#there's just something about that entire debacle

[mostlikelytofangirl]

What’s the strongest evidence for nieyao in the novel, cql or audio drama?

Oh anon, always with the best nieyao questions ;u;

Ok let's see.

I'm by no means the most well versed in any of the adaptations tbh (adhd brain says memory is extra fragile in this one :'D). But from what I can recall, or at least had the strongest impression from would be these:

In novel I'd say the whole baby thing. Yes, I always bring this up. Yes, I love it and it has changed me as a person. It's ultimate display of how much of a nurturing, soft person MY was alongside the military and strategist skills NMJ already knew MY had. It's the full package right there!

(Also the deleted scene of JGY chopping NMJ's corpse with an axe while politely asking him not to haunt him is peak erotism imo).

Now, for all my reservations with cql, the nieyao is something that got so upgraded there! I mean, they gave them an entire backstory even before the war! MY was part of the Unclean Realm and very clearly stated as the one person NMJ would listen to, his right-hand man entrusted with everything sect leader needed and with full clearance to everything in the clan, he was almost family! NMJ was legit crying when he casted MY out!! His flashbacks have MY being a sexy homme fatale, c'mon! How could anyone watch cql and NOT see all the feelings between them aaahhhhhh!!!!

Audio drama... tbh I'd put this adaptation right with novel itself bc of how faithful it is to it. At least I can't recall a thing that's audio drama exclusive, especially relating to nieyao. I'd only point out the absolute emotion they put into the performing of their scenes :').

ALSO TRAPPED TOGETHER IN A COFFIN FOR ETERNITY.

If you or anyone else have more examples that I missed here tho, I'd love to hear them!

[cogcltrcorn]

someone with "proship dni" reblogged my iwtv post?? baby are you sure you are gonna be ok with the incestuous vampires franchise???

[sweetmidnights-library]

cannot wait for Sydney to get off my tik tok fyp. like I love this energy for y’all but every time I hear that word I feel like I’m going to throw up lol.

[xeansicemane]

I think what's fascinating about this whole Unity debacle is how clear it makes something.

The entire C-suite of every company on earth are idiots.

That's not hyperbole, they are people serially uninterested in becoming informed and constitutionally incapable of hearing they're wrong about something. They build a thick shell of unreality and assure themselves they can direct any human venture even if they know nothing of how the enterprise in question works or how its' customers interact with it.

They had it. They were THE tool for learning to build games and even worked for larger projects. Producers and consumers alike knew Unity as a trusted albeit occasionally teased household name.

And they fucked their institutional trust like a university of Florida fraternity pledge strung out on something called "gator blood" fucks a supermarket turkey.

And it isn't even just Unity - look at Twitter, the smoking ruin of something once synonymous with the digital commons. It isn't just Twitter - look at grocery prices.

Our "business leaders", our "movers and shakers" don't know what they're doing. An MBA is taken as a stand-in for competence and knowledge. Because the neo-feudal overlords can never hear no.

The enshittification continues.

[great-and-small]

I was once on a trip with a bunch of friends and family when I accidentally kicked my digital camera into a stream while on a hike. Despite desperate efforts to dry it off the camera stopped working almost immediately. Since I was broke and had a pretty limited knowledge of electronics repair, my immediate solution was to get a shit load of dry rice to try and do the cellphone in rice thing asap.

Fortunately everyone was immediately on board with this mission to try and save my camera so we all ended our hike, piled into two cars, and drove straight to a grocery store where I ran inside and bought four pounds of rice and nothing else. It wasn’t until we were back at the hotel and I was pouring several pounds of rice into a paper bag with my camera that one of the dudes on the trip was like “ohhhhh that’s why we were in such a rush”

YALL. This dude had somehow missed the entire debacle with the camera and had just been going along with the flow in what he assumed was some sort of bizarre uncontrollable rice lust on my part. He literally thought I was so frantic to eat some rice that I ended a hike and made everyone come with me to buy bags and bags of the stuff. I was like DUDE WHY WOULDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING and he was just like eh I didn’t think twice about it I thought maybe you were just super hungry and we were being supportive 😵‍💫

[justonefeather]

hhhhhhhhhh I'm so drained, having so many emotions so loudly just makes me so tired.. i was able to do a bunch of dishes and take care of the bird's water and stuff, but i know I have other things to do too, and i don't know how much i can actually do.. at a minimum i need to wash the big pot so I can cook in it, and work on my resume so I can apply places hopefully tonight. But even that sounds like so much.. i have no energy but i can't stop for the day, I'm sitting taking a break but like i can't sit forever.. i did so much yesterday too and i still couldn't finish everything between two days.. i want to cry but I'm too tired for even that

[thedaythatwas]

something I appreciate about akechi as a character is that he never seems to think hmm, maybe I should emotionally distance myself from joker, because being invested in him could end up being bad for me when I need to kill him. the vengeance-oriented character goro is made out to be at first glance ought to think like this, but NO! goro akechi is NOT (just) that guy!

from the beginning, akechi goes above and beyond the minimum requirements of getting intel on joker and gaining his trust. he says, I’ll go the extra mile! I’m going to follow him around, inside and outside the metaverse. we’re going to talk about my dead mom. I’m going to insist that we’re RIVALS! I’ll spend so long thinking about all the reasons I hate him that it’ll become obvious to everyone around me— even joker’s (not a) cat— that what I feel isn’t really hate but something much more complex. obviously, this will make killing him that much more gratifying, because our lives are now intertwined! HA! take that joker! I WIN!

I believe this… interesting… thought process has something to do with akechi’s central motivation being more than just a desire for vengeance. he also desperately craves approval and recognition. akechi is not actually all that pragmatic. he’s highly driven by emotion, sometimes at the cost of logic (I mean… his revenge plot isn’t all that mature or well-thought through. it’s basically suicidal).

this considered, it seems that becoming akiren’s rival would be second nature to goro. it gives him a veritable cornucopia of things he craves. winning their “game” allows him to feel recognized for his worth. just playing it gives him opportunities to feel seen and known. being a rival is addictive. he gets the chance to embrace the anger he cultivates towards akiren and the rush of putting him at the center of his thoughts. their rivalry is by far the most intimate relationship akechi has. and so, he gets more and more tangled up with joker— and in his feelings about joker— regardless of any risk that poses to his plans. distancing himself would go against goro’s every instinct.

being akiren’s rival is tied to akechi’s vengeance, but somewhere along the line, “besting joker” evolves to be about more than plotting against shido. this is probably for similar reasons as to why akechi’s desire for vengeance against his father was never purely about “vengeance” at all.

of course, this comes with the pesky, entirely predictable side effect of akechi getting a bit obsessed. oh well! it doesn’t end up stopping him from trying to carry out his order to kill akiren.

regardless of how events actually unfold, akechi’s feelings are a clean-cut liability to his revenge plot. a rational character would probably want to avoid such an obvious crack in his armor. this to say, as intelligent as akechi is, he’s not really all that rational. there’s a difference! he’s not who he appears to be at first glance, or even second or third glance. he’s not the detective prince, or an assassin with tunnel vision for vengeance, or even just plain angry. akechi wants to be needed, and he’ll do anything to chase that feeling.

so yeah, it would’ve been nice if he had found a homoerotic rival before the shido revenge plot debacle happened! alas.

[dottedsilktie]

Love conundrum

A peek into a typical morning with Toji reveals domesticity is a good look on him.

CW : swearing, tooth-rotting fluff

There is something so endearing about having a man like Toji become all soft and sentimental. If you didn't know better, you'd almost call him mushy to his face.

You bite your tongue though, just to watch him for a little longer as he's hunched over the oak coffee table, deep in thought.

He holds yesterday's paper in one hand, mumbling the clues for the missing words repeatedly, glowering at the mostly filled out puzzle like it'll solve itself. It's become a habit of yours. Filling out the crossword and leaving a couple of words for him, pretending to require his help just so you can watch him fiddle with the day-old newspaper, too engrossed to even notice you.

Toji throws the paper on the table, reaching for his cup of coffee and thinking out loud "The fuck does any of this mean ? 'Six footer', for God's sake, these people are insane".

He sounds positively mad but he doesn't relent, taking the pencil he'd tucked behind his ear and grabbing the paper again. He's a man on a mission : solving your crosswords is his top priority until further notice.

The whole ordeal is sickeningly sweet but the highlight is when he feigns nonchalance as he hands the paper to you, a smug smirk on his face that melts into a sheepish smile when you thank him with a kiss to his cheek and a heartfelt 'thank you, dearest'.

So Toji perseveres, deft fingers drumming against his thigh and brows furrowed, until he feverishly scribbles the last few answers and jumps up from the couch, triumphant and entirely too happy with his performance. The face of a man who has yet again bested the evil, convoluted crossword clues you tell yourself as you make your way to the living room, stretching your arms over your head and pretending that you had not been watching his debacle for the last couple of minutes.

As you approach him, he's still rambling about a "Six footer my ass, just say an ant like any normal person would, I've had it with these fuckers". It makes you snort, and the sound of your effervescent laughter makes him stop his rambling. He turns to face you, schooling his face back in an expression of calmness as he bends down to kiss you, one arm around your waist, the other reaching for the paper.

Like always, you beam at him when he shows it to you, whispering a "thank you" against his throat. He frowns down at you and asks in a gruff voice, "That's it ?".

"Were you expecting something else ?", you ask innocently. The mountain of a man holding you actually pouts, lips pursed and brows knitted together. Mushy doesn't even begin to describe what he's become.

You reckon he's earned his praise, so you cave in and raise to your tiptoes to kiss the corner of his lips, mouthing a "thank you, honey" just to see the disappointment twisting his handsome features melt into a soft, content little smile.

Toji thinks he can bear with the pedantic pieces of shit putting together the crosswords for a little longer if it means getting another morning like this with you.

Repost

[manyfandomsonelog]

This is literally such an outlandish idea I just had but I think it would be SO fun if the opening of season 2 did a semi-time-skip so that Edwin and Charles are in a more “experimental” phase of their relationship where they’re just sort of trying things out to see how they feel about it. Specifically I’m envisioning an episode where Charles and Edwin are just. Inexplicably using petmames for an entire episode. It would be great for 1. pandering reasons, the shippers would love it, but also 2. it would be SOOOO funny. Specifically imagining a scenario where they do not explain their behavior at all until Crystal shows up and it’s like.

Edwin: Sweetheart, would you pass me that tome?

Charles: Of course, my love.

[Charles picks up a large book from the desk, handing it to Edwin]

Edwin: Thank you, darling.

[Crystal looks between them, utterly confused]

Crystal: [to Charles] …Exactly how long has that been going on?

Charles: [comedically nonchalant] Oh, that? Don’t worry about it, just testing something out.

…Bonus points if Edwin gets to record Charles’s reactions to different names in his notebook. I think he would enjoy that. It’s like enrichment for him.

And then the whole subplot comes to a close towards the end of the episode when they’re mid-action and it’s something like.

Charles: [over his shoulder] Nice job, sugarplum!

