you’d be interested in trying that. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.” You poke at his wrist with a finger. “You are allowed to be selfish every once in a while.”

That curls up lips on one side of his face. He’s twirling a piece of bacon between greasy fingers, looking down at his plate. “Does that mean I can provide you with an update?”

“Update?” The question doesn’t even leave your mouth completely before you already know what he’s referring to.

“I-uh-yeah it’s definitely been a process. Took me a week to get the nerve to-” The bacon is used as a visual aid as he slides it back and forth in the air. “You know what finally helped me relax?”

You giggle. “Please don’t tell me you bought numbing gel. That should not be used by a novice.”

He’s blushing. Damn, this bold hunter can make you want to cuddle the life out of him. “No.”

For some god-forsaken reason that has nothing to do with your own feelings and self-preservation, you calm yourself, get still and serious, and let the armor drop completely. “What helped you relax?”

His green eyes glance up. They’re a mix of tart and sweet, liquid and fire. They manage to freeze you in place. “Thinking of you.” He licks his top lip. “Thinking of you taking care of me, you being the one doing that to me.” He sees something on your face. Something he likes. Because he smirks. “You being in charge, having me, pushing all the right buttons. I made great progress because of you.”

You realize your lips are parted, listening to his confession. You snap them shut. And, yet, the tingling throughout your body presses you to ask. The hot as fuck fact that Dean Winchester used fantasies about you to do that makes the need to know just how far he got imperative. “How much progress?”

“Hey!” Sam’s tall, muscular body springs out of nowhere in front of the booth.

You’re both caught, mouths open for a split second. Then, there’s throat clearing. Dean acknowledges first. “Hey.”

“How’s the badass patient?” Sam smiles and bends down a bit to inspect you.

“Better.” You smile.

Dean slips off the bench and stands next to his brother. “She’s gonna camp out with us for a couple of days. Think you can handle driving her back in the truck?”

You don’t even make a fuss. Let Dean lead. Take care of you.

“Sure. I get to hog her attention for a while?” Sam raises a brow at you. “You’ve had your fill of him already?”

The question pulls a nervous laugh from Dean. He delivers a slap to his brother’s back slamming him forward a few inches. “I’m gonna go pay.”

You chat with Sam for a minute. He helps you to your feet. You let him fumble about behind, hands at the ready to assist.

It’s nice. Being taken care of by these brothers.

You’re in the passenger seat of your truck. Sam starts the engine. Then, Dean strolls out of the diner and finds his way to your open window. Forearms lean. He dips his head in to bark some stuff at Sam. Sam scoffs.

His coffee-syrup-bacon breath is the sexiest thing you’ve smelled in forever. You’re inches from those lips and you really want to slide your tongue along the fullness of them.

You think Dean Winchester can read your mind because he licks them absentmindedly for you.

“I’ll be right back. Should grab us a couple of coffees for the drive.” Sam’s out of the truck in a flash, engine idling.

Dean taps the inside of the door panel. “See you in a few hours. Sleep, if you can. Even with Sam driving.”

You smile. Dazed. Delighted.

“Oh.” His facial expression turns serious. “As for the progress.”

Your entire body reacts and your spine straightens.

“Where I started.” He’s still leaning with forearms but raises a hand and lifts his pinky finger. A proud smile breaks through the facade. His hand position switches to intertwine straightened index, middle, and ring fingers. “How it’s going.”

You hear the thud of your jaw hitting the truck floorboard.

He’s back in your personal space. So close. To murmur. “All because of you, sweetheart.”

Chapter 2

Notes: Music reference - "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard

Dean stares up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It’s late. He should get up and turn off the desk lamp and the other one in the corner of the room. Instead, he’s got headphones on, listening to the mixtape you gave him. For about a month now, whenever they aren’t off on a case and in the bunker, he’s been listening to it every night. It reminds him of you. Like he needs another reminder. 

You’ve been in your room since you all got back. Dean had brought you a sandwich soon after landing. You thanked him and grabbed the plate with a voracious smile and lip lick that almost triggered an involuntary dropping to his knees. The subsequent bite, indulgent chew, and excessive moan hadn’t helped either. 

Once you seemed to get yourself together, praised Dean’s condiment skills, and gave him a short reprieve from all your unconscious sexy, you expressed the need for a long ass nap. You and Sam had spent a lot of time talking in the car. The topic of discussion was apparently not about to be shared with Dean. Even when he tried to pull details from his brother, Dean had been shut down. Sam was in a hurry to get out of the bunker and meet up with Eileen in Smith Center.

Dean wouldn’t express it out loud, but he thought the dorky dude’s ‘drop everything at a moment’s notice to spend some time with his lady when she was nearby’ was kinda charming. He was maybe even a little jealous at the way the two hunters made space and time for a romantic rendezvous. Plus, Sam definitely seemed happier getting some on a semi-regular basis.

By the time Dean had showered, Sam had already left and texted to not wait up. Which left Dean alone with you in this fortress. But you couldn’t have felt farther away as he tried to work up the nerve to go to you. Ask you to take pity on him. Pull him out of the misery of want he was drowning in because of you.

He stares at his phone screen, willing you to shoot him a text message. To reach out. Shit, ask him to make you another sandwich. Anything that would give him the excuse and the courage to head to your door and knock.

Then, there’s a new worry. It makes him sit upright in bed. What if you skip out like you tried to do the last time but succeed?

He’s not imagining it, right? You’re interested? That look in your eye, back at the diner, when Dean confessed he used you for inspiration and exploration. That was not the look of someone appalled. Dean ventured it was beyond being intrigued or amused.

You want him?

He doesn’t want to waste another night, waiting for you to magically drop into his lap.

Snatching the headphones off, the music now faint and distant in the room, he rushes to the door.

He’s gonna grow a pair and tell you. What, exactly, he’s not sure. But he’s going to stand there in front of you until one of you breaks and speaks some words.

He opens the door, quick, a puff of air hitting his face at the hasty momentum. His eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you.

You’re standing in the hall, hand up, ready to knock. With an expression Dean’s never seen you direct at him before.

You don’t give him a chance to speak. You lunge forward, appearing downright ravenous and zealous. 

Dean’s pretty sure you aren’t going to ask him to make you a sandwich. Well, 93% sure. His Cubano creations are kinda legendary. 

You practically herd him into the room with your deliberate stride. He fumbles with his backward steps, taking all of your energy in, overwhelmed by it.

He’s seen that look of determination on you after hunts where you’ve sliced and diced so many monsters it’s like he’s watching a fucking Ginsu knife commercial. He recognizes the vortex and swirl of emotions. Probably something he displays as well when victory is well earned after a hellacious fight.

But when you wear all those feelings for the world to see, all that need to release is hot as fuck. 

A white oversized button-up drapes your frame, contrasts the dominance on your face, and makes you appear smaller. Dean realizes the shirt is one of his; the one you had to borrow when you worked a case together and dressed as Feds. He recalls wanting to cuff and read you your rights the first time he saw you in it. You were illegal in a pencil skirt and high heels that showed off the definition of your muscled thighs. And the starched collar with the undone buttons showed just enough cleavage to distract Dean from questioning anyone properly. 

He dreamed about you in that getup every night for weeks. And, you still invade his slumber in that outfit on occasion. In those dreams, he’d tell you to be anything but silent. And, he held everything against you.

But, there’s no skirt tonight and the shirt has only one loosened button at the collar. The way too long hem hangs well past your waist and hips, over your signature leather pants. He stares down and catches sight of your bare feet. He always thought you had the cutest little toes. He only gets a moment to peek at them before his collar bone is tapped by three of your fingers. He hits the mattress with the back of his calves at the same time as you touch him. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

All Dean can think is holy fucking hell as you climb astride him onto the mattress. Your knees push and tuck into the outer flesh of his thighs. His hands clutch on instinct along the small of your back so you can’t run away from him this time. He latches his hold into the channel of your spine, staring up at you. Your fingers curl one by one over each of his shoulders. You’re locked and loaded. Warm and right in his arms. Like those hugs in welcome and goodbye, where he always has a hard time letting go of you.

“Just so we’re clear, Winchester.” You smile above him, floating, hovering over his lap. Not allowing full contact. Yet. Which is probably good for Dean or he might already have melted into a puddle. The strength of your legs cinches his nutcracker thighs as tight as they can get to each other. “You want this?”

He nods like a fucking bobblehead.

Your mouth opens to speak. You hesitate for a second before the confidence returns as you ask the question. “You want me?”

Dean lets out a tiny gasp. He knows it sounds soft and fragile, but he doesn’t fucking care. Every bit of control he has left leaks out of his pores at your question. “I’ve wanted you for… forever.”

Your eyes close. Then, those flirty lashes bat a few times. “Why’d you never pick up what I was putting down?”

“Cause I’m a stupid fuck.”

You soften, allow your gaze to stop and linger over different parts of his face. “I’ve dreamed about you, filling me up,” You confess.

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart, there’s been plenty of me filling you up, too, in this head of mine.” He gulps at your fingers in his hair. The slightest tug at the strands opens his mouth up. A desperate moan escapes. He’s already rock hard.

���And, then, to know you’ve thought about me doing it to you…”

And, for fuck’s sake, Dean hears himself whine.

You grin. “The first time you thought about me, and made all that progress… where were you?”