Edwin: Thank you, darling!

[both of them make a face]

Charles: [to Edwin] Mate…

Edwin: Too much?

Charles: It’s a bit much, innit?

Edwin: [with some relief] I agree.

…And then the entire debacle just stops after that. Personally I think it would be especially funny (and valid) for them to just never use petnames again after that episode because they found out they don’t like it, but also it could be fun if a few stick around from time to time afterwards. Either way, it would be a really wild way to start a season and I had to share my vision with the world.

[spacedace]

Here have some snippets of the AU that’s taken over my brain (featuring Elle unintentionally dunking on both of Bruce’s identities, Clark realizing he passed his taste in partners on to his son, a bit of pre/unaware that they are dating Super Serious Chaos, and some blink-and-you-miss-it background Enemies to Lovers Dick/Dan)

---

“Sorry, who’s Bruce Wayne?”

The room when quiet. All heads turned to look at Elle at the end of the table. Bruce didn’t visibly react, but Clark could make out the subtle indication of disbelief that his old friend was feeling - that they all were feeling at the interpreter’s question. Elle, suddenly aware she had the full room’s attention, had the look of someone who realized they’d said something wrong, but didn’t know what.

“You’re kidding.” John said, “You know Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows Bruce Wayne.”

Elle blinked. “I don’t.” She glanced from face to face, “Is he like a big deal? Does he work here or something? I haven’t been around that long so I might have missed him.”

It took every bit of self control Clark had not to laugh. His voice still came out a bit strangled from the effort as he offered, “No he doesn’t work here.” If Bruce was the type to do so in uniform, he’d be kicking Clark under the table.

“You live in Gotham. You have to know Bruce Wayne.” Barry said, voice going a bit high with growing bewilderment. “Mega ba-jillionair. CEO of Wayne Tech? Richest man in Gotham - in the world? Has like a hundred kids?”

Their interpreter’s nose scrunched. “So he’s like…in one of those fundamentalist cults obsessed with having a bunch of kids or something?”

Bruce actually twitched at that. The sound of utter disgust in Elle’s voice at the concept, the complete and total lack of any kind of recognition she had for the single most famous non-crime or crime-fighting related person in the city that she lived in, she truly had no idea who they were talking about. Clark had to get a recording of the room’s security feed, Lois would love this. Oh, wait no, Bruce’s kids. Maybe if he was fast enough he could text Dick to get there ASAP so he could see it all in person before it was over.

“No! Nothing like that! He adopted them - well most of them.” Barry tried to explain, looking utterly lost as he turned from Elle to the rest of them and back again. “You’re messing with us right? This is like a joke?”

Elle shook her head, looking just as lost as Barry did. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Do you know Dick Grayson?”

“I know of an officer Grayson who is a dick. Total tool. He’s been making my brother’s Dan’s life miserable for like a year now. Pretty sure not who you’re talking about though.”

“Jason Todd.”

“The library goon?”

“Tim Drake.”

“Sounds like a Dark Wing Duck character.”

“Cassandra Cain.”

“Isn’t that the author that started out writing incest Harry Potter fanfic?”

“Duke Thomas?”

“What’s he a Duke of?”

Barry snapped his fingers, pointing emphatically at Elle with a look of victory on his masked face as he shouted, “Damian Wayne!”

Damian, who had at that moment just walked into the meeting room with Jon at his heels paused in his place just behind Elle. He did pretty well at hiding his surprise at Barry seemingly shouting his civilian name and pointing at him upon walking in. Though the tense line of his shoulders suggested that if Barry was actually revealing his secret identity without warning or permission, there would be blood.

Stella Nightingale, unaware of the almost-kinda identity reveal going on around her, tilted her head in confusion at the speedster. “I’m assuming he’s related to that Bruce Wayne guy?”

“They’re all related to Bruce Wayne.” John said with open amusement now. The Green Lantern had given up on the research entirely, watching the entire debacle with a growing smirk he kept casting towards Bruce. “That man’s face is plastered absolutely everywhere in the news. How do you not know who he is?”

“If Lois Lane hasn’t written about him he can’t be that important.” Elle said with a casual certainty of one speaking a core tenant of their beliefs. Clark’s opinion of the young woman - already quite high considering her ferocious loyalty and fondness to Jon - rose sharply.

“You’re read the Daily Planet?” Clark asked, warmth curling in his chest at the mention of his wife and her work.

“I read articles by Lois Lane.” Elle said promptly, “I tried reading some articles that Kent guy she partners with sometimes wrote on his own but I couldn’t get past his writing style. Dude sounds like he’s from outer space with his word choice sometimes.”

Bruce, looking far too pleased, gave a quiet and not terribly convincing cough as Clark tried to will his soul back into his body.

It was going to be a long day.

—

“You are at least aware of who Gotham’s vigilantes are, yes?” Damian asked with a raised brow behind his mask.

Elle shrugged, giving him a sly smile. “The relevant ones.”

Clark tried to hide his short laugh with a feigned cough. Elle at least was distracted enough with Jon and Damian’s attention to notice but Bruce was giving him a look over the tablet he was trying - and undoubtedly failing - to review files on.

Jon grinned eagerly from his spot beside Elle as he asked, “Aren’t they all relevant to you? You live in Gotham.”

“I live in Crime Alley.” Elle corrected, bumping his shoulder with hers. “We have different standards of relevancy there.”

“So what are the relevant ones then?” Clark asked, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s burning stare. They’d get back to the research. Eventually. Finding out if the Gothamite who had been spending all her free time with Phoenix and Flamebird for the past year and a half was as oblivious to her city’s heroes as she was its celebrities was too entertaining a notion to pass up.

“Phoenix, obviously.” She grinned cheekily at Damian across the table, ticking names off her fingers as she continued. “Red Hood. Spoiler. Uh…Orphan?” She trailed off, forehead scrunching in concentrated thought.

“That’s can’t be all the ones you know.” Jon gaped, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced over to were Bruce was seated, not five feet away before turning back to watch Elle try to rack her brain for any more Gotham vigilantes. Clark could see the moment that the words are taken as a challenge as Elle sat up and looked more determined.

“No, shut up, I know more. Uh…there’s the one, um Red Sparrow? It’s another bird one with red name, I’m pretty sure. And the one with the blue - fuck I should know his name. Nightjar? Wasn’t Nightingale I would have remembered that…shit, dude threw up on our couch once I should remember his name -“

“Nightwing threw up on your couch?”

“Nightwing! That’s the bitch! He got poisoned or something and Dan drug him to our place to patch him up since Doc Thompkins’ clinic was closed.”

Clark shared a look with Bruce and Damian. Dick had failed to mention that little event. Clark could see Bruce reaching for his wrist computer, undoubtedly typing out a message his eldest about what he’d just heard - possibly another to Alfred if he was feeling like pulling out the big guns.

At the other end of the table Elle ticked Nightwing off with a nod, even as Jon squawked that it shouldn’t count since he’d given her the name, “Then there’s…uh…oh! Harley Quinn!”

“Harley Quinn does not count.”

“She beat up a guy trying to mug me last week and got me a hot chocolate afterwards, she totally counts!”

“Someone tried to mug you?”

“Crime Alley, Nix, if someone doesn’t try to mug me while I’m out I get worried that I missed Hood calling in a Street Clear for something big.”

“We’re going to circle back on that later.” Jon said, sharing a pointed glance with Damian. It looked like young Miss Nightingale was going to be getting escorted to and from the Watchtower from now on.

Ah, Clark mused, falling head over heels for someone with no understanding of the concept of self-preservation and a stubborn determination to run straight into the heart of danger without a second thought. It brought back such fond memories. Of both Lois and Bruce. And Diana. And - Hmm. Kara might have been right. Clark might have a type.

Watching the three at the other end of the table and taking them in, Clark realized he might have passed his taste in partners on to his son. Well, at least he’ll be able to give Jon some advise on how to handle the heart attacks Damian and Elle will inevitably give him.

“Harley Quinn doesn’t count. You got any more?”

Elle rolled her eyes, muttering about Harley totally counts, before leaning back in her chair. “I think I’m out. I know there’s more but,” She gave a shrug, “I’m tapped out. Those are all the ones I can think of.”

It was, surprisingly, Bruce that spoke up at that declaration, a slant of amusement to his lips as he asked, “No one else comes to mind?”

Elle waved him off, attention turning to the mountain of alien script they needed her to translate for them. It was the reason she was even there rather than in her office trying to translate whatever incredibly dangerous magic tomb JL Dark had dropped off without accidentally summoning a demon or ending hte world in the process. J’onn was right, they really should give her a raise.“That’s all I got.” She said with a sigh, “Like I said, I know the relevant ones.”

“Hn.”

Twenty minutes of shared looks of amusement and suppressed laughter later Elle’s head shot up, a look of wide eyed embarrassment on her face. “Oh my god.”

“There it is.”

“About time Nightingale, I was starting to be concerned about your mental faculties.”

“Shut up, this so embarrassing!”

“Don’t sweat it kid, we all have our moments.”

“I can’t believe I forgot Signal.”

“What.”

---

Context of this snippet if anyone is interested:

This is actually the same AU as the Steph & Jason sibling bonding Anger Management snippet from a bit ago (I’m calling it my Ghosts in Gotham AU in scrivener so I guess that’s what I’ll call it here lol). This time focused on Elle and her misadventures as a Totally Normal Civilian (TM) working for the Justice League with her two besties Jon & Damian (none of them realize yet that they’ve been dating for months).

No idea when this is supposed to take place in terms of timeline with the other snippet, but kinda vibing the idea that while Steph & Jason are having a heart to heart on a rooftop over their shared background and Jason’s future as a dad, Elle is up in the Watchtower telling Bruce Wayne to his face that she has no idea who he is and forgetting Batman is a Gotham vigilante while he’s sitting at the same table as her.

Anyway, this AU has taken over my life. Expect more nonsense to come lol

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training VII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON acts, DUB-CON acts, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

Keeping track of the days wasn’t hard. Night and day announced themselves with the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon. It was strange how it failed to feel monotonous, each day so different from the one before despite doing so many of the same tasks. You helped with breakfast in the morning, yes, and you ate dinner with the entire house every evening, but the activities in between weren’t always the same.

It was only just the other day that you’d been shown the nursery, a modest room that had been decorated by the wives and would serve as a classroom from what you’d been told.

Faced with another visualization of how permanent this all was made you lightheaded. You knew why you were being shown these things, why you were slowly being exposed to more and more of what your life here was expected to be. It felt depressing, but not as much as it should’ve been.

After all, at least you knew what the rest of your life would look like…even if it was some sick man’s fantasy.

You hadn’t had another incident with Steve since the vase debacle. You hadn’t been able to do your household tasks for a week, and even when you rejoined the other wives, you found yourself wincing here and there. You got the feeling that Steve had long wanted to punish you, ever since that incident in the kitchen, and while you still felt heavily watched, like you’d try to make a run for it any minute…

Peter was around more, now.