There’s no hesitation to respond. The stutter is more from the disbelief that you’re here. And, that you want him as much as he wants you. “The-the shower.”

“Hmm.” A finger taps his chin. Trails down the slope of his neck. Teases the flesh around the collar of his Henley. “All of this was soapy and wet? Ready for me?”

“Yeah.”

You bend down, slip to one side, and brush the shell of his ear with your lips. The breath is hot, scalding. Dean’s skin prickles in excitement. Finally, you speak. “May I fill you up, Dean?”

“Oh, fuck.” The expletive is strained, pleading.

“Is that a yes?” Another whisper into his ear.

“Yes-yes.”

He’s not even done with expelling the final “es” before your mouth is on his. Your intake of breath engulfs his last syllable and pulls another moan from his throat. Hands clasp his jaw, pulling him up to sit straighter, taller.

The lips. The lips he’s stared at in wonder. They’re lush and soft, but firm with direction in their brushes, the way they catch and cover his. Lead him. Hell, own his mouth.

When you open your mouth to him, he has no choice but to follow. And, it’s your tongue that delves in first to taste and swipe and tangle around his eager one.

He’s holding onto you for dear life. Your bodies slowly merge and press together in the embrace. The heat of you is the perfect temperature against his skin. You inch closer and relax against him. The kiss is heaven. It has flipped a switch in him, leveled up his senses, and amplified every feeling. And, damn, what a good girl you are to not have bothered with a bra under that shirt. It’s making it hard to ignore his urge to rip that fabric open and send those buttons flying.

He wants to praise you. He wants to tell you. The words form in his throat, rise up.

“Such a good man, keeping it to one layer tonight.” It’s your words that beat him to it. Your fingers are riding the Henley up his back, tickling his skin along the way, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I bet you could be even better with absolutely nothing.” You lean away and tug the fabric higher. He loosens his hold on you for the briefest of seconds. His arms raise so you can pull the shirt up and off. He spots you for an instant, stretching your frame and lifting your own arms to shed his layer. Then, you tangle yourselves together again. Your touch is electric. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing.

Holy…

Dean can’t get the full thought out. Because, he’s just realized that under those leather pants, you’re wearing a strap-on. The bulge covering your crotch and pressing into his stomach should have been the immediate giveaway.

He moans into your mouth, “You packing some heat or just happy to see me?”

You giggle back into his. “Always prepared for action.”

He stops to stare at you. “We, uh, we haven’t really talked about how this scenario is gonna play out.”

You blink, wait.

Dean chuckles. It sounds nervous and a tad excited.

“I planned on doing all those things you mentioned back at the diner. Those things that helped you relax.” You kiss his forehead. “Take care of you.” Brush lips along his cheekbone. “Push all your buttons.” Peck his lips. “Maybe have you come so hard you forget your name.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles and nods in total agreement. “All of that, please.”

It’s your turn to chuckle. “Lean back.”

His spine sinks onto the mattress. You fall forward, forearms tunneling under his shoulders. A dip and you're sucking the side of his neck. Some of your hair sticks to his wet lips. He moans at the pressure of your mouth. The tip of his tongue glides along a few strands. Of course, even your hair tastes amazing.

You explore. A trace of the anti-possession tattoo with your tongue. And then…

“Oooh.” Dean whispers the reaction on a long exhale to your mouth on his nipple. First a peck, then a flick, then a circle, then a suck. No, not just a suck. Lots of sucks. One would even call it a suckle. “Fuuuck.”

“Hmm.” You moan, and let the nipple pop out of your mouth. “I knew they were perky. Always wondered if they were sensitive.”

“Confirmed.” Dean’s chest heaves.

You attack the other side, your hands getting in on the kneading and tweaking.

Dean’s head swims in bliss. His balls are tight. He didn’t think he could get any harder, but every passing second of nipple play is turning his cock to granite. “Christ. Keep that up and I’m gonna embarrass myself with how quick you make me come.”

You stop and tilt your head up to inspect his face. “Don’t ever feel embarrassed from pure, consentual enjoyment.”

“You enjoying this, too, sweetheart?”

The question has your dive back to his right pec - the one with the nipple that you have astutely deciphered is the really sensitive one - halt. “Yeah. Your enjoyment is making me so wet. Maybe you’ll get to find out how much.” You wink and lick your lip. “Later.”

Dean’s head topples back on a groan.

“We’re going to have to get you ready for me.” The languorous circling of the nipple by the tip of your tongue is divine. Cool air hits the wet skin when your actions cease and you leave him wanting more. “You weren’t lying when you said you worked your way up to three digits in the backside?”

Dean is up on his elbows in a flash, meeting your eyes for emphasis. “No, ma’am.” He smirks.

You smile. “I’m impressed.” A pace begins around the room. His head turns to follow your steps to his nightstand. “I was in such a hurry, I forgot the lube. Do I need to go back to my room or…” The drawer creaks upon opening. Your brows lift. “Dean…”

He tightens, sucks both lips into his mouth.

“Wow, you really have been prepping. There’s like ten types of lube in here.”

A chuckle escapes.

You toss what has become one of Dean’s favorite brands to use, housed in an economy-sized tube, onto the mattress by his thigh. The drawer is shut with a knee. “That should be enough for now.” You quip. “I’m guessing you’ve been using the recommended amount?”

“Shit ton? Yeah.”

“Towels, where do you keep them?”

He points to the chest of drawers. “Top one.” He watches you grab two fluffy grey ones. They are left atop the corner of the bed. “Are we getting ready for surgery?”

That ‘I’m so over you look’ he is very familiar with returns. “You are not going to want to sleep in lubed-up sheets. Trust me.” Your arms cross. “Just so you know, I don’t mind if things get messy.”

His brows merge. “I know that. We’ve picked ghoul bits out of each other’s hair.”

You shrug, then point at his ass. “I mean down there.”

“Oooh.” He nods. “Yeah, I kind of figured that, too. But, I’ve been extra thorough in that regional area lately.” He wants you to know everything. Wants you to know how much he’s been hoping. “Got myself one of those, what do you call it, anal douche thingys.” He squeezes his fingers into a fist a few times.

You look absolutely floored. “Really?”

“Yep. I took care of all that in the shower tonight. You know, in case…”

A tease of a smile is offered at his words before you tumble onto the bed, sitting on the edge. A knee knocks into his. “Would you mind helping me off with these?” Short fingernails with chipped blood-red polish scratch at the leather capping your knees.

Dean gulps. “Love to.” He hops off to stand in front of your parted legs. His cock bobs like a pop-up tent in his sweats. You lock arms against your sides to lift your ass a tad off the mattress, giving him a silent assist. Bending his body forward, hands tunnel under your white shirt. The contact of his fingers along your warm tummy makes the skin undulate. Your breath hitches. He’s all thumbs with the snaps at your crotch when he finally finds them, though they are the simplest things in the world to undo. It’s because of that bulge under them, ready to be unwrapped. “I don’t want to break anything.” He offers with sincerity and wide eyes.

You nod in warm understanding. “Think of it like peeling a banana.” You turn into a plank of muscle to ease the task for him.

The shirt is hiding a lot from Dean’s view. He thinks you knew exactly what you were doing when you picked the pieces of this ensemble. He’s grateful you took some pity on him. The blush on his face won’t need much kindling to turn into a brush fire. 

Shit. 

That’s exactly what happens, though, when he feels the harness, the straps crisscrossing this way and that over your waist and hips. And, then, it’s the silicone shaft he skirts over with the pads of his fingers that turns him into a puddle of shy embarrassment. Once he’s certain most of your equipment is in the clear he pulls the pant legs off in an elegant swish like a toreador.

When he composes himself to look at you, he marvels at the beauty of you in the huge shirt with bare legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Your voice washes over the rest of his nervous energy. “We can always change up the playbook, if you need to.” You give him a nod. “Alright?”

It’s his turn to lean above and capture your lips in a hungry kiss. “What I need is for you to take care of me.” He doesn’t break from the kiss until he’s beside you on the bed, dropping to his back. He doesn’t wait for you to reciprocate the task of undressing and gets to work.

“Fuck me.” You murmur at the sight of his dick, sprung from the sweatpants, tapping once against his tummy from the stripping. It’s stiff and ready, angled for duty.

“Maybe later?” His voice fills with hope.

“Oh, there’s no way we are letting that go to waste.” You pounce on him, pulling a laugh from his mouth. Just as quick you push off, settling between his legs, kneeling on the floor. That hot mouth licks from balls to tip before sucking down the shaft.

“Fuck.” Dean moans, closes his eyes. “You… you…”

You stop for a moment to sass. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, your mouth has my cock. Fuck, you’re really good at that.” He hears the pop of a cap, the squelch of lube.

The sucking has stopped, replaced by a slick hand pumping. “Why don’t you take over for a bit? Let me watch, while I get you right where I want you?”

Dean hums in response. His fingers tangle over yours for a few seconds along his hard shaft. At the sound of you rising, he opens his eyes. Tracks you’re now standing and back to the towels.

You snap one open and return in front of him. “Back up a bit. Knees up, heels on the mattress.” The towel is held open like a flag of victory in the expanse of your arms. “Lift that sweet ass for me a second.”