You didn’t like Peter. You were sure you never would, but you couldn’t deny the security you felt in his presence. You couldn’t ignore how much safer you felt all the while knowing that he was just a few rooms away. Sometimes when you were cooking or cleaning or even just attending to some vegetables in the greenhouse, you’d look over your shoulder and make eye contact with a familiar brown pair.

The relief you’d feel was something you didn’t want to focus on.

Sometimes he’d even take over for Jane or Margaret and would take it upon himself to show you how something was done instead. He was the one to show you the nursery/playroom, following close behind him as he prattled on about it. Maybe he’d seen the slight fear in your eyes, the combination of defeat and nervousness as you stared your future in the face.

…because Peter had reached out to take your hand, squeezing it.

Something about his presence had become like a shield. Like protection against Steve and anything else you feared in the house, so dependent upon it that when you woke up for the first time in a while, and Peter wasn’t there, you felt your heart drop. You were fully awake in seconds, sitting up in a slight panic and taking in his empty side of the bed. It wasn’t made, and it was still warm, telling you he wasn’t gone long.

The bathroom light was off, and you didn’t know where he could’ve gone, but when you looked outside the window, you were rewarded with the sight of him. You felt your shoulders relax, but your heart did pause at the sight of Steve and Bucky with him. All three were talking in the yard. About what, you didn’t know, but you didn’t think you were able to go back to sleep until it was time to get up again.

It was too early to get started on breakfast, so you weren’t surprised by the silence of the house when you left your room. You could even faintly hear the cry of an infant coming from somewhere on the other side of the household. It felt surreal to be up so early. With the sun just barely peeking over the horizon, the calm atmosphere, and the faint sound of a child, the place almost seemed like…a home.

You weren’t really thinking much when you approached the backdoor, not even questioning if it would even be unlocked. You guessed you just assumed it would be seeing as Peter and the other two were outside. When you opened the door, it was clear that the sound had caught their attention, all three halting in what they were saying.

You shuddered when your gaze briefly met Steve’s, quickly looking away when it fell on Bucky instead. You gave Peter your attention as you unsurely stood in the doorway, not quite certain on how to voice your need for Peter to come back. You didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t like being alone, and as Peter quickly made his way to you, as if afraid you’d take off at any moment, you felt your eyes water at how ridiculous you were being.

“You know you can’t be out here-.”

“I’m not,” you hurried to say, keen to point out that you hadn’t even stepped outside lest Steve try to use the technicality as a reason for punishment. “I woke up, and you were…”

You trailed off, taking a step back, eyes finding the floor. You felt Peter’s hands on your shoulders as he tried to look into your eyes, and you swallowed, shrugging.

“You weren’t there.”

Peter seemed to understand what you were saying, and you heard him softly exhale. He stepped inside with you, embarrassment filling you for so many reasons, quickly looking away when your gaze caught Bucky’s as Peter shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry-.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he assured you, guiding you back upstairs. “You just scared me, is all. You’re not allowed outside yet, so you were the last person I was expecting to see.”

You hadn’t even been able to focus on the feel of air and sunlight on your skin for the first time in months. It was something you should’ve been soaking up, cherishing before you were forced inside again, but instead, you’d only been able to focus on how much you didn’t want to be alone.

“Is Steve…? Will he…punish me for that?” you quietly asked as Peter closed the bedroom door behind you both.

“No, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

He rubbed your arms before leading you towards the bed, and you made yourself comfortable. You felt the need to apologize again, feeling like you’d still done something wrong by basically dragging Peter back to bed. You frowned at your word choice, something twisting uncomfortably in your gut.

“What were you talking about?”

The question came out before you could really think about it, and Peter paused at the sound of it, looking at you with a look you couldn’t name, and you swore you saw the hint of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

“Just something Thor did the other day,” Peter eventually told you. “He’s a very unserious guy.”

Peter chuckled at a memory you weren’t privy to, and you nodded.

It wasn’t lost on you that everyone in the house seemed to have the kind of relationships with each other that you hadn’t quite mastered yet. Truthfully, you didn’t know how any of the men knew each other, but they all seemed as thick as thieves. Not even just that, but you noticed how at ease Laura seemed around Sam or Nat around Stephen or Sharon around Clint. They all seemed so familiar and comfortable with each other.

Like a family.

It was hard for you to view this place as anything close to that. After all, these women were here the same way you were, but Margaret had been here for years and seemed to find genuine enjoyment in her relationship with Steve despite how cruel he was. Peter wasn’t half as cruel as him, so that only made you wonder what would become of you in three years’ time. Sometimes you didn’t want to think about that too hard, afraid of what answer you’d come up with.

You knew that you were weak, and you were genuinely scared that you might not be able to even recognize yourself.

It was sometime after breakfast had been made, when you were hidden away in the greenhouse, when Peter called for you. Afraid that you’d gotten into trouble for something, you’d quickly risen to your feet. You could feel Nat’s eyes on you as you stumbled into the house, voice shaky.

“Yes?”

Despite your nervousness, your voice had carried, and it wasn’t long before Peter rounded the corner.

He wasn’t alone.

The man with him had dark hair, but it was greying ever so slightly, and simple glasses framed his face. He and Peter were about the same height, and you warily eyed the strange man as they both approached you. You brushed some dirt off of you, swallowing.

“Am I in trouble?”

Peter seemed slightly taken aback by your question before quickly shaking his head, gaze softening.

“No,” he told you, reaching for you. “Bruce is our call-in doctor. He helps with all the births and health visits. We just figured it was time for a physical. Make sure you’re healthy and all…”

You were looking between them as Peter relayed this all to you, and you found yourself wondering if the doctor…knew. You wanted to believe that he didn’t, but then again, you never thought so many horrible men could congregate in one place and cohabitate with one another and their sick ideals. What was one more horrible man?

“It’s okay,” Peter softly assured you with a hand on your back as he guided you upstairs. “He’s just going to take some urine and blood samples.”

“Blood?”

You had questioned that before Peter even finished, eyes wide as you remembered your last…run-in with blood. The mention of the red substance had you feeling spacey, and for the first time in what felt like too long, you had a brief recollection of your friends…and the sight of their bloody bodies.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter murmured as he grabbed hold of you, quick to do so when you started swaying. “It’s okay…”

He helped you sit on the bed, and you eyed the other man as he came into the room.

“Dr. Banner will be quick. He’s efficient like that. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”

His agreement didn’t make you feel better, and you frowned when Peter spoke about getting the blood out of the way first. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the other man as he approached, heart racing at the sight of the needle. Your lips trembled, but before you could see him do anything, Peter took it upon himself to cup your chin, turning you to face him instead.

“Don’t look at him,” he murmured, brown eyes studying yours. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Peter’s fingers brushed along your skin when you felt the pinch, and you struggled to swallow.

“Did the others have to do this?”

Peter hummed an affirmative, softly smiling at you. His other hand came up to stroke your cheek, and when you felt relief in your arm, his smile grew.

“You did so good,” he praised before looking at Dr. Banner.

You felt Peter’s hand trailing to your neck, massaging the crook of it where it met your shoulder as the other man searched for the cup you were meant to pee into, murmuring about needing to check up on Jane too.

“Thor used to come into my job, sometimes…”

Jane’s voice was very low in the greenhouse, her careful eyes on the door as she recounted her history with the God-like blond. Talking about your previous lives or anything close to it wasn’t encouraged, but after Jane had told you her ‘good news’, a hand on her stomach with a smile, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from asking.

“I always thought he was handsome…funny…a little too optimistic, at times, but very sweet…”

There was something in her eyes you couldn’t quite place, something in her memories that made her smile dim some. If you had to guess, you’d say it was the memories and feelings of a time before she knew what Thor was really like. A time where she was just an innocent woman with a crush on a seemingly innocent man, unable to imagine the hell he’d put her through.

“He finally asked me out, and of course, I said yes.”

Her face fell some, and she sighed.

“As he was driving me home…I got lightheaded…drowsy…and then I woke up downstairs.”

You frowned at that, somewhat horrified that Jane had known Thor prior to this. Peter was a complete stranger, someone you had never even seen before, and you couldn’t imagine being subjected to this by someone you knew. Someone you trusted, your eyes burned with tears as you looked at Jane, but either out of genuineness or a practiced way of coping, a smile was already on her face again.

“That was… Well, it feels like a lifetime ago,” she slowly said, shaking her head. “…but, now we’re married, and I’m pregnant.”

She rubbed her stomach again, and you felt your own turn.

“Don’t you ever think about leaving?”

Your question was barely audible, fearful of anyone overhearing, but Jane heard you all the same.

“Not anymore,” she honestly told you. “It seemed…pointless. Masochistic to torture myself like that.”

You took a deep breath, heavily exhaling.

“Did you ever…?”

“Try?” she finished with a smile. “Oh, yeah. Twice, I think. After Thor had to sink to Steve’s level of punishment for the whole house to see, I never tried again.”

Your eyes met hers at that, and something seemed to pass through you both at the reminder of how Steve punished Margaret, sometimes. You didn’t even know that any of the other wives knew, and you wondered if it was something like an open secret. Again, you found yourself hurting for the new mom, unable to fathom how your humiliation at the hands of your so-called husband was just a known fact amongst the household.

“You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t try,” she eventually told you, making you look up. “When I was finally able to go outside, it was the first thing I did…and you’ll get caught…and it’s just not worth it.”

She sounded sad for you, but you felt sadder for yourself. You didn’t know how to tell her that you hadn’t even considered the thought in what felt like ages. It was just the other morning that you’d opened the door, and the thought of taking off, the thought of dashing right by the three men in the hopes that you could make it, hadn’t even crossed your mind.

You just hadn’t wanted to be alone.

You looked down as her words marinated within you. Jane had tried to escape twice, and there was no telling how many times Natasha had tried. You’d tried once, and it was barely an attempt, caught by Peter before you could even get your room door open. You didn’t need anymore confirmation of how weak you were, and even at dinner, you found yourself entertaining Jane’s advice and how masochistic it was to entertain thoughts that would never come true.

You weren’t half as strong as she was, and if she’d eventually given in, then what were you holding out for?

Peter could tell that you seemed distracted, touching your hand here and there, grabbing your attention. You gave him small smiles, unable to do much else, until he took another bite of the casserole.

“Pepper said you made this…”

You glanced over at the strawberry blonde, watching as she was engaged in a conversation with Steve and Tony.

“I did,” you told Peter, your eyes meeting his again.

“Really?” he quietly wondered, smile widening as his brows rose. “You did a good job.”

His hand came up to touch your cheek, and something like relief filled you. It was your first time cooking it without having to dump it afterwards, and while Pepper had assured you it looked and smelled great, Pepper was also known for placating you.

“I did…?”

Peter chuckled at how unsure you seemed.

“It tastes great.”

When he turned back to his food, you didn’t mirror him, keeping your eyes on him instead. You thought about when he’d eventually go back to work regularly like he used to before…and you didn’t like how it made you feel. Your chest tightened, and you blinked, finally turning towards your plate.

Without Peter, you really didn’t know how you’d function. After your punishment, you were even more afraid of Steve than you had been before, and you knew how much your slow adjustment irritated him. You knew that if it were up to Steve, you’d be punished every time you ruined a dish or burned some bread or messed up a load of laundry.

You didn’t even want to think about how many talks Peter had with the blond on your behalf.

It was something that weighed on your mind deep in the night, tears in your eyes at having to tiptoe around everyone again. Sure, you were adjusting much better, now, but that was exactly why Peter would have to go back to work again. You were better, now…so, he no longer needed to be here so much and neglect his job.

The thought had you shaking, holding in tears, and Peter must’ve felt it.

“Hey,” he said, turning on the lamp. “What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

You shook your head.

Even those had become less frequent as of late.

“What is it?” Peter worriedly wondered, reaching for you.

You sat up, moving out of reach and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I don’t want you to go back to work,” you eventually admitted. “I don’t like it when you’re not here. Steve…”

“He’s a lot, I know,” Peter softly said, touching your back. “…but I’ll have to eventually. This was only temporary…to help you adjust without the threat of severe punishment hanging over your head.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating that, and Peter made soothing sounds as your head drooped.

“You’ve been doing so well…”

You didn’t say anything to that, unable to voice the mindfuck this entire ordeal was. Peter was the reason you were even here, and so he should be the last person you want around. On the other hand though, he felt like the only thing standing between you and Steve’s ire, the memory of how the blond almost seemed to spit the word ‘weak’ out that day in the basement. He thought you were pitiful.

Pathetic.

…and he was right…but Peter didn’t make you feel that way.

Peter didn’t make you feel dumb for messing things up. He didn’t look at you like a bug he scraped off the bottom of his shoe, like a nuisance. Peter never looked at you like he was just waiting for you to screw up, but instead like he believed it wasn’t possible for you to. You wiped your face, hating that some tears had escaped.

“Why me?” you murmured.

He didn’t hear you, at first, a soft hum escaping him as he moved closer, fingers brushing your neck.

“Why me…? You didn’t even know me…not like Thor knew Jane,” you forced out, voice shaky. “So, I don’t get it.”

You looked at Peter, gaze almost pleading.

“Why did you choose me?”

Why did he choose you and change your life forever? Why did he choose you and get your friends killed? Why did he choose you and force you to leave your mom all alone? Why did Peter choose you and ruin your life?

Peter reached up to wipe your face, moving closer and grabbing your arm. You couldn’t read the look on his face as he pulled you against him, his other hand coming up to rest on your head. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ears, and your lashes fluttered at the sound.

“I just…knew. “

Your brows furrowed.

“I watched you smile and laugh, and get that little knit in your brow when you hear something that confuses you…”

Your frown deepened at Peter’s words.

“You do it all the time here, like you’re always confused…and you probably are, but I think it’s too cute.”

You could feel Peter’s lips against your hair.

“I just knew it had to be you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting to be honest. It’s not like you and Peter had ever been anything more than stranger who almost ran into each other at the bathroom entrance once. What else could you have possibly expected him to say? Peter hadn’t known a thing about you then, and it could be argued that he still didn’t, and you suddenly found the bedding interesting.

“I knew I had to have you…and I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t take you.”

You pressed your lips together, sniffing.

“…that wasn’t your decision to make,” you tearfully mumbled.

Peter heard you though if the way his hold on you tightened was anything to go by. His fingers briefly pressed into your skin, hard enough to make you wince, before he eventually loosened his hold. He let out a sigh, chest dramatically rising and falling beneath your head.

“I disagree.”

He pulled away, forcing you to do the same, but his hands remained on you, pressing into your shoulders as his eyes met yours. You had never seen Peter look so serious, lips pressed together and face even as he looked at you. You didn’t think you liked it, and you got the feeling that you said something you shouldn’t have. He suddenly took your chin, his grip tight.

“I wanted you…and so I chose you,” he slowly began. “…and that’s never going to change.”

Your lips trembled.

“You’re mine, now, and you’re never getting away. Do you understand?”

You started to nod before his hand slid down your neck, thumb lightly pressing against the front of your throat. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smile.

“I need to hear you say it,” he softly encouraged, and you took a deep breath.

“I understand…”

Peter’s gaze was expectant.

“I’m yours, now,” you whispered.

Satisfied, Peter pulled you against him again, burying his face into your hair.

It was the first really bad nightmare that you’d had in a while. A whole month actually. You woke up out of your sleep gasping for breath, clawing at your throat like something was choking you. You barely registered Peter beside you, waking up with you and reaching for you. He was faintly calling your name, that you could make out, but once you could breathe again, you paid him no mind.

You were too preoccupied with screaming.

It hurt your throat, rubbing against it like sandpaper and making it raw. It came from deep within your chest, the faces of your friends staring at you in the darkness, and you flailed on the bed. Your face felt colder than usual, and you realized it was the cool air hitting your wet cheeks. Every time Peter tried to grab your arms, you pushed at him, sobs festering in your chest.

“Y/N, you have to be quiet,” you heard him tell you. “You’ll wake up the whole house…”

You couldn’t really find it in you to care all that much. Your chest was so tight that it hurt, agony paralyzing you at the memory MJ’s final bloody act to push you away. You sobbed as you remembered Wanda’s heartbroken scream at the sight of her dead brother before she too was treated like nothing more than a wild animal. The disbelief you’d felt at Pietro’s murder was so vivid despite the fact that it had long happened, and you’d had months to accept it.

Peter finally wrapped his arms around you as you cried into his chest, the dark-haired man shushing you. Something about waking the whole house again. Something about Steve, and the mention of the blond had you crying harder. You pushed against Peter, nails digging into his skin as you tried to get away, but he only pushed back.

“Y/N…Y/N, stop,” he softly hissed. “Stop it.”

You’d never heard him sound so stern, and that too made you cry.

A choked wail escaped your lips…and then it wasn’t.

…because it was swallowed by Peter.

His lips on yours had you gasping, heart skipping a beat and chest clenching. His hands were still on your arms, trying to settle them as he moved his mouth over yours. When he let one of them go to rest his hand on the back of your neck, you used your free hand to push against his chest, but it was futile. You only realized it was so dark because your eyes were closed, but when you opened them, Peter was so close that you really couldn’t make him out.

Moonlight cast a pale glow in the room, shining light onto Peter holding you against him, tasting the inside of your mouth as he laid you down. His other hand was on your face, now, holding it in place as he kissed you. You could feel his heart beating against yours, his body completely pinning you down.

“You’re okay,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re okay…”

That’s what he always said, but it never felt true.

When you tried to push him away again, he took your wrists, pinning them on either side of your head. Peter was still kissing you, mouth molding almost perfectly against yours, a hum escaping him when your lips parted. He kissed your bottom lip and then your top one, his own finally trailing to the corner of your mouth as he kissed that too.

When he lifted his head, his nose brushed against yours, and under the glow of the moon, you could see his eyes boring into your own.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he softly said when you blinked at him, sniffling. “You’re okay.”

He let one of your hands go to run a finger down your lips, brushing it along your chin as he briefly pressed his lips to yours again.

“You’re safe, alright…?”

Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, but remnants of your nightmare were slowly fading away, and you gave him a shaky nod. Peter kissed your cheek a few times before sitting up and pulling you with him. When he had you fully leaning on him as he laid back down, his arm curled around your waist, keeping you against him. You were still shaking, breathing still uneven and tears still in your eyes. Your lashes fluttered as you could feel Peter wiping them away, and you closed them completely when you felt his lips brush over yours one more time.

[virgincels]

STOCKING FILLER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, filming, throat fucking, ddlg dynamics, creampie, daddy kink

note. the first part to my xmas fics! hooray! starting off very short so i apologise! ignore any typos! this is a part 2 to my fic lovey-dovey if you would like to read that first! if you see typos just know i will detonate :3 not entirely proud of this as it’s slightly repetitive but I promise the next fics will be more interesting! reblogs n feedback is much appreciated!

lovey-dovey

Huh. So that’s what you want for Christmas. Cock. What a surprise. Leon didn’t peg you as an icky little perv, his sweet girl can get down and dirty when she wants, but a sex tape? That’s new. Guess he could whip out the old camcorder, make you into a movie star, you’re certainly pretty enough. And with those false lashes on? Yeah, that’ll be a mega-hit, could make a fortune off of it, no more getting skullfucked by monsters in the field, just sticking his dick in all of your tight holes to pay the bills.

“Daddy?” He feels small cold hands on his shoulder. Yelps in a way that makes you giggle.

“Scared me, baby.” Leon huffs out a breath, tucks the letter behind his back, but you’ve got a sharp eye. His little girl knows too much. Daddy tries to keep it out of your reach, it’s for your own good, but you’re so nosy. Curious little thing.

“Why you readin’ my letter?” You wipe your nose on your sleeve, caught the flu over the weekend, doesn’t stop you from peeking over his shoulder 24/7. “That’s between me and Santa.”

“‘Cause Santa said I could,” Leon says simply.

“Nuh-uh, he didn’t.” You shake your head in disbelief as if Leon’s breach of privacy is the greatest betrayal since the whole Judas debacle. He didn’t know you and Santa had terms and conditions like that.

“Well, he did, ‘cause how else is daddy supposed to know what you want?” Leon pats the seat beside him, you go to climb over the back of the couch but he gives you a look. The daddy look of disapproval. You grunt in annoyance and make the short trip over to him. Walking around the sofa is a total pain when you’re sick - perfectly happy to terrorise him though. “Why’re you up anyway?” He goes to check his watch, “it’s midnight.”

“I got cold, daddy.” You tell him, blink up at him with big eyes that tell Leon something’s up. “And, um, I lied to daddy.”

“You lied?” Leon repeats, raising his brow. His girl doesn’t lie. Only naughty babies lie.

“I lied.” You confirm with a solemn nod. “I don’t believe in Santa, daddy.”

Shock horror. Leon clutches his chest. “Why’d you lie to me like that, babydoll?”

“Shy.” Is your plain answer.

“What, like, about Santa?”

“No, daddy,” you shake your head and let out a frustrated puff of breath through your nose, kicking your feet to distract yourself, “‘bout what I wanted from you.”

“Oh, baby,” Leon chuckles, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, draws you to his warm chest and kisses the crown of your head. “What’re you shy about, hm? I’ve had my tongue in your ass.”

Your little fists smack against his chest, muffling your embarrassed whines of daddy into his chest. It makes Leon laugh harder. “All I’m sayin’ is, sweetheart, you could ask daddy anything and I’d do it for you.” Leon is rough and calloused, but for you, he aches to be kind and soft. He’d do whatever you say in a heartbeat. If you want porn, so be it, he’ll fuck you till his dick pops off from overuse. And even then he’d let you keep his disembodied cock as a toy.