He does as he’s told, slinks and fumbles his way up the bed, while you swoosh in and get the towel under his ass. You take him in, staring, studying. Especially the way he’s lazily stroking his cock. Your hands cup his knees, angle him the way you want. Spread him wider, plant his feet just so. Your words flow while you work.

“You asked if I liked submissive guys. Are all women submissive when they get fucked? All the women you’ve been with? Did they always just let you have your way completely?” 

He shakes his head. He’s been bossed around in bed a couple of times. Had his ass slapped. It was fun. But, it’s nothing like what he’s feeling with you right now. This is other level shit. Probably because of how much he cares about you. Respects you. Trusts you.

“Did you only take? Did you give in return? Did you understand what was needed after? You may not have heard stories about me. But, I’ve gotten an earful about you, Dean. And, all the reviews I’ve heard are glowing.”

You have him blushing again at the compliment and the way that he’s on display for you. How your usually small frame now towers tall, peering down. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever been examined like this.

“So, we’re going to take it slow, like you deserve. I’m going to check-in… alot. Anything we do, you need be okay with.” The lube cap opens. You hold it, ready to squeeze. “One thing to put something up your ass, another thing entirely to have someone fuck you.”

Christ, he wants that. Wants you to do it.

“I want to make this a good memory for you.” You smile. The bottle makes a comical wet blast dispensing an excessive amount of liquid into your cupped palm.

Dean hums in delight when two dainty fingers journey from his balls, past his perineum, to rim his puckered entrance.

“You okay?” The pace is languid, the touch gentle.

“I’m fan-fucking-tastic.” He murmurs.

“I bet I’m going to get all sorts of sounds out of you tonight.” You cajole.

“You have some mad virtuoso skills, sweetheart. I have no doubt.”

He’s right not to have doubted. You spend an extended amount of time massaging him into a state of utter bliss. The rimming turns into a careful exploration. Circle upon circle, teasing, testing, asking. He’s enthralled by your willingness to give him such special attention. You don’t look impatient or bored. He’s seen those looks on you plenty of times. No, there’s excitement and extreme interest in the task.

Dean’s wriggling, pushing against your fingers. “Damn.”

“I’m gonna just,” you lube the entrance, “give one finger a try. Alright?”

He nods and licks his lips to ready himself. “Wait.”

You pause.

“Which finger?” He raises a brow.

*

“Whichever one I think you can handle.” 

At that moment after the words leave your lips, the look of utter submission by Dean is the antithesis of all that is this Winchester. He’s never, ever shown that side of himself that you can remember. 

Not in a game of poker. Not bound and shackled by some monsters. Hell, the only way an archangel possessing his body could get him to stop railing against the intrusion was to lock him away and fake him out with some happy place mind loop.

And, he doesn’t talk about it much anymore; but, you think his time in Hell - when he stepped off the rack to be the torturer - well, you know he sees it as giving up. You’ve always seen it as doing what needed to be done to survive, to buy time, to hang on a little longer with some semblance of sanity. Clinging to that sliver of hope that he would be saved. So he could make things right in the end.

No. In your mind, Dean Winchester never turns over his power.

Not until now. Right here. With you. 

You’ve watched him shed those layers of protection, bit by bit, all day today.

Because he trusts you.

His brow relaxes fully and he forms those pouty lips into a small “o” to exhale in response. “Alright.”

There’s so much of him you want to control and consume. This body, covered in countless freckles and scars, is a fucking wonder of genetic perfection and self-sacrifice. Even down to the bow legs that should not be able to prop up his massive frame. He’s let you widen their gap even farther atop this mattress, let you see all of his glorious secret spots. “If it helps,” you stretch and grab one of his hands fisting the sheets with your hand not currently occupied with ass. Your fingers pry the spring-loaded tension of his own open. You take a moment to focus on pressing your palm against his. Your digits fanning to rest along his large ones. He’s staring at the connection, then your face, then back to your hands before he settles for good on your eyes. “Look at the equipment I’m using compared to yours. My biggest is the size of your pinky.”

He grins. And you take advantage of the distraction you’ve created. You’ve been testing his entrance the entire time and you feel when his literal guard lifts the fortress gate. You slip in the tip of your middle finger. Dean’s eyes go wide, the grin falls.

You intertwine your fingers with his. “I got you, Dean.” You smile. “Good?”

He nods, tightens the grip, and closes his eyes.

The slow corkscrew tilt as you ease in pulls a groan from him that makes you moan in response. He’s a bundle of tight, hair-pin trigger muscles. The lube helps. It doesn’t take as long as you originally guessed to get your full finger seated inside. The rest of your hand palms under his ass like a baseball glove.

Dean’s whole body melts into your hold. His hand clenching yours goes limp but still manages to hang on.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good.” Lids blink in lazy confirmation.

Pretty sure that you can find what you’re searching for, you ask, “Wanna go for two?”

“Mhmmm.” A punch-drunk smile lines his face.

Oh man. You’re in deep, literally and figuratively, with all the feelings he’s stirring up.

You retreat, heart racing at the thrill of dominating this unconquerable man. He helps at your ask and provides a squeeze of lube to your fingers. You try to gain your composure and eventually go in with middle and ring fingers this time. 

“Easy does it.” You talk him through your motions. Then, you whisper. “Touch yourself for me, Dean. Show me how good it feels.”

He moans and acquiesces. He won’t let go of your left hand with his right, though. He uses his left hand, wraps around the base and tugs. His green eyes flame with those golden flecks you’ve studied on many an occasion. Random patches of his creamy, freckle-toasted skin are flush and hot. 

A determined stroke and fisting of the head follow. It’s red and slick with a mix of arousal and lube. You instinctively lick your lips, debating whether you should get on your knees again to devour him. He tasted sweet and spicy with a sharp tang. Divine. And the way he pulsed and twitched in your mouth. 

“This what you want?” He questions, licking his lips in response to your action.

You nod. “Good man.”

He hitches in breath at that.

This man needs more praise in his life.

You’re all for giving it to him.

“Did you find it?”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t stop the rhythmic pumping. No one should be allowed to look that fucking attractive all the goddamn time. For fuck’s sake, he’s even got a cute asshole.

“Your prostate.” You clarify. “Did you find it when you were exploring?”

“I think so.”

You giggle. “If you only think so, then you haven’t.” You drag your fingers out slow, force him to give you the other hand back so you can lubricate again. “I’m gonna blow your mind if that’s okay with you?”

He nods. “Please.” The word is soft and tentative, catching on the end of a labored breath.

Upon some thought, you decide to stick with two fingers. 

Dean starts to speak, halts the incessant tugging of his cock. “Can I…”

“What?”

“Can you take the goddamn shirt off?” He huffs. “I wanna see that body.”

“Losing the shirt means you see all of what’s underneath.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?”

*

Dean’s trying. He’s really trying to process this whirl of emotions. Is horny as fuck an emotion? Because with you, here, doing all this, it’s sure feeling like something more than a carnal “see stimuli, erect dick” scenario.

But, yeah, he wants to see and feel ALL of you while you own him.

You’ve been beyond careful with him. It’s always been easy to admire the awesome hunter in you. Your orchestration of moves and speed of decisions in a fight is close to perfection. But it occurs in a flash of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it. Here and now, your intention to make every second memorable and unhurried is the sweetest he’s ever seen you.

Sweetness covers your cheeks in a blush that formed at the request to remove the shirt. Dean is in awe. Considering all you’ve done and are getting ready to do to him, that’s what got you full-on timid? You frown. “You’re paying to dry clean this shirt.”

“Only fair.” Dean tips his chin in agreement.

His knees collapse. He relaxes thighs onto the mattress. Rising up on elbows so he can get a better view, he spots the twitch of his cock as you loosen the next button at the collar. “I love this shirt.” You whisper. “You probably don’t remember…”

“I gave it to you years ago on your first Fed job.” He finishes for you. “Of course I remember.” 

The smile you shoot him displays those caverns you call dimples. His heart thumps against his ribcage like a twitterpated cartoon character. What the fuck is that about? Emotions. Hell.

“This might be a good time for a reposition.” You turn serious, distract yourself from the progress that had you down to four undone buttons, then point past and over Dean’s head. “Pillow. And, scoot up some more.”

He tosses you a pillow while still perched on one elbow. Even though he’d like to project all the sexy he can muster, he knows it is hopeless with the backward wriggles of an inchworm on the bed. You climb atop the mattress on your knees and wedge the firm foam under his cheeks to create an advantageous angle. Ever conscientious of possible lube stains, you shimmy another towel between his ass and pillowcase.

You sit back on your heels between his legs. The sounds have quieted. Except for the music emitting from Dean’s headphones. He grins and you follow suit at the Def Leppard track.

Listen, red light, yellow light, green-a-light go

A button undone. Dean’s coming undone at the flesh and curves.

Crazy little woman in a one man show

Then another. The soft skin right above your belly button.

Mirror queen, mannequin, rhythm of love

And another. His mouth dries up. The harness is in view.

Sweet dream, saccharine, loosen up

You peel the fabric off your shoulders and let him take his time and ogle every inch of you.

Dean swallows. Yeah, those breasts are as beautiful as he imagined. And, he really wants to get his mouth on those nipples. They’re the perfect little hardened buds, dusty pink in color. Even as he imagines how wonderful it would be to latch and suck, he can’t help but be distracted and enthralled by the strap-on gear you’re sporting around your hips.