You make your recovery by Christmas Eve. Thank heavens. You’re a nightmare when sick, more so in this headspace. Grown-up you is responsible. Knock back two painkillers, cough medicine and settle into bed. Little you? God, she’s wreaking havoc. He had to change the quilt about five times, you said it was too lumpy, too thin, too ugly. Fucking Princess and the Pea. Insulted the duvet his mom made way back when, yeah, it’s patchwork, yeah, it’s ugly as fuck. You don’t gotta say it outloud though. Then you insist on using anything but a napkin to wipe your nose and— God. He’s just glad it’s over. Also means Leon can touch you again. In the way he wants, in the way you want.

Dressed in the pinkest of pinks, you sit on your knees in the middle of Leon’s California king. He insisted on finding that old camcorder, but you looked at him like he was crazy, told him his phone would do the job. The frilled hem of your babydoll rests pretty on your knees, it’s dangerously low cut to show more than just your décolletage, and the cups don’t fit right, a little too tight. You had complained, said it gave you four boobs or whatever that means. Leon patted you on the butt and told you he liked it. What kinda man says no to a big pair of tits? You might be his little girl but there’s nothing little about those, or that fat pussy, Jesus Christ. Had to swap out the matching thong ‘cause it got swallowed up between your fat lips, instead you’ve gone for comfort. Cotton panties printed with these vintage-looking lambs. There’s a blue ribbon dotting the hem that sits snug below your belly button. Through the sheer pink, he can see ‘em. Drives Leon crazy.

The camera counts down. 3, 2, 1. He steps into frame, shaky like he’s got an audience. A rogue hand brushes the front of his pants, you’re making eyes at him, licking the gloss off your lips. “C’mon, baby, get to work.” Leon pinches your cheek when you go to unzip his jeans with your naughty fingers, “Babies don’t use their hands, do they?”

You shake your head, ribbons bobbing along with you. Then you lower your head, take his zipper between your teeth and tug it down in jagged intervals. He’d taken his belt off earlier, knows that would be a little too mean. You can’t even tie a cherry knot with that tongue. Not that Leon can either. You’re pleased to find out he’s not wearing much at all underneath, letting out a hum of delight when his cock springs free, almost hitting you in the nose. What a video that could be Cock So Fat I Give My Girl A Nosebleed!

Very diligently, you run your tongue along his shaft, suck on each ball for ten seconds, then you work the tip. Your cheeks hollow as you take him into your mouth, you gag and pull back with a cough ‘cause he tickled the back of your throat.

“Thought you were a big girl.” Leon snickers at the slightly dazed expression on your face, the stringy spit that’s trickling down your chin, falling in fat globs between your tits.

“I am, daddy.” You insist in that whiny voice.

“Suck cock like a big girl then.” He slaps your right tit hard enough to make them knock together like Newton’s cradle. “C’mere, sweetheart.” Leon tucks his hands beneath your armpits and drags you to the edge of the bed, your head dangles at an angle that’s entirely uncomfortable. The only thing that’s in frame is his bare ass, and that’s not pleasant, but come on. He’s gotta do this.

Leon wipes the fat head of his cock across your pout, you open up like a good girl, he stuffs his dick down your tight throat, balls pressed to the point of your nose. Thinks he hears you inhale, then your little hands come to fondle his fat balls and the no-hands rule flies out the window. “Jesus Christ, you fuckin’ nympho, baby.” He pats your cheek, bucks his hips into your mouth to hear those delicious gag, gag, gaggin’ sounds. Once you’ve lathered him in enough spit, Leon pulls out with a wet pop, drags his balls over your face like you want him to. Nasty little thing.

Panting for breath, you sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your head daintily. “That’s good for you.” Leon comments, “makes your hair grow ‘cause all the blood is rushing to your head, Claire told me.”

“Not true, daddy,” you giggle, rubbing your temple to soothe the bursting pressure. You smile pretty when he lays you back, your head dipping between the pillows. He kisses your cheek, and you take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles tenderly. A soft creature with even softer tendencies.

Leon’s quick to get you out of your panties, hooks his fingers in the waistband and peels the soaked seat from your slick cunt. Much to your embarrassment - he lifts them to his nose and takes a whiff, his tongue pokes out to collect the arousal that’s gathered in the centre. Then he digs into the source itself, presses his nose into your chubby pussy, sucks on your clit like it’s hard candy. The muffled moans he lets out into your cushiony cunt don’t go unheard, so brazen about it, you grow fidgety and pull at his hair. Leon lifts his head, stubble shiny with your slick, licks his lips to catch every last drop. What was he doing down there? Motorboating it?

“Daddy…” You whine, press your foot against his face to stop him. Leon captures your ankle, then kisses the sole of your socked foot, he uses it as leverage, spreads you even further. Till your thighs ache, and your pussy parts ever so slightly, he’s quick to press his cock to your twitching clit. A steady hand drags Leon’s cock up and down your folds, cock catching on your bud each time.

“Look at her, baby, missed me, didn’t she?” Leon coos, his eyes zeroed in on your spread cunt, watching how your hole flutters around nothing. Poor baby. You need his fat cock so bad. Need to be plugged up before you spring a leak. Gosh, he wouldn’t want that. “She’s beggin’ for daddy, hm? Listen to her, she’s speakin’ to me.” He smiles when your drippy cunt squelches, the slick, gushy sounds going straight to his cock as it jumps. Way to give him away. Leon don’t have a tail that wags but he sure does have a cock, and it’s hard enough to break open a walnut.

Up and down, up and down. Leon guides his cock over your clit, and past your fleshy folds, teases your needy hole by stretching you out with just the tip. Then he pulls out. When he finally fucking pushes into your warmth, you squeeze him tight, he sinks in till all of him is wrapped up in your cunt. And you squirt for him. Eyes rolled back into your head, acrylics taking down his chest, back bowing off the bed ‘cause it was just too much for his baby and her precious princess parts.

“Mmmmmphhh!” You let out a squeaky sound into the palm of your hand.

“Yeah? That so, baby?” Leon clicks his tongue, tosses your flimsy legs over his shoulders, tugs down the cups of your babydoll so he can suck your tits.

Another stream of pitchy moans. “Uh huh?” Leon responds, nodding down at you like he knows just what his dumb little girl means.

“Daddyyyyyy!” His balls plap, plap, plap against your perky ass, gonna fuck you till his heart gives out. That’s what you deserve.

“Yeah, darling? You’re talkative today, huh?” Leon cranes his neck and bites down on your nipple, leaves it all puffy. His pace slows, focuses on giving it to you slow and deep, circles his hips so you feel every inch of him. The slow, sticky grind makes a wet noise, a ring of white glistening around the wide base of his cock. You’ve gone and creamed around him.

“Mmmm… Daddy…”

“Aw, is that right my girl?”

Then you bristle, go rigid in his grip, chest heaving and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “Ohhh, is it right there, sweetpea? Yeah? Mhm? Right there? Gonna make a big mess for daddy?” Leon presses down on your abdomen, his dick hits that special spot just right, and his tongue swirls over your nipple.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy— oh, daddy,” you whimper, spurting your release each time his cock slams against your cervix, wetting his stomach with each burst. Getting him all messy in the way he likes.

“Alright, alright, keep it down, little lady.” Leon soothes you, his warm hand rubbing your side as you tremble in his arms, breath shuddering until he dumps his load in you.

You go slack beneath him, little hand coming to rub your tummy after his warmth floods into you. He spreads you open to see how your cunt gapes, empty without his fat cock, his seed dribbles out as your pussy contracts, spills down your ass crack. Leon gives your clit one last kiss, ‘cause it’s pretty and you’re pretty, and pretty girls deserve handsome daddies who kiss their swollen little clits.

“Daddy,” you point over his shoulder, brows drawn together as your bottom lip wobbles. Never a good sign. He turns to see his phone has fallen flat on its face. See, this is why he should’ve got the camcorder out.

“Oh, baby, it’s alright,” Leon coos, you preen as he peppers your sweaty face in kisses, “we can just start again, huh? We got all night.”

“But, but, but, daddy, I gotta be sleepin’ when Santa comes.” You blubber.

“Thought you didn’t believe in him, babe.” He flicks your forehead.

“I don’t, daddy, but, will you still fill my stocking? When I go to sleep, daddy?” You’re giving him those big eyes again, batting your lashes. Santa is a ploy to get more presents. He’d figured that out.

“Yes, baby.” Leon agrees to calm you down, “but first I gotta grant your Christmas wish, don’t I?”

[1d1195]

Love and Dryer Sheets I

I haven't figured out how long this will be just yet but I anticipate at least three parts. This is where I'll keep the rest of it: Love and Dryer Sheets

~3.6k words (I know it's shorter. I just want to post and get some more ideas flowing)

Warnings: Harry is VERY grumpy/angry, right person, wrong place.

“I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry.”

The door slapped open and hit against the wall loudly so that she had no choice but to look up. The sound was followed by a tall man entering the room with a scowl on his face. He looked like he was having an internal argument with someone that wasn’t even privy to the conversation. She glanced away from the page she was reading briefly at the noise but turned right back to the book to give the grumpy person their own space. But it didn’t stop her from discreetly peeking up from the novel to catch sight of how pretty the man was. The first thing she noticed was his height and his scowl. But his hair was the color of chocolate twisting around his head in the softest, gentlest curls she had ever seen on a man. His skin was tanned, and he looked like he should be a model for sweatpants. Below the scowl, she could just make out that his eyes were green, but she was too far away to make out much more.

Except that he was very beautiful.

So beautiful that not even his crankiness could take her mind away from the idea of him. It seemed wrong that he was so angry. Someone as attractive as he was shouldn’t have been that upset. Especially about laundry. The anger had to be misplaced.

Stop analyzing a stranger just because he’s hot. Her brain yelled at her.

“Can’t even...” he grumbled. “Fucking laundry,” he slammed the washer lid shut and continued his angry mumbles.

She pretended not to hear and stopped stealing glances. It seemed he only just realized he was doing laundry because he muttered something unintelligible about detergent as he made his way over to the little dispensary machine containing fabric softener and the like. He dropped five quarters in it, grumbling the entire time, and twisted the knob. But unfortunately, there was nothing. No detergent fell from the space the way it was supposed to. She had only watched this man for all of a minute, but she already knew the inconvenience was going to be bad for his already crummy mood.

He slammed the side of his fist into the machine causing a loud metallic clang to echo through the room. Loud enough to be heard over the sound of the washers and dryers running throughout the room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He ran a hand over his face. She wondered what his next move was going to be but without her really realizing, she started to speak.

“Hey, I have detergent if you need some,” she offered kindly. Smooth. Her internal voice rolled its eyes. Interact with the maybe psychopath yelling at laundry. Honestly, she did it more as a favor to herself than to the stranger. Conflict was one of her least favorite things. Even if he was having conflict with an inanimate object. Growing up in a household where her parents displayed argument after argument as if it were normal for two people who “loved” each other to constantly talk in terms of passive aggressive remarks and angry tones for hours of her childhood did a number on her. As it was with the laundry debacle here, it felt like it was her responsibility to mediate the argument. Reduce the tension. Find a solution.