It’s emerald green and not carbon copy dick reminiscent. Well, maybe if it was an alien’s dick. Dean estimates almost seven inches of silicone might make its way up his ass tonight. Nothing to sneeze at. His stomach flips. “What’s this one called?” Dean squeaks out.

You smile with pride. “Marvin the Martian.”

Deans laugh is louder than expected and filled with nerves. “Because of all the extraterrestrial encounters?”

You shake your head. “Only action Marvin’s seen is me.”

Dean shuts his big mouth.

“Ordered him about a week after we had the talk.” You continue. “Well, I had to test him out, of course. He’s no Bertha. But, he’s remarkable in his own right. Special skills.”

Dean watches in amazement as you kink the dildo into a ninety-degree bend. Then, a curve. Then something that resembles the letter S.

“Forget Marvin.” Dean mumbles. “That’s Gumby.” His gaze meets yours. “You’re really gonna fuck me with that?”

“Only if you want.” You reply.

Dean nods quickly, surprising himself yet again at how eager he is for this particular act.

“Remember,” you tap under both knees for him to lift, “if anything hurts - not just discomfort, but really hurts - you tell me. Don’t think you can power through that, Winchester. I’ll try to make it better. If I can’t, we stop.”

“Okay.”

Marv is slicked up with lube by one of your hands, gliding along the shaft and swiping over the head. Your delicate fingers manipulate it back into a curve, tip pointing up. Your movements mesmerize him. You creep closer on your knees. The heat-seeking silicone missile targets Dean’s ass. “Are you comfy? Need another pillow or something?”

The concern you show - for him - makes the words catch in his throat. The soft timbre of his voice finally replies, “I’m good, sweetheart.”

You scoop an arm under his knee and press forward. Slotted against him. Close. Every bit of contact creates wave after wave of flames dancing over his skin. “You’re better than good, Winchester. You’re amazing.” You smile as Dean feels the swirl along the rim of his entrance. He bites his bottom lip. You freeze and focus on the action. “Fuck.” You moan, then push. There’s resistance. But not for long. Soon, the tip has breeched.

Dean groans when you pull out. Groans again when you slide only the tip back inside. The beauty of your body is where he decides to focus his attention. He wonders where all the strength hides in such a sweet and sexy package. The curves, the skin that shimmers with sweat in the dim lighting. Those eyes that have stared deep into his soul more than once are chipping away at all of his walls.

“Gonna try and get my rhythm going once you’ve accepted Marv here as your Lord and personal savior.” There’s a glint of mischief in those eyes. “And, total brag, but I’m pretty good at fucking. But, I’ve never had the pleasure of fucking an ass this sweet.” You wink.

Dean matches your bravado with a wink. “Give it to me, baby.”

Another in and out. This one tests the waters. Dives in a bit deeper. Dean moans, drops his head back into the pillow. You were right. It’s a totally different experience when someone is taking the lead and filling him up. The stretch, the fullness. The actions driven by you do indeed have a rhythm now. They are controlled. You’re doing all the things you promised. Checking in, asking Dean if he’s alright.

Taking care of him.

He’s about to say something sappy. Something he worries you might regret hearing. Especially from him. 

And, then, Marvin grazes something with another light thrust.

“What the-” Dean starts.

You grin. “Yep, that’s what I was waiting for. That eyes rolling to the back of your head thing means we found the sweet spot.” Your hips do a swivel and jerk that hits a button buried inside Dean. He shivers. A lean forward with locked arms, your weight on your hands, has Dean caged under you. His knees have hooked over your elbows, legs looking as if suspended in the air by stirrups for an exam.

He’s gotta latch onto something. A hand curls around your neck. “This is…” He swallows and gazes up at you, “fucking amazing.”

“I got you, Dean. I’ll make you feel so good. Promise.” 

You keep scratching at that itch. Dean feels like you’ve almost sated him, almost resolved his need. Then, the scratching stops. And, Dean whispers. “Don’t stop.” You resume. Almost complete. Another stop. “God, yeah. Please.” Dean pleads.

His cock is rock hard, pressing into your stomach. “So fucking hot.” You whisper, readjust. Let one of his legs free so you can dip and capture his lips in a searing kiss. Dean moans happily into your mouth. His knee is by his shoulder. He’s never been happier in his goddamn life to be turned into a human pretzel. “Are you gonna come for me, Dean?”

“Yeah.” The groan he emits rumbles down your throat.

You raise up to wedge your thighs under his ass. You slide, slide, slide. Deeper.

The tingling builds. It’s a new sensation. One that zips and zaps from his cock - which you’ve now also decided to stroke on top of everything else - to all corners of his body and ricochets like a pinball.

“You’re gonna come so hard and long, like you’ve never come before.” The words sound like a command from you.

Dean nods, watching you play his body like an instrument. The notes are stacking atop each other, blending into a symphony of pleasure. “Fuck.” Dean mumbles.

You grin. The slide is much more forceful now. His ass is bouncing with each thrust. So are your tits. Your hand pumps his cock to the beat with exacting precision.

Dean puffs out each word in a burst of air. “Hell. Yeah. Fuck me.” He’s louder than he has any right being. His voice seems to have gone up a couple of octaves as well. But, he doesn’t stop the expletives. You thrust hard and deep one final time. And, that’s what makes him snap. The orgasm shakes through his body, and has him fucking resonating. A rocket of white light blinds him for a brief second. He calls your name at the peak of his rapture.

He’s no idea how much time has passed before he comes down from the high. He blinks, stunned, exhausted. The shivers sputter through him with no rhyme or reason. He sees the mess he’s made all over his stomach and chest. Someone’s humming. Shit, it’s him.

The fuzzy sight solidifies and he stares into your eyes. The look you have on your face is warm and wistful. “Welcome back.” You whisper.

You haven’t withdrawn completely. He can still feel the fullness inside. Feel his body pulse against the stretch.

*

Watching Dean Winchester come undone was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. And that you were the one to do all that undoing? Shit, you want to sing and twirl around on a hilltop like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

But for now, you need to do your part and fulfill that promise to take care of him. “Gonna pull out now and clean you up.”

“Hmmm.” He nods. Arms flop and stretch the width of the mattress, palms up. He’s in utter surrender.

You do as you state. He moans as you leave his body. A head-to-toe shiver follows from him and you can’t help but do the same. Now that the both of you are still and not engaged in arousing play, the chill of the bunker is apparent.

You slide the pillow out from under his ass but keep the towels in place. After some unbuckling, you remove the harness and Marvin from your hips. It rests on the corner of the towel and you scamper over to Dean’s dresser. You pick your white shirt off the floor along the way and cover yourself, more for warmth than modesty. Once you find a hand towel, the faucet is turned on and water pours out for a while in the sink to heat up. You ponder that cleaning up someone’s spunk was not the main reason the Men of Letters installed sinks in every bedroom. Well, then again, maybe it was.

The damp towel’s temperature is to your liking when you head back to Dean. He’s been watching. Smiling. You swirl the terry cloth over his chest, down to his cock, until his shiny pink and spotless skin meets your approval. He waves off your wanting to dress him but doesn’t say no to the tug you give the blankets and toss over his frame. With a promise of a quick return, you dash to the kitchen, hoping not to cross paths with Sam along the way. Water bottles and snacks fill your arms in offering to Dean back in the room. He’s found his way under the covers and silently invites you in with a peel-back of the sheets.

You’re popping one peanut M&M past his lips, watch him chew in super slow delight, then provide him with another. Once he swallows, you tip a sip of water into his mouth. The pattern repeats. For a while.

His grin gets wider with each minute. “How long you plan on feeding me?” The scent of peanuts and chocolate carries on his breath.

“As long as you want.” You smile. “How do you feel?”

His lids flutter. “Like I could sleep for a week.”

With that cue you put aside the food and water, and envelope this big, bad hunter into your embrace. “Well, I can’t say I’ll be here if you wake up in a week, but I can be here for the start of your sleep.”

He mumbles, mouth buried into the side of your neck, “I want you to be here when I wake up.”

Oh, man, has he got you wrapped around his finger. “Not going anywhere, Dean. Promise.” 

You aren’t sure what’s in store when he wakes. You tamp down any expectations and remain realistic, rational. But, you can’t help but hope all that’s transpired is the start of something more.

*

Dean’s busy in the kitchen the following morning. He’s smiling to himself. Humming Def Leppard. Cracking eggs into the grease left in the skillet from frying a pound of bacon.

An artery-clogging breakfast is his thank you gift for keeping your promise.

You were there when he woke up a half-hour ago.

He woke to the sounds of snores from your gaping mouth that put a freight train engine to shame. You were looking fine as fuck even with mussed hair and smushed face against the pillow. He slid out of bed, not really worried that you’d stir from any noise made. He trekked towards the showers, sore and achy in all the best ways. Hamstrings screeching in pain like an 80s hair metal band. His ass requested extra care and widening of bow legs with each step. He welcomed the warmth and pulsing strength of the water.

Now, as he cooks, he’s actually reveling in the discomfort. It reminds him of you. He’s remembering all you did and how you made him feel. He’s pondering how goddamn fucked he is at how much he wants to pour his heart out to you. He wants to lay it all out there. He wants to head back into the bedroom and turn the tables on you. Show you how well and good he can make you come. Maybe compare notes after. See who fucks better.

Dean has a feeling you’d best him in that area, too.

But, he’s not going to. He’s gonna wait. Not push any more than he already has. He doesn’t want to mess up this potentially awesome thing.

No. He’ll just focus on serving you the most perfect sunnyside-up egg.

He knows that’s how you like it.

Sam startles Dean out of his thoughts. He strolls in with a morning-after shit-eating grin. “Hey.” He brushes a hand over his face, then combs through his locks to sweep back his Farrah Fawcett fringe.

Dean nods. “Morning. I’d offer you breakfast but don’t think you’d approve.”

Sam shakes his head and wanders to the coffee maker to pour a cup. After a tentative sip, Sam comments, “What’s got you in such a good mood? I could hear you humming from all the way up the steps when I got in.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

Sam guffaws. “Right.” The grin turns genuine, though. The kind of smile Sam gives his older brother when he’s happy for him. “I guess it’s about time.”

“Damn right it is.”

Sam waits as Dean plates the eggs and butters the toast. “Really? No details?” he asks.

Dean sighs and points a spatula in Sam’s direction. “Alright, but you tell anyone and I will personally carve you up for a ghoul’s dinner.”

Sam raises a hand and juts out his chin. “Dean, come on.”

“She’s into some stuff I never tried before. It was awesome.” He smiles cheekily.

“Stuff you’ve never tried? Not possible.”

“Let’s just say she got to fifth base with me.”

“Fifth base?” Sam’s eyes widen.

Dean grits his teeth before releasing the murmur. “I got pegged.”

Sam’s face relaxes. Silence.

Hands brace the edge of the stainless steel counter. Dean prepares for Sam’s cackling. “Alright, let’s hear it.” 

Sam blinks in time with his steps towards Dean. “I could say you got what’s coming to you. But, she’s more than you can handle, I’m sure. Can only imagine the, uh, equipment she uses.”

Sam’s knowing smile as he grabs a slice of toast is what tips Dean off.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Sam confirms with his question. “Eileen and I have done it a few times.” He taps Dean’s biceps. “A whole new world for Mr. Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em. You should see if she wants to give tantric sex a try down the line. That is, if she’s not tired of your ass already.” A soft chuckle follows Sam’s sentence, obvious delight with his own innuendo. A quick turn and he’s heading out. “Gotta shower and sleep.” 

Dean forces his mouth to close and finishes preparing breakfast. The tray is stacked with food and he does his best server routine and heads down the hall to his room. He frowns at the door, slightly ajar, when he turns the corner. He’d closed it when he left. It swings open with a slipper tap.

The bed’s made. There’s no trace of the previous night’s activity.

Or you.

He drops the tray on the tiny table and is ready to storm to your room. Hoping you haven’t left without saying goodbye. The thought of having to wait months to see you again makes his heart race.

But your voice from behind freezes him in place. “Fuck, that’s a ton of bacon. I may definitely die and go to heaven after eating all that.”

His head twists to catch you in the doorway. You’re showered, squeaky clean and dressed for the day.

You squint at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Dean ponders the expression he’s been exhibiting. He can’t seem to control anything around you anymore. “How am I looking?”

“Worried.” You thumb towards your room. “Got a text. There might be some Djinn activity down in Louisiana. Up for a trip down the bayou?”

Dean smiles. “Absolutely.”

Your grin is sly and flirty. “Maybe after the hunt, we find ourselves in New Orleans?”

That’s all Dean needs for permission. He wraps you up in his arms, holds you tight. “Maybe we get up to all sorts of stuff? After I show you the proper way to dispose of a Djinn, that is. I seem to remember a story where you…”

It’s the quick and painful tug you give the hairs on his scalp that makes his dick twitch. “Maybe you shut up and use that mouth the way I tell you to, Winchester.”

He licks his lips and stares into your eyes. There’s dominance there with a playful edge. And, what he thinks is even endearment. And want. Lots of want. For him.

He gives you a soft nod.

“Good man.” You whisper and own his mouth in a searing kiss. 

You have it all under control.

Fuck the bacon. 

You’re Dean’s heaven.

[probatiostudies]

Not necessarily a hot take but a highly improbable one!!

I personally can’t distinguish yet, with 100% confidence, who the “bad” guys are on Quesadilla Island. There’s so much at play, different relationships between residents, and the extent of knowledge that we have on each individual varies so much!

BUT what I am starting to wonder is, if in the very likely case that it really is The Federation vs. The Code Entities, could we experience an outcome where the egg children are left alone?

See, if the Code Entities are against the Federation, for whatever reason, then what if they’ve mistaken the egg children as part of he Federation? Rightfully so as well, considering, and correct me if I’m wrong, that announcements by Mr. Duck is what lead the residents to discover the egg children at the adoption center, and we can try and assume Mr. Duck is related to The Federation, thanks to q!Philza’s interview with one of the security guards.

Also for an undetermined reason, the Code Entities want the island residents on their side. We can assume that right? And I say that it’s for a undetermined reason because it could just be for the manpower, to have the majority of the island following them. Who knows! But the evidence of something like this lies in the Code Entities’ interactions with q!Etoiles, rewarding him with powerful weapons, albeit however reluctantly, and last asking him to let them know which of the island residents work for the Federation. (Code Entities, y’all go f*cking insane with that!!)

So now I want to tie this back to the egg children, considering recent developments with Codeflippa. Granted, I wasn’t able to watch whatever happened yesterday when Codeflippa was seen by the other island residents, but bless Tumblr for the updates and fellow theories/thoughts! Listen, Codeflippa is pretty against the Federation. They’re satisfied that q!Slime doesn’t care for the Federation, and I believe some of their interactions with the island residents yesterday revealed the same interest in having people against them.

The biggest problem for Codeflippa though, is the fact that they’re most definitely a Code Entity, and what did the Code Entities do previously, historically before their training arc with q!Etoiles?

They became the #1 danger for the egg children, successfully taking lives from Dapper & Bobby, and first failed to impersonate the egg children by enraging notorious observer q!Philza, who knew all of his egg children’s quirks and immediately clocked the difference.

I don’t know how else to say it, but I think the Code Entities, perhaps even young in their being, immediately targeted the egg children because they were the most accessible relations to the Federation (and we kind of have to acknowledge the possibility of that being true, what with Egg A1). Somewhere along the line, they realized direct attacks wasn’t the right approach, and switched to impersonating the egg children to get closer to the island residents, whether that was to gain access past the security measures protecting the actual egg children, or to sway island residents to their side like q!Etoiles.

With that, I’m thinking there’s a very small chance Code Entities like Codeflippa might let the egg children have a chance at life, if they can become aware of how the egg children love and align with their parents instead of whatever place they’ve come from. Them impersonating the egg children means they’re already aware of the weight of these relationships, to an extent, and I think that leaves a lot of possibilities! These Code Entities are learning, we’re seeing that with Codeflippa, we kind of saw that is the way the code impersonating Bobby was different from Tilin’s and Trumpet’s.

Just, let me think there’s a happy ending to all this, yk? 🫠

[bcofl0ve]

making of the masters of the air: a wwii museum event

will do my own “and supporters like you” pbs-core spiel since that’s essentially what they did at the beginning, speaking more so to my austin fandom folks here, shows like masters of the air wouldn’t exist without the bravery of the people they’re about and the people and organizations dedicated to keeping that history alive. this was free to watch but i threw $10 to the museum anyways and encourage y’all to match me and donate too if you’re able to which you can do here. $10 is like, 3ish days of coffee money! (which i say knowing that to some people $10 is a lot of money- but y’all know my heart.)

this is reminding me that i need to watch band of brothers and pacific over my winter break

watching the trailer again…anthony boyle you come to me as someone i picked apples with in papa’s orchard

kirk mentioned that they’ve been working on this for ten years and i didn’t know that!

first q was asking miller what pushed him to write mota: he talked abt growing up in a military family, said what pulled him towards writing about war is being interested in the stress of being under combat and mentioned reading a pysch case study book from someone who treated wwii air fighters for “combat fatigue” ie what we know now as ptsd.

“if you got to the sixth mission you had about a 0% chance of surviving”

talks about meeting a jewish pow named louis lovesky (might be spelling that last name wrong, will correct if i can figure it out) and that the first thing this guy said to him was that he could do 100 pushups and just dropped and did them- good for him!

.”when you’re hit in a plane whether you’re killed or not they strip your bed and your locker and send everything home” …was a prelude to a louis story about him being worried about him sending all his stuff home to his mom because he had a ton of condoms in his locker lol

“i was a virgin but i was very hopeful” - lou

over to kirk, talking about how they were originally working with hbo.

hbo came to them and said they wanted to do another wwii series and they were between a navy or airforce show. they initially thought about combining them but realized it wasn’t possible.

after reading mota closely it “became apparent” that was the way to go to story wise. cities the human detail and miller creating a whole visual descriptive world in his book.