He only just seemed to realize he wasn’t alone in the communal laundry room. It was a bit naïve on his part to forget it, even. The laundry room was often one of the busiest spaces in the apartment building. Moreover, there were about five or six washers and dryers going at any one time—like right now. Usually, people just left their stuff but here was this girl sitting on top of the washer, one leg propped up so she could lean her book against it while the other dangled over the front of the machine and rested on the top of her overturned tall basket.

The angry air left him in a heavy sigh. He turned more directly toward her. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he sounded a bit shy. Embarrassed by his outburst it seemed. She slid off the washer and lifted her basket right side up to reveal the jug of detergent and a bag with folders and papers in it. Briefly he wondered what they were, but it was none of his business and it was weird he wanted to know. He hadn’t even learned her name yet.

“S’okay. Laundry can be intense, I get it,” she joked.

He smirked, feeling the annoyance leave him the longer he looked at her. She was so pretty. He shouldn’t have thought that way. Not at all. But it was impossible not to notice. Her hair was in a ponytail and pieces were falling around her face like she meant for it to frame her features. It was like the little strands were pointing directly at her with the intention of drawing his eyes across her kind face. The slope of her lips, the way her cheeks bloomed as she smiled gently at him, how the corners of her eyes crinkled and her lashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

Stop. It. His brain hissed at him.

“Thanks,” he said taking the jug from her and moved over to his washer. He felt all the anger that was rattling his body disappear as he undid the cap, poured the liquid into it, and started the washer. He returned the detergent back to her. “Sorry, ‘bout m’slamming around,” he said sheepishly. “S’jus’...been a day,” he rubbed a hand on the back of his head awkwardly, feeling bad that he looked like an idiot. She shrugged.

“S’okay, doesn’t bother me,” she reached out and grabbed his hand effortlessly. She turned it over as if she randomly grabbed strangers’ hands all the time. “Thought you might have hurt yourself,” she murmured and then dropped his hand. He wished she didn’t, though. Her gentle touch felt like heaven.

He cleared his throat because he absolutely could not find himself losing his mind over a girl he had met for thirty seconds. “M’Harry,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled introducing herself. “I just moved in... third floor, just a little under a week ago.”

Harry nodded. “Welcome,” it sounded a little sarcastic, but not in a mean way. “M’on the fifth floor,” he said. Tell her. Tell her right now. His conscience shouted at him. She hopped back into her position on top of the washer and resumed her reading position. “You don’t have t’stay with your clothes,” he told her as he checked the dials on the machine he was using.

“Hold over from college. My last apartment building was also not very good about it,” she shrugged. “I don’t trust it, but I don’t mind. I have a good book.”

Harry glanced at the title, committing it to memory so he could go purchase his own. No. Don’t. Stop it. You can’t do that. His conscience was screaming but he simply ignored it. It was the first time he didn’t feel angry in hours. She was just this bright little spot in the basement of the apartment building. It was a rainy Saturday and the only light coming in was from the egress windows. It wasn’t very light at all; merely the sun trying to force it’s way through the clouds above but getting trapped among the rain drops. Harry was feeling angry and the weather wasn’t helping.

But there was this...kind and lovely angel just sitting on a washing machine. Inspecting his hand for injury. Pure, gentle, perfect sunlight.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. “Well...m’doing other chores and things...I’ll be back down later.”

“Okay, nice meeting you, Harry,” she smiled. “I hope your day gets better,” her words were warm with kindness. It made him feel off kilter. He had been so angry all day that he nearly forgot what it was like to feel...happy.

He managed to smile at her, give a little wave, and left without another word.

Shortly after he left, she found herself a little flustered by the interaction. She was surprised she inspected his hand like that. It was totally out of character to be so forward—offering detergent and help, checking for injury. But really, taking his hand allowed her to admire the tattoos that lined his wrist and forearm and how the veins in his hand looked like the prettiest spiderweb she’d ever seen. Part of her hoped she would run into Harry again while doing laundry. Smiling, she returned her attention to her book and thought she really wouldn’t mind being around Harry for a longer time period.

*

Harry’s anger was renewed as he headed back to the laundry room. His chest was achy with the feeling of anxiety and a pressure forming from the annoyance he felt in his life. Part of him thought he should have just stayed in the laundry room with the girl that reminded him of sunshine.

That’s a stupid idea, and you know it.

He was really beginning to hate his conscience.

But his anger skyrocketed further as he entered the laundry room to see piles of laundry on top of washers. First, he was irritated because he was going to be livid if someone touched his clothing. This hadn’t happened in the year and a half he had lived there. But of course, it was going to happen on a day that he was simmering in anger over everything. Maybe more importantly, he thought he had given poor advice to Sunshine, and he was not happy that he did that.

Did you seriously just call her SUNSHINE? His brain was having independent thoughts, but Harry ignored it.

He was practically shaking with anger as he marched over to the washer that he had used earlier in the day. Other washers had piles of wet, crumpled clothing items on top of them waiting for the person to find them and be just as bitter and annoyed as Harry was. But instead, Harry found the washer he was using and none of his clothes had been moved. He felt his face pinch in confusion. That didn’t seem right.

But in place of a lump of wet clothes, was a piece of paper. He felt the confusion deepen. At the very least it made him forget how angry he was. At least for a few minutes. Scrawled across the paper read:

Out of Order. Do NOT use. -Management

Harry felt a new wave of anger wash over him almost instantly. If his clothes were damaged or stuck or something he might lose his mind. But he opened the washer and found his clothes were perfectly spun out. Smelled like the air after it had just rained. The confusion he felt continued as he pulled the items out of the washer and dropped them into the basket so he could throw them in a dryer next. He reread the note on the lid trying to figure out why the apartment management would say the washer was broken when it very obviously wasn’t.

He pulled the paper off the washer allowing someone else to use it now. As he did, he caught sight of writing on the back.

Told you so :) -304

Harry felt the urge to run out of the laundry room, wet basket of clothes and all, and knock on the door labeled 304 until she answered. He wanted to read beside her. Ask to use one of her dryer sheets or whatever it was that made her laundry smell so good. Her little knowing “told you so” didn’t even bother his already fragile, grumpy state. In fact, it only made him like her more.

STOP IT. His brain shouted. Shaking his head, Harry rid himself of his thoughts of Sunshine. What else am I supposed to call her? He asked rhetorically to his conscience. Instead, he tried not to think about her. He had only chatted with her for all of four minutes and that couldn’t have been nearly enough time to think he was already falling for her...right?

*

Today she was laying across two washers, a book above her head. She didn’t notice when people filtered in or out and no one paid any mind to her either.

Until Harry showed up.

“More laundry?” He asked.

She smiled, folding the corner of her page down and sitting up so she looked less crazy. Harry had a basket at his hip, and she noted there was a jug of detergent on top of the pile of laundry inside. “I love laundry,” she shrugged.

He wrinkled his nose at her in distaste. “M’least favorite,” he murmured.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” she frowned.

“Thanks for saving m’washer the other day,” he said dumping the items into the washer along the back wall—opposite of where she was seated.

She smiled down at the book in her lap and then looked up at the back of his head. “I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry. Unlike my ex-boyfriend, my imaginary one thinks that my perfectionism and tendency to be right is admirable. He clings to my every thought and word,” she fluttered her eyelashes cutely. If she were magic, she would have made a halo appear above her head.

He rolled his eyes at her and nodded. Tell her! His conscience yelled. RIGHT now. He ignored it as he had been since the last time he saw her. “A new book?” He asked instead.

She nodded, flipping the book over in her hands inspecting the front and back cover carefully. “Yeah...I try to read three books a month. The last one was a little dense but this one is a quick read. Entertaining, ya know?” She smirked. “It’s a little cheesy but it’s cute. It makes me happy,” she shrugged.

Harry thought that was sweet. He wanted her to be happy.

Stop. It.

She watched Harry throw everything in the washer in one load. “You should separate the light and dark stuff.”

“I’ve never had a problem with it before,” he shrugged. “S’this you trying t’be right again?”

She laughed and looked at her lap. The heat rose to her cheeks. “No, actually. Told you, just really like laundry. I notice a difference in my own stuff. But if you don’t obviously it’ll be fine,” she shrugged back. “I just really like laundry,” she repeated.

Part of him wanted to do exactly as she said. But even Harry, not just his conscience, thought it would be too much. She watched as he poured in the detergent, closed the lid, and then he hopped on top of his washer just like her. They were facing one another. She could see how green his eyes were now, a little bloodshot around the iris, she wondered if he had a late night and what from. His smile was sweet, a deep dimple dented the middle of his cheek depending on which side of his lips lifted when he smirked. But right now, he was smiling completely, making him look so innocent and boyish. It made her stomach flutter.

“So...are you in school still? Or do you have a job?” She asked.

“M’gainfully employed. Work in the financial district.”

“A corporate sellout,” she remarked neutrally.

Harry smiled again shaking his head at her banter. “Oh? And you, Sunshine? Y’work for the Lollipop League?”

“It’s the Lollipop Guild, and Lullaby League, actually. But no,” she snorted. “I work in the hospital as a counselor,” she said. “I can see how you would think it’s like being on the set of The Wizard of Oz.”

Harry tapped his fingers against the washing machine and pursed his lips at her. “Mus’ be a tough job,” he murmured.

She nodded. “It’s rewarding though. Gives me a cathartic cry about once a week,” she opened her book back up to where she stopped. She felt Harry watching her though and she realized she probably shouldn’t have admitted to an almost stranger that she cried so often.

Harry hated the idea of her sadness. She was the embodiment of sunshine. Tears shouldn’t have been allowed in her eyes nor on her face. His conscience was angry and loud. Harry Styles stop it.

She let the silence wash over them and Harry didn’t seem to mind. They both went to their books and read silently for a while. She giggled cutely every so often and Harry thought it was an adorable sound. He wished he could ask what she had read. He wanted to recite things to her that made him think of her.

Harry was properly and crazily losing his mind.

The words on the pages of her book blended together. She thought Harry was meant to just be looked at for hours upon hours. He was so insanely beautiful it made her mind turn to mush.

He had to be her soulmate, surely. He mentioned her favorite movie and book completely unprompted. She wanted to ask if he had ever read the book or if he liked the movie. If he would ever want to watch it with her in her apartment cozied up on the couch with apple cider. Growing up, her dad read the twenty-four chapters in a loop over the course of months and years. She found Oz completely magical. It was unbelievable that a total stranger would bring it up.

It had to be fate, right?

She could probably recite the book from memory. When she found out about the movie, she watched it on VHS and then DVD and now streamed it at least once a month or played it in the background when she did chores. It was something she had little ones watch at the hospital and she dressed up as a different character every Halloween to pass out candy to the little ones when trapped in their hospital rooms.

Fortunately, her washer buzzed, alerting her she was done, and Harry glanced up briefly and gave another cute little smirk that she was beginning to think was simply meant to keep her up at night—and maybe looking for things to wash.

“So...s’jus’ you in apartment 304?” He asked.

She smiled to herself. If this was his way of flirting it was lame. “Yeah, just me.”

“Awful lot of laundry you’re doing,” he muttered.

She threw her stuff into a dryer, tossing in the scented beads that made her clothes smell good along with a dryer sheet. “I told you I do laundry the right way.”

He chuckled and she thought that his laugh might have been her new favorite sound. “S’fair, I suppose,” he remarked. Slipping off his washer, he inspected her new book and the back cover. He mentally wrote the title down once more. “Do y’have a favorite book?” He asked.

She nodded. “S’kind of silly. It’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. My dad used to read it to me before bed. And I like history and there’s theories on the symbolism for the populist movement—I don’t know. It just makes me think of my childhood and of course the movie was just—” She stopped suddenly, and Harry was completely riveted by the beginning of her explanation.

“What, Sunshine?” He asked so gently. It felt like he was wrapping her in his arms and whispering in her ear. It was like he was trying to reach into her chest and hold her heart in his hands himself. It was sweet and she hated how nice it felt after they had spoken in total for maybe seven minutes since meeting.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. But she could feel his gaze warming her as he watched her fiddle with the dryer. “Just...don’t want to bore you about The Wizard of Oz.”

He ignored what his conscience was shouting at him once more. “I don’t think y’could bore me,” he murmured.

She turned then, looked at him with these beautiful round eyes that he swore were little suns and brightened the whole room as she met his gaze. “Guess the only way we’ll find out is if we keep chatting. Tell me about your book,” she suggested gently. It was an invitation and Harry didn’t really know what to say because the book hardly made any sense over the last few minutes. He was intently focused on her when he was supposed to be reading. He managed to make up something about how it wasn’t much of a page-turner yet but liked it well enough and thought it would get better.

Eventually, Harry’s washer signaled it was time to switch to the dryer and he worried their time was truly limited because before he knew it, her dryer was done. She stayed to fold her stuff, and they continued reading and chatting casually.

She was falling hard for Harry. It seemed it was inevitable. Between the gentleness he showed her in such a short time, the mention of her favorite story, and simply being there during her favorite chore, it was like Harry was meant to meet her. Meant to find her in the laundry room and befriend her so quickly.

There was no use denying she hoped it would escalate to something more.

Harry’s conscience continued to tell him what a terrible idea it was to keep up this...pretense with her. But his heart was saying that he needed warmth, needed the kindness she showed in just the little bit of time he had been around her.

Sunshine was his cure.

--

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[thechekhov]

thoughts on the huge OGL debacle around DnD at the moment?

mmmmmMMMMMM BOI

I was going to be holding off on commenting until something was confirmed by WotC because I hoped to get more info but. I think we basically got what we need. 

For those who don’t know - the CONTEXT:

Earlier last month there was a leak that made the DnD community peek up out of their little holes like a bunch of meerkats hearing a stampede. Y’see, currently, Wizards of the Coast (a company owned by Hasbro, a corporate giant in board-games) is working on a new DnD version that is meant to replace 5e (5th edition of DnD, the most current one). They’re calling it One DnD, and it’s in play-test right now. But there’s a problem. Along with new stuff, they were apparently planning to revise the OGL - the Open Gaming License which had been a staple of the DnD Era since 2000.

The OGL 1.0 was essentially an open world ticket for third-party creators to use DnD game mechanics to build worlds, create monsters, and expand upon the creative base that was DnD. In 2008 they attempted to publish 4th edition DnD under a different, less open gaming license, which ended up severely hurting their overall standing with the community. When they published 5e, they returned to the OGL and DnD has gained traction with the public thanks to various gaming groups (such as Critical Role) rising to fame. Because of the OGL, many people have made adventures for 5e DnD, making monster manuals compatible with the game, and basically expanding on a huge, growing world. There have been kickstarters for new adventures, new compendiums, etc, which were an incredible creative sandbox for just about anyone who wanted to try their hand at creating.

And now it seems like they fucked it up. 

A leak made it clear that WotC is working on OGL 1.1 - which is basically a giant middle finger to everything the original was. They are now demanding royalties from anyone creating new content if they make over 50kᶜᵒʳʳᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ 750k a year from their creations - which in and of itself isn’t super unreasonable.... except for the fact that they can lower this number at any point. 

ALSO with the new OGL (1.1) WotC would OWN the rights to anything made using any of their content (including homebrew made by creators - yes, they would own settings/character just because those adventures use their system) indefinitely, demand they receive financial reports from anyone making 50k or more.

What’s more, they reserve the right to change their own license at any point, with only 30 days notice. (Which basically means that if at any point they decide to demand recompense from people making more than, say, 20k from their little homebrewed setting in 5e, they can do that with nary a month’s warning.) 

“...according to attorneys consulted for this article, the new language may indicate that Wizards of the Coast is rendering any future use of the original OGL void, and asserting that if anyone wants to continue to use Open Game Content of any kind, they will need to abide by the terms of the updated OGL, which is a far more restrictive agreement than the original OGL..." (source)

So as you can imagine, for the past few weeks, the entire DnD community and the ttrpg community at large have been gearing up for either a fight, a mass exodus, or both. It would not be the first time. 

And then, just recently, we had another comment, this time from inside. An email was sent out, which has been evidently confirmed by one of the recipients as true, describing what is happening inside of WotC. 

[I'm an employee at WotC currently working on and with business leaders on the health of the product line. If you want I can provide proof of this.I'm sending this message because I fear for the health of a community I love, and I know what the leaders at WOTC are looking at:

They are briefly delaying rollout of OGL changes due to the backlash.

Their decision making is based entirely on the provable impact to their bottom line

Specifically they are looking at DDB subscriptions and cancellations as it is the quickest financial data they currently have.

They are still hoping the community forgets, moves on, and they can still push this through

I have decided to reach out because at my time in WotC I have never once heard management refer to customers in a positive manner, their communication gives me the impression they see customers as obstacles between them and their money, the DDB team was first told to prepare to support the new OGL changes and online portal when they got back from the holidays, and leadership doesn’t take any responsibility for the pain and stress they cause others. Leadership's first communication to the rank and file on the OGL was 30 minutes on 1/11/23, This was the first time they even tried to communicate their intentions about the OGL to employees, and even in this meeting they blamed the community for over-reacting.I will repeat, the main thing this leadership is looking at is DDB subscription cancellations.Hope your day goes well,PS will be copying and pasting this message to other community leaders]

(source)

As for my comment in all of this? 

I won’t pretend to be a local expert in legal terminology. Others can probably parse the full leak far better, and I don’t think there is anything to be gained by running around in a panic and screaming...

However. 

The fact of the matter is, Hasbro/WotC are shooting themselves in the foot. I don’t believe they have the right to destroy the original license. Make a new one for OneDnD? Sure, knock yourself out. Try it, see how popular it’ll be. But destroying the community-driven 5e will do only that - destroy it. They will not be gaining any money from the fans which are already plenty used to supporting small-level creators first and large companies second. It’s a supremely counter-culture move which will eat them from the inside out. 

The only ones that I feel for are Critical Role - who originally played in Pathfinder and then switched to 5e and paired up with DnD Beyond.............and are now being screwed over because they’re likely locked in a contract with WotC and are contractually obligated to not speak out negatively against the changes. 

In my heart of hearts, I kinda hope that their tablets all mysteriously ‘break’ for the next few games and they go back to pen and paper instead of barking out DnD Beyond ads as they’re expected to do. But I don’t know if that’s something they can afford to risk. 

(.....though hell, I hope they try to afford it. They have a community that will stand behind them, and that community has MONEY. We won’t know until we know, though, and I know that there are legal repercussions that may go beyond a simple income slap on the wrist.)

Personally, here’s my two cents: 

I think people should cast a vote with their money.

 Cancel your DnD Beyond subscription.

Don’t give any more money to Hasbro or Wizards. Keep playing whatever 5e games you want, but do it using third-party digital character sheets, OR just go old school and do pen and paper. Let me know if you need sources for it. 

Don’t buy the Players Handbook, leave DnD Beyond behind, don’t engage with One DnD. There are resources out there that let you play the game that also don’t require you giving money to corporations that are only here to fuck around and find out. You want an adventure module but don’t want to bow down to the dragon sitting on its hoard? Hit me up. I’ll give you some alternatives. 

Hell, I myself will be looking into Pathfinder 2e because I’ve heard good things, and if I need to switch any future games to a different system because Fountry VTT or Roll20 will stop offering the 5e presents, it’ll be a very good alternative. Paizo just came out with a statement that they will write their own version of the OGL which will keep the spirit of the open game alive, and Kobold Press is gearing up with their own stuff. 

I won’t be throwing out my own games, and I don’t feel there’s a need to stop playing 5e. I have a Curse of Strahd game to finish, and that game belongs to me and my group now. We don’t need the module - it needs us. 

... all that is simply to say - Wizards may soon be realizing that when you live on the Coast... pirates are never far. 

(edited thanks to corrections from @magpiesarefluffy )

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

If it’s alright, I have a question about Vil and Epel’s relationship. I understand that the accent changing plot line is just a cultural politeness thing that didn’t carry over outside of Japan, but the other parts of changing Epel’s behavior don’t quite make sense.

Why exactly is Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food? And act very soft-spoken? I can’t see how these fit in with the politeness aspect of the table manners, no abrasive language, etc. It just doesn’t give a very good impression, especially in combination with the unfortunate implication of giving Epel a Southern accent for the “change your accent” plot point.

Before I get to responding to the questions posed by this ask, allow me to explain for those who may not be familiar with this controversy! This is so we can all go into reading this post from the same starting point.

I've made titles to denote the explanation of background knowledge and to denote responding to the questions actually asked to me! If you're already familiar with the Vil-Epel-accent debacle then feel free to skip the first section!

Disclaimer: I’m speaking on these concepts as I personally understand them. However, I am not a native Japanese speaker so I’d advise that you consult additional resources with a better understanding of the language and culture. Two resources I enjoy are Yuurei and MysteryShopTLs, who have both also addressed Epel’s accent and how it was localized.

The Accent, EN vs JP

It’s well-known that Epel is a character with a heavy accent who has been explicitly told by Vil, his dorm leader, to alter the way he speaks. In EN, Epel speaks with what appears to be a southern (as in, “from the southern United States”) accent. Therefore, when Vil tells him to stop speaking in the accent, it feels as though Vil is shaming him for his southern roots and culture. This has also led to fans (especially of the EN-only sphere) thinking that Vil believes Epel’s accent is “unrefined” and “makes him sound uncouth/uneducated”, which is why Vil tells Epel to cover it up. I have even received asks conveying as much in the past (here is one example).

In the original JP, Epel speaks in a way that does not closely resemble any real-world Japanese dialect but rather a blend of them. If you ask a native Japanese speaker, they would likely tell you that it is difficult to understand what Epel is saying and that it sounds as though he is speaking rudely or too casually. People could genuinely take offense to the accent because it can be mistaken as something else entirely. This is obviously very different than the real-world accent (which many people can still understand and wouldn’t perceive as rude) that Epel was localized to have. The decision to give him a southern accent, then, does not completely carry over its original JP connotations into EN.