“you make it so clear in your book, this is a form of combat that had never happened before and will probably never happen again”

“when we read masters of the air we read the story in the first part of the first chapter about the 100th bomb group…a group of guys who didn’t know each other before the war, and would’ve died for each other by the end of the war”

miller on why he chose egan and cleven to focus on: “i knew that men at the 100th bomb group just worshiped these guys, and they were so different. cleven didn’t like athletics, he didn’t drink, he was a one woman man and egan was the opposite, he was in the bars every night raising royal hell. totally different guys yet they bonded so closely together. they both get shot down at just about the same time.”

talking about rosenthal, says that was the guy he most respected. jewish kid from flatbush who loved the dodgers and loved jazz music. went to law school and aced it out, got a great job, and enlisted right after pearl harbor.: “as long as [hitler] he is running that country i’m flying my plane” ended up going home after getting shot down, got bored at his old law office and ended up going to be an attorney at nuremberg. (mollie note: i might be doing a study abroad program at the nuremberg next summer so this is super interesting to me). wanted to go the hangings because he thought it would be closure, said seeing them in prison clothing and gaunt etc it was closure for him. 

you can tell from how miller was talking that he truly admires rosenthal which i found very sweet.

kirk says egan and cleven reminded him of damon and pythias from greek legend, and rosenthal reminded him of galahad from arthurian legend.

austin butler name drop, turn up!!

kirk says making this differed from bands of brothers and pacific in that none of the men portrayed in the show are still alive so they didn’t get to meet them (save for miller), which meant the research was a lot more of an undertaking- but they did get to talk to some of their family members.

kirk talks about rosenethal’s grandson and son meeting the person that plays him in the show and how sweet that meeting was.

four primary locations during shooting and each was about the size of a small airport.

kirk talks about covid complicating things…i could not help but giggle a bit lol sorry austin

“one of the reasons i think this series works, hopefully, is the devotion to detail.”

kirk talks about bringing some of a local wwii museum staff on the ground in the uk to set and that they were very touched by how accurate was, a complement to the art and costumes department. 

miller mentions his first meeting with tom hanks and that tom was very insistent that everything that happened in the show had to have happened in real life and passionate about the accuracy

tom flew into small town pa to work at miller’s house and that his wife was very excited

they got tom at the airport and tom had suitcases of germany history books with him and 245 notecards and miller was like…dear god

kirk: this has to be the most difficult production, the logistics of this thing, says they’re still in post production even though it comes out in a month and a half.

kirk mentions john orloff and says when they invited him to join the project he threw himself into it completely

says john's challenge with the book was figuring out how to adapt in a way that was dramatically coherent

miller says john called him and they talked about gale cleven for like 8 hours, miller mentions being the only one that met any of them

kirk asks miller about meeting harry crosby, who is played in the show by anthony boyle and recommends his book “a wing and a prayer”, says he had a good sense of humor.

gale cleven got a phd in astrophysics and went on the be a president of a college (and an alcoholic, as miller tacked on at the end there lol)

two themes in the series:

the irony that war is impossible without love: why do they do it? they do it for each other. war is impossible without the love of the men for each other in impossible circumstances

how do those men keep getting back into those planes?

miller wanted to get away from the idea of “push button warfare” and that taking viewers inside the plane is an important part of that

seeing the missions reproduced, seeing the panic and fury and chaos inside the planes. there are no foxholes in the sky, where do you go? trying to take care of injured men mid air being hit, having to hit back etc etc, “it’s unbelievable what they suffered, the germans came so close they could see the eyes of the pilots”

the camera men had a tough time moving around inside the planes, speilberg had two b17s built from scratch which took 11 months. they built a 3rd one that allowed the camera men to go in the plane and film the close ups more easily.

kirk asks what separates it from just another combat story

providing some sort of context w/o being didactic. why? how do you answer the why without lecturing? 

audience questions, i missed the first one bc my browser crashed but i think someone asked if they filmed in actual flying planes?

which of course was a “well no”

kirk mentions there was dedication from everyone, from austin and calum to the set PAs

miller mentions looking at the labels on things in the bar and the papers in the office folders and how *everything* was accurate

2nd question asking how the fire fights were produced: kirk says some visual effects are still being worked on, gives very high praises to the special effects team.

mentions 100s and 100s of video screens creating what the environment would be outside of the airplanes to help the actors visualize it

miller says they filmed a plane landing by putting one of the b17s they built on a crane

3rd question is about airpower in wwii, miller talks about how in the beginning of bomb warfare it was extremely ineffective, says we evolved from that to doing serious damage on the german economy by hitting german oil.

miller starts to talk about something he was working on with kirk earlier in the day and kirk says we’re keeping that a secret, lol i wanna know what they were talking about! 

kirk mentions the psych impact of it going from 25 missions, to oh now it’s 30, oh now it’s 35. the guys knowing they were being used as bait to bring up the german fighters- that psych is what makes this more than just another adventure story

miller talks about how getting the guys mentally right to go back up into the planes they made them that way in the first place was quite the dilemma, when the only thing that could cure as guy really was saying you don’t have to fly again.

4th question “how much did this cost” lol

“let’s just say we’re over budget”

5th question about the ages of the actors vs the guys they played: kirk says one of the considerations was there being something about the young men of that time having to grow up fast, 24 then appeared a lot older than 24 today because of life experience.

says you tend to cast older for the believably.

miller told a very funny story about tim van patten creating a model of one of the battles with toys in the middle of the night.

hi hbo war and history tumblr friends, this is an austin butler blog run by someone with a hyperfixation for being an update blog and doing event coverage, so/but do feel free to come hang out as we enter the masters of the air era. i'll be covering every event like this that i can and am super excited for the show- i was at one point on americanrev/john laurens tumblr and am almost suprised i never ended up an hbo war "stan", though that might change here soon!

tags: @superbdinosaurharmony @purejasmine

[sc0rpi0-skies]

Long, kinda braindump-y post:

Y’know, I think it’s actually kind of interesting to analyze early SVU’s attitude with regard to trans people. Because it’s very easy to say “oh it’s totally transphobic and problematic,” but I think it’s actually a bit more nuanced than that. Don’t get me wrong, there are 100% a lot of problematic aspects, it doesn’t take an expert to see that. I mean, the repeated usage of the t-slur is enough to put it in that category. But it’s interesting to look at how the show’s portrayal reflects the societal attitude towards trans people over time — like a period piece of the 2000s.

Now, keep in mind that I am a cis person myself, and I wasn’t alive for the early 2000s, so my opinion is not the gospel in any way, shape, or form. But the reason I’m thinking about this is because I just watched S4E21, where a trans woman named Cheryl is on trial for killing her boyfriend’s brother who tried to rape her, and in the process found out she was AMAB and was likely going to out her. The episode has much of the usual “she’s a dude” rhetoric (with some “she tricked us all” stuff sprinkled in, especially in this kind of awful scene involving Stabler), but by the end, it also elicits a lot of sympathy for the trans victim. Especially through Cabot, who develops immense feelings of guilt for prosecuting Cheryl (and tries to drop out of the case at one point), and Benson, who stands up for Cheryl, including in small ways like using her correct pronouns with Cheryl’s parents, even as they repeatedly misgender and deadname her.

In some ways, I think the episode is actually (for its time) an advocate for trans people, because it really shows a window into the discrimination they face, especially in a less tolerant time. It also allows the audience to comprehend Cheryl’s feelings of being in the wrong body and witness the awful repercussions and trauma she faces for them (being scared of leaving the house, getting kicked out by her parents, etc). It even introduces the biological aspect of trans people’s brains corresponding to their preferred gender. If I was someone in the early 2000s who didn’t know or care much about trans people outside of the usual prejudicial jokes, I think this episode really would’ve introduced me to a new perspective and encouraged me to look at the trans population with greater empathy. Especially in the way it starts out with the expected harmful rhetoric, but over time sheds that as it delves deeper into Cheryl’s story.

Anyway, this was kind of a braindump because this episode really made me think. (In my current first-time binge of SVU, I’ve really been loving episodes that make me do that.) My point is that I think immediately labeling things as completely problematic and unacceptable because they don’t hold up to the standard of the present can sometimes obscure the nuance of the issue. Yes, this episode has a lot of harmful rhetoric that could 100% be triggering to a trans person. This is not me trying to defend that in any way, shape, or form. But I think analyzing “problematic” media in the context of its time period can open up a window into studying the history of a marginalized population and how societal perceptions develop over time. I can never fully understand what life was like for trans people in the early 2000s. But watching this episode made me interested to go out and learn more. And it makes me hope that maybe, just maybe, someone watching this episode in 2003 felt the same.

[docholligay]

The House in Fata Morgana: Door 2--1707

I have never reviewed a visual novel before, but iscahwynn made me a very generous offer and a long line of patience, knowing that we are trying something very new. To that end: Please don’t spoil me for the game at all! If you are reading this, I have only gotten through the part written above, and I don’t want to be corrected, even if I’m wrong, even if I’ve missed something, i don’t want to have anything confirmed or denied, and I don’t need any trigger warnings or extraneous explanation. Iscah would like my pure, naive experience of the game. Thank you!

Non-spoilery: This story was solid as a standalone horror story, though I think it took awhile to come around to whatever it was doing, and I don’t know if it needed to be as long as it was. What’s more I’m not sure it knows what conclusion it wants us to draw from the tale, and while I do personally kind of like that it leaves us with a bit of a hearty shrug about what the nature of a man is, I could see it being frustrating to some people. Weirdly, I was about to accuse it of being hamfisted and cliche halfway through, only for it to twist on me and me to go, “Oh. Carry on then.” This makes me sound like I didn’t like it but its bizarrely easier to tlak about its weak points without spoilers than its strong ones. 

Spoilers below: 

So before we even get into the whole door situation as she stands I want to talk about the fact that before we descend in to the cellar we apparently don’t have any reflection, and this is very interesting to me. Who the fuck is the Maid, is one of the great mysteries of this, and I have a handful of thoughts on that, none of which really coalesce in a way I love but it’s early days as far as the story itself goes. (Which is one of the great and frustrating things about these reviewlets) So, on that note, why don’t we have reflections and who the fuck are we? I would say it’s far too easy to say “ghosts” because if we’re ghosts I don’t understand what is pinning us here, and particularly what is not only pinning the Maid here but compelling her to serve? Are we ideas within the story itself? 

Because one of the interesting frameworks about this story is the nature of evil and specifically of savagery, and we see so many times that the house itself--though not the Maid--is telling Yukimasa that he is a beast, that he’s always been a beast, that he loves to kill, even when he is trying to escape from that fate, from that future. It’s not the Maid. The Maid serves the HOUSE, and so what is the house? Is the house the narrative itself, and is that why it attracted the violence to Yukimasa, and why he never could have shaken it? Is that why the house itself hungers for this sort of tragedy? The tragedy of Mell and Nellie and the White Haired Girl*? What is it about this place that drives PAIN? Because remember, in the first story Nellie found out about the incest from an accidental (sort of) ripping of a painting. I laughed about the convenience at the time, not unkindly, but what if it wasn’t convenience? Or rather, what if the convenience was the hand of the house, and this “writer” (I know I know I’m obsessed with the role of writers in their own stories) wants this house to be tragic, so it is? No matter what. 

But interestingly, the story goes to pains, as sopon as we’re feeling so sad for Yukimasa for being treated racistly by the big, mean, Spanish villagers, and that’s why he became cruel and mean, the story shakes its head and not only tells us, “nuh uh. Isn’t so.” but shows us. That he was not only tempted that way, but he was a killer long before he ever set foot on Valencian shores.** When this whole thing was playing out I was like, “Lol Valencia is right across from Algiers and while Tensions Are High it was only like 100 years ago that the Moors were living among you, I’m not sure beating a Japanese man for looking ood is all that likely in a port city” and then the story tells you that he was emaciated and all that, but more specifically they DID see this quality of beastliness in him, and he DID murder a lot of people, and that we are absolutely not doing an over-simplified version of this story. 

By the by, I am sure you could write a fucking DISSERTATION on the choice of having the protagonist and villain, all in one, be a third-generation European-Japanese man, who is obsessed with the idea of Japan as motherland, to the point of wielding a katana and going on about honor and the samurai class-- and coupled with this insane violence of his it puts me to mind of the way bushido was used by the government and military in pre-WW2 in similar ways as Aryan ideals to unify and create this notion of longstanding cultural value that’s not quite BULLSHIT, I don’t think I’d be comfortable saying that, but it’s not quite on the level either--and he is the beast, and he was always the beast, and he’s misleading Pauiline about having ever seen Japan, but he says it calls to him, he says it’s his heart, but it’s a place he’s never seen and frankly probably doesn’t even fucking belong anymore. I do not have the words to put around that, but I KNOW it’s something and I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted a writer to tell me everything about something but I do RIGHT NOW. (If you did not write Fata Morgana, please don’t attempt to explain this to me until I finish in November) 

Anyway, let’s get to the beauty and the beast aspect of all this. So, the Whtie Haired Girl shows up, is blind, apparently, an in fairness I do think sight prbnlems are more common in albinism, so, congrats I guess writers. I don’t know how much I love a “Love a man good” narrative, and I think I’m oversimplifying it a little bit to call it that, but I don’t think I’m oversimp0lifying why we’re supposed to back her play by a lot. She really doesn’t have a character? She lives to serve Yukimasa in the same way she lived to serve Mell, and is that another part of this too? That this house, this Maid, and this Girl, are all here to serve the Master and his larger story? I mean, it could absolutely be international, what’s going on here, but I’m just not sure. I love the incredibly boggling moment where she tries to convince him he’s not a beast with her literal pussy. I am not making a joke here, friends. 

The whole thing with Pauline is fascinating, because there could be so many things that make her appear a beast to him as well, but I THINK she is added in to tell us that Yukimasa couldn’t be saved by something as simple as love itself, that the White Haired Girl maybe is, in her own way, a witch, for the power she can command over others, much as she did Mell. Maybe she actually IS the villain here, that would be interesting, maybe all of this is about fucking with men and ruining their lives in twisted ways, and you know what I think that would actually fit into the whole Morgan Le Fay thing and I rather like it. We’ll see where it goes. 

And of course, we start at the very bottom of our nature, and we end there, because the house craves that, it wants the ruin to return. The damp and the blood. 

Wow! This is way more than 1000 words, sorry, I have gotten carried away with this whole fuckin thing. I really enjoy this VN so far, and I gotta say, I wasn’t even entirely aware there were VNs like this? A few more quick thoughts: 

“What appear to be many plants are all connected in the soil”--we’re talking about inhabitants of the house, it’ll come back around, I can smell it. 

Fascinated by the Maid’s hiding the ‘truth’ of Yukimasa from us, so she, too, has a role in how the stories are told, or maybe that’s part of the house’s control over her, I’m not actually sure. 

“A beast wants a tether” what a fucking great idea, that freedom is not all its cracked up to be, and that unchecked freedom is death in a sense? I dunno, interesting for certain. 

Yukimasa looks a little like Keanu Reeves 

*I’m going to assume for the moment though please no one tell me anything inany direction that we are the White Haired Girl and the reason her name is so frequently blocked out is that we aren’t supposed to learn our name yet. I do not love this paired with the “She is blameless, in this or any time” and frankly I don’t love that even if we AREN’T the poor widdle white haired girl, but it’s na interesting conceit given that she seems to not be reborn, necessarily, but always…there? Is she herself bound to tragedy? 

**Because though Rose Manor was in England, Weeping Manor is in Spain. So the manor can move. I don’t have a thought on that right at the moment, but I did not google “Where can you grow oranges in Europe and when was Spain unified” for nothing.

[rosesandmusicsheets]

My Headcanon Regarding Anthony Strallan’s Shoulder Injury

I’m literally crying because this is the second time I’m writing this post. Pray it makes it this time.

Warning: Long ramble below!

Photo below for reference and ogling.

Disclaimer: I am not a medically certified Anything.

I started writing this as a Headcanon/Author’s note for an Andith one-shot I’m working on. But it’s started getting long lol so I figured it could be interesting enough to share on here!

I know there exists (somewhere) a popular fanon about Anthony’s relatives but I’ve never seen one regarding his injury (please correct me if I’m wrong of course!). Please note, that these ideas were thought up by yours truly and are only backed up by educational guesses, extensive google research, and random nerdy anatomy trivia that I have because I’m into kinesiology. Also, I’m high.

Warning: mention of bullet injuries

Anyways! Below for more!

Anthony’s injury is caused by damage to his brachial plexus which he suffered via bullet wound in the back (below the shoulder). The brachial plexus (google it, it’ll make sense when you see it) is a network of nerves that send signals from the (cervical) spinal cord, to the shoulders, arms, and hands.

The main area of damage is right next to the armpit, below the shoulder’s ball-and-socket joint. The bullet entered and exited cleanly, without hitting bone or leaving a trace behind (which is why his arm was not amputated).

While his arm is often referred to as “useless”, it is not completely paralyzed. He still has his sense of touch, but suffers from bouts of numbing, extreme weakness, and a nearly nonexistent grip. He is able to move, (especially at his elbow with the support of his left arm) but it’s so stiff and heavy that he’s better off not forcing it.

The sling is only bound around his hand, and not his whole forearm or wrist. If you think about it, a sling that supports at the hand still needs muscle support from the bicep (to keep the forearm “afloat”, if you will) - which he is clearly able to do. Otherwise, his “deadweight” would cause his wrist to bend, causing more discomfort in his hand - this is where he would benefit from a sling wrapped around his whole forearm.

The reason he prefers the sling (rather than have his arm hang at his side) is because the position prevents less numbing in his forearm and hand. If he just “deadweighted” his right arm everyday, the weight would only add pressure to the brachial plexus, causing even more numbness - his shoulder would get tired faster and would probably slouch to the right as well.

In the sling, he is better able to support the weight of his arm (again, keeping the arm “afloat”) - no compression, less numbing, and less stiffness. This also keeps his bicep “engaged” daily. The only time he removes his sling is when he sleeps and he follows a detailed stretching regimen from his doctor.

Now, in relevance to my one-shot…

Let’s just say Anthony is going down a similar path to Matthew’s recovery. Nerve damage has always been fascinating to me, so I’m excited to play around with physical therapy ideas to help Anthony heal. Full disclaimer: he will not be cured 100%. It’s just not my thing. No jabs to anyone who’s gone down this path, it’s just not my cup of tea ✌🏼(this is coming from someone who insists the bullet entered and exited cleanly without hitting bone or organs lol)

I have a feeling this one-shot could turn into something more - I was avoiding having to think of some amazing plot line but now that I think about it, I could easily just have his healing journey be the plot! I’ve already thought up a really cool doctor character too (it’s me, hi, I’m the sham it’s me). It could have really extensive medical chapters with smut in between! I kid, I kid, there’s no way I could write PT scenes without angst anyway lol. I wasn’t actually kidding about the smut though… Anyways, for now it’s just a really long one-shot - we’ll see!

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far! If you have any questions or want to start a conversation please feel free to reblog/repost/ask/DM me (or whatever it is you kids do nowadays)❤️ hope to see you on FF!

[miralines]

Before I say anything, I just want to inform you that I just randomly came across your post browsing the discourse tag for something else. I don't know who you are nor what's happening with ao3 users here. I don't know if you wanted a deep(ish)dive into someone's thoughts and reasons for choosing fics based on kudos and hits ratio, but 100% ignore if you didn't! Sorry if I am intruding by doing this!

I come from multiple giant fandoms and when there are multiple fic choices with tags and summaries that I like, I do choose to go by kudos and hits ratio. Just to pick which one to check out first. I did notice however, that in smaller fandoms or tags this couldn't be applied because there's not enough fics, so I just read what I'm interested in most.

Why? Kudos signify how enjoyed the fic is to me, because usually the more kudos it has the more talked about it is on other platforms. Why would that be important? It's just that I enjoy exploring content made by others after I'm up to date with a fic. It's really fun to see people talk, theorize, make art and speculate or scream over things that will or did happen. It's giving me an opportunity to find people with similar interests and see what they make overall!

Sometimes though, if fic in a fandom or a tag that's incredibly popular gets hundreds of hits and very few kudos, I choose not to read it. This is based on a few bad experiences I had giving those fics a chance, where something in them made me uncomfortable or hard to read. I don't have any very specific needs when I'm reading fics, I just enjoy reading as a part of enjoying the fandom, so when I see the general readers avoid giving kudos in fandoms where it's very usual to have a lot on fics, I don't want to read that fic for my enjoyment.

I really don't know much about this, I'm sorry! But yeah, I basically use kudos to hits ratio to oriantate myself and avoid something I wouldn't like based on previous correlations I made. I don't know if that's wrong or upsetting for others, but if you find it that way, I would like to know why too and improve! Sorry for any grammatical mistakes I made!

Oh hi anon! I wasn’t expecting anyone to reach out like this, but thank you for taking the time to write out your thoughts! (Also. Please do not feel the need to apologize for grammatical mistakes. I do not believe in ‘correct’ grammar; as long as I understood you, which I did, I think you’re absolutely fine and using language as it’s intended!) (I am. A particular kind of nerd and not policing grammar is something I have Opinions about hence this tangent lmao)

This got terribly long, so I’ve put a tldr above the cut and divided the rest under headers for ease of reading.

Tldr: I see your points with regard to differences between large and small fandoms, and with the specific goal of finding “sub-fandoms” for particular fics. I still disagree that kudos-to-hits ratio is the best way to decide what fics to read, both because it isn’t an accurate metric of engagement and because I dislike the idea of using engagement as the primary metric in the first place. When I use A03, I prefer to sort by what’s recent and use the tags and summary to decide what to read, or to use the (excellent) search function to find what I’m looking for specifically.

I’d also like to note to anyone else reading: I doubt this will be an issue, but if anyone is rude to anon I’m going to turn off reblogs on this post. I know this is something some people feel strongly about, and discussion is fine, but this is absolutely not worth being mean to another human about.

Size of fandom

To begin my more thorough response: This is an interesting perspective– not one I entirely agree with, but I can certainly see how in larger fandoms with a lot more content it would be valuable to be more selective. For context, my main fandom is an obscure storytelling band with under 3k total works on A03, and these days I mostly occupy a niche of that fandom (one specific album) with only 128 works. The largest fandom I’ve been active in currently has 37k works on A03.

I don’t know what your fandoms are, but as some examples of bigger fandoms, Star Trek currently has over 100k works, Supernatural has almost 300k, and Harry Potter has nearly 500k. That is a big difference! I’m currently working on a goal to read every fic in my 128-fic niche (with some exclusion criteria), but in larger fandoms it’s impossible not to be selective. This is all to say– I definitely agree with you that the size of a fandom impacts how a person can and does interact with it.

Fans of fics

Your point about wanting to interact with other fans of a particular fic also makes sense! There was a particular fic series in my largest fandom that had a pretty decent following, and I still have friends from that sub-fandom several years later. If this metric helps you find fics that match your goal of having that experience, I can see how the kudos-to-hits ratio could function as a potentially useful metric, though I still think its usefulness is a bit limited for reasons I’m about to go into.

Kudos-to-hits isn’t accurate

I have two reasons for thinking that kudos-to-hits ratio isn’t the best way to determine what to read. The first is purely numerical. If you’ve been watching this discourse, you’ve probably already seen people discussing how users can only leave a single kudos, but may be responsible for 20-plus hits on a work. This is especially applicable to multichapter works, which in my experience are the fics that are able to develop their own following. If you want to sort fics by engagement, it seems like at the very least, using comments for the ratio is a more accurate measurement.

Using engagement as a metric at all

Secondly, though, I (and I believe, a lot of people) dislike the notion of using engagement as a metric to measure fics in the first place. I think the current discourse is partially due to some regrettable phrasing on the part of the OP of the post I was vaguing– if I recall correctly, they said that they use this metric to determine if a fic is “worth reading”. I think this phrasing was hurtful to a lot of fic writers who may not have large followings or a lot of engagement, but who work very hard on their fics and feel frustrated that this person implied that they aren’t worth reading. I have fics that are personal favorites of mine, but that I haven’t gotten a lot of feedback on.

Of course, this is just part of writing, and it’s an important skill for any writer (of fic or anything else) to learn to handle rejection or just lack of feedback. But I also think that particular post was phrased in a thoughtless way that interacted poorly with pre-existing insecurities (this is part of why I suggested that post was bait– the phrasing seems to me like a perfect storm to make writers upset and defensive, but of course this could also be due to the OP just being a bit careless with their words, and not expecting to have hit quite nerve they did).

There’s an excellent post here on engagement on fics and what a realistic assessment of “successful” engagement metrics are based on professional standards (which includes a stat about how Harry Styles, one of the most popular and successful current celebrities, only gets a 1:30 ratio of likes to views on his social media. I don’t know what ratio you’re using, but iirc the post I was discussing suggested 1:10). Personally, though, I worry about both authors and readers depending too much on statistics, especially in a broader cultural context when it feels like everything is performed, measured, and monetized. Most social media platforms have gone from a place to share with friends to a place to compete for attention and make money and fame off it. There’s a lot of cultural anxiety around that at the moment, which is another reason I think this discussion has gotten so big.

Why I disagree with using engagement

I think this discussion, at its heart, is a debate about what fandom should be, and I feel focusing overmuch on engagement statistics contributes to a fandom culture uncomfortably close to the commercialization of everything else on the internet. I feel that fic should be enjoyed as art (whatever art means) and not as a product. I’m not saying you’re personally approaching fic that way, but unfortunately there does seem to be something of a broader trend towards that, which troubles me.

As a writer, I would hope that when people come across my fic, they give it a chance based on the metatext information I give them in the tags and summary, the quality of my writing, and whether my work matches what the reader is looking for. Judging it based on the numbers feels reductive to me, and makes me feel like nothing about the work or passion I put in matters; just the popularity. My fics aren’t going to be for everyone, and I understand that. If someone comes across my fic and decides they’re not interested, that’s their prerogative. But I hope that potential readers don’t discount my work just because it doesn’t meet a numerical standard that, in my opinion, is extremely arbitrary.

My suggestions for what to do instead

As a reader, I default to sorting by what’s been posted recently, and then using the tags and summary to decide what to read. That’s what those things are designed to be used for, and I think they’re much more informative than the stats. Worst-case scenario, I start reading and then go back to the search. All I’ve lost is a couple minutes.

In large fandoms, this might be an inefficient way to search for fic, and I recognize that. I’d encourage you to try using A03’s (fantastic) search function to find what you’re looking for– you can both include and exclude fandoms, characters, pairings, and tags. I have come across people who don’t realize that A03 has no algorithm, and haven’t realized they need to learn to use the search function. This is understandable, given the state of most of the internet and what these (often young) fans have learned to use before, but I think learning to search and filter is a vital skill to develop. I have no idea if you’re in this boat, anon, but if you are, please check out the search. It is, in my experience, the best way to find what you’re looking for on A03, and can at the very least supplement numbers-based selection.

Conclusion

I don’t think you have a moral responsibility to stop using engagement as a way to determine what you want to read. Frankly, this isn’t that important. I don’t think you even strictly need to stop using kudos as the measure instead of comments, though I think that would be more accurate if you do prefer to sort by engagement. But I do think you could be surprised at the hidden gems you could find if you didn’t limit yourself to only reading fics with high ratios. I don’t know the nature of your bad experiences in the past, and obviously how you use A03 is up to you. But I think there are better ways to decide what to read.

Thank you again for reaching out– you’ve helped me understand the other perspective as well! I really do appreciate your explanation. I hope I’ve been as respectful as you have, and that I’ve helped you understand where writers who share my opinion are coming from. If you’d like to continue talking about this or respond to any of my points, please feel free to shoot me another ask or a message. I hope you’re doing well and that you have a nice day!