What remains the same in both EN and JP is the reason Vil provides for telling Epel to adjust the way he communicates. As he says in EN, “Speak properly" to which Epel immediately assumes the command comes from a place of elitism/classism and Vil thinking Epel's manner of speaking is beneath him. Vil responds with, "Stop misinterpreting my instructions. I have nothing against your home or its dialect. What I object to is your attitude. Being proud of your home is all well and good, but there is a time and a place for that. The way you address your superiors is entirely unacceptable." (Keep in mind that before this, Epel was the one instigating a fight with Vil and subsequently got his ass whooped for disrespecting an upperclassman. As the victor, he declares that Epel must do as he says--that's the "culture" of NRC. The weak obey the strong, so if Epel wants to do whatever he wants, then Vil challenges him to beat Epel in a fight. Until then, the loser must obey the winner. Epel agrees to these conditions.) This may be a little hard for western English speakers to wrap their heads around, but MANY Asian countries, Japan included, run on a hierarchical system which is embedded even into their languages. Japanese, for example, has honorifics to denote the relationship between the speaker and the listener, as well as variations on the same word depending on the context ("boku", "ore", "watashi", "atashi", etc. are all valid ways to refer to oneself, "onii-san", "onii-sama", "aniki", "kyodai", etc. are all ways to refer to a brother, whether blood-related or not). In some cases, it's considered rude to call others by their first name unless you know them well, and even then it's not common to see a first name without an honorific. This is not as strictly adhered to in English, which is perhaps where a cultural disconnect occurs. What Vil is referring to in his instructions to Epel is what is known in the world of linguistics as "code switching", or changing how one communicates to suit the situation. Part of code switching is changing one's "register", or the level of formality you use. So for example, I could use a colloquial/casual register when I speak with my friends, but I may shift to a more polite and formal register when I speak with my professors, a boss, or an older relative. Vil, then, is critiquing Epel for not speaking politely to his seniors (something which is expected in Japanese culture, but not expected among those in similar grade levels in western cultures).

In the Harveston Sledathon event, we get to venture to Epel's hometown and hear how the locals speak. Indeed, we get more instances of people who speak in the same way Epel does. It's the Harveston dialect, which is so distinctive that it basically sounds like a whole different language. (There are also languages like this in real life; consider Mandarin and Cantonese; technically they are both "Chinese" but Mandarin and Cantonese speakers would not be able to comprehend one another even if they use the same written language). However, it's notable that Marja (Epel's grandmother) and the mayor of Harveston are able to code switch flawlessly into a more standardized tongue. They explain that this is a skill they have developed because it helps in communicating with tourists/visitors to the village and for whenever they travel to the nearby city to sell their wares. This reinforces Vil's point that there is a "time and place" for certain ways of speaking, which Epel needs to consider.

Macarons and Soft-Spokeness

Accent thing aside, some English-speaking fans take issue with Vil's stern treatment of Epel, particularly in instances in which Vil seems to be exerting significant control over his underclassman's behaviors. (Japanese-speaking fans largely do not hold the same sentiment.) Examples of this include Vil forcing Epel to state that his favorite food is macarons, as well as making Epel present as soft-spoken even when he's just among his peers. I will now be addressing both of these points. TO BE CLEAR, I am NOT trying to defend Vil but rather I'm just going to speculate about why the circumstances are the way that they are and/or why perceptions of his attitude may differ.

Starting with macarons! It is stated in Epel's official profile and by Epel himself in his Birthday Boy vignettes that his favorite food is yakiniku (Japanese grilled meat). However, macarons are also listed as his favorite food, and this is notable because he's the only character with two foods listed instead of just one. In the aforementioned Birthday Boy vignettes, Epel is quick to qualify his love of meats with, "Well, I do have one thing I like even more. It's, ah, macarons." When asked what he likes about them, he says, "They're... cute. And sweet! And they come in lots of different flavors." His voice here sounds hesitant, so it's not clear whether he's being entirely honest or not. He even admits in a whisper that, "[Macarons] are not very filling, but still." Epel again complains about macarons being good but not very filling when he has some in the City of Flowers/Fleur City. To this, Azul asks, "Why do you look so unimpressed, Epel? I thought macarons were your favorite food. [...] But was my intel mistaken? Would you prefer something with a stronger flavor profile?" Epel insists he is fine, and Azul responds with, "Excellent, then my intel bears out." This creates some confusion over whether Epel actually likes macarons or not. I doubt that the information Azul has on others is inaccurate. Plus, Epel states of his own free will to the player (who is interviewing him) that he also likes macarons. This leads me to believe that while Epel doesn't outright hate macarons, he does like them alright (but still prefers grilled meat more). The only thing he seems to have an issue with is how unsubstantial macarons are as a food item.

Now... why does Vil make him state that macarons are his favorite food instead of grilled meat? It's sort of touched on in Epel's Ceremonial Robes vignettes. In them, Vil chides Epel for his poor table manners and asks him to state his favorite food. Epel responds with grilled meat/barbeque, which earns him a smack from his dorm leader. (Vil actually smacks Epel multiple times in these vignettes as punishment, which ended up being another source of ire in the English-speaking part of the fandom; such a thing is more common in Asia and its media, so it's not seen as too outrageous in Japan.) "Do my ears deceive me?" Vil says. "I could've sworn I heard a word unfit to be spoken in this noble dorm. I will ask you again. As a student of Pomefiore–a dorm founded upon the tenacity of the Fairest Queen–what is your favorite food?" From this dialogue, it can be surmised that Vil's reasoning for drilling the macarons in as Epel's favorite food is because it is something that is more befitting of the regal "image" of the Fairest Queen and the dorm made in her honor. Vil seems to regard grilled meat as an inelegant food which does not suit the Fairest Queen nor Pomefiore.

The second thing the asker brought up is Epel's soft-spokeness. I guess I'm a little confused by this??? Soft-spokeness is a part of being polite; it ties back to volume control (ie "indoor voice" being softer than "outdoor voice"). I also don't recall a specific instance of Vil chastising Epel for NOT being soft-spoken at all times. He allows Epel to be loud sometimes and raises his voice himself. I feel like volume is not something that Vil harps on as much as other things like cursing or speaking politely to the correct authority figures (unless, of course, volume is important to the level of politeness required for the current conversation). I could be wrong on this though, so please let me know if you know of any specific instances of Vil being mad about Epel speaking loudly that I may have missed! What I do find odd is how... consistently (?) Epel tries to keep polite even when Vil is not around to monitor him. When Vil and Epel first met, Vil makes it clear that there is a "time and place" for Epel's accent, and it's not when addressing seniors. So... by the logic, shouldn't Vil be okay with Epel acting more relaxed or rowdy around first years or more casual settings in general? Why does Epel need to maintain the facade of being polite even when not in the presence of his superiors? Why does Epel seem to even act fearful about word of his misbehavior/rudeness getting back to his dorm leader and even make others swear they won't divulge the incidents to Vil?

One theory I'll propose is the entirety of book 5. Vil was insistent then on having Epel in the NRC Tribe. He wanted to weaponize Epel's cuteness, which he believed could compete with his long-time rival, Neige. This probably fed into Vil's demands for Epel to appear and act dainty and innocent, traits which Neige effortlessly possesses. Vil literally even refers to Epel as his "Poison Apple" that will help him defeat Neige. After book 5, Vil seems to have eased up on his rigidity. However, I will caution that this explanation may or may not align well with vignettes and/or event stories, which do not always work in a cohesive timeline with the main story.

Perhaps a more all-encompassing explanation is... this is probably because Vil is just very strict about how his dorm members present themselves at all times, since they are expansions of Pomefiore and of himself as the leader. Both the macarons and Epel's attitude are reflections of the dorm he (a celebrity who is very aware of the public eyes on him + his reputation) is affiliated with, and Vil won't have them poorly represented. He is the dorm leader, so he has the "right" to rule and impose his ideals as he sees fit. It's a similar situation to Riddle forcing the Heartslabyul students to follow silly, nonsensical rules (because they're tradition) or risk a scolding or a beheading. And again, Epel is following along because (as established in book 5), he has agreed to submit to Vil’s orders until he beats Vil in combat.

At the end of the day, I don't think Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food is a huge deal. Is anything that big lost in claiming you like something that isn't your actual favorite food? It's not like Vil is forcing Epel to claim he likes eating something that would actually harm him (like, if Epel had an almond allergy or something).

What's more dubious is how VIl governs Epel's attitude and temperament at seemingly all times (to the point of eliciting some apprehension from Epel). Given the most generous reading, maybe it's Vil's way of teaching Epel maturity and how to keep his voice down since Epel had zero of it and acted loudly brazen when he first enrolled. It doesn't help Epel if he's quiet and well-mannered in very limited social situations; it has to be "generalized" or expand to other scenarios for Vil's lessons to truly be instilled in him. (Like... what would happen if Vil DIDN'T hold Epel in check? His classmates would not be able to understand Epel's speech, and he might get into trouble by picking fights with others.) This is a life skill that Epel lacks, unlike his grandma and the Harveston mayor, and Vil's teaching it to him via "tough love" (though whether you approve of his methods or not is up to interpretation). Recall that Vil also teaches Epel to embrace femininity as its own strength and to disregard outdated gender norms--this could be considered another "lesson". I doubt that anything Vil imposes is done maliciously, but rather comes from a place of wanting others to be better and to shine their brightest, even if that path is difficult or painful. Epel, as the rebel in this circumstance, of course does not enjoy being told what to do and misbehaves in small ways. There’s a limit on how much he can misbehave though, as it would hurt his pride to be reminded of his failure to one-up Vil. He's like a kid that doesn't want to be caught cussing or acting out by his parent. It can be seen as immaturity and an unwillingness to change or to grow up, but it can also be seen as someone who wants to freely be able to express themselves or to be their "truest" self. Epel is rowdy and headstrong, and it's difficult for him to repress these parts of himself. Given the least generous reading, Vil is oppressing and stifling Epel in many ways that extend beyond what his dorm leader position should reasonably allow him to do. In fact, a popular fan translation for book 5 is "The Beautiful Oppressor", as Vil is frequently shown limiting the liberties of his NRC Tribe members during their training arc, not just Epel's.

Which is the truth here? Why do those in the English side of the fandom decry Vil's actions and side with Epel whereas the Japanese side see little issue with this?

I wager that this predominantly comes down to, again, cultural differences. Many English-speaking fans are based in the west (particularly the USA and Canada, where the EN servers first launched), places which emphasize individuality and self-expression. Of course they would be more likely to take Epel's side, as he's the one trying to be himself and stand out in his own way. Meanwhile collectivism--an ideology which stresses conformity with a group--dominates in the east. They are more likely to see no problems with Vil's actions because, to them, he is acting in the ways he is to "guide" Epel and show him how to best "fit in" with Pomefiore and at NRC. I believe the whole "being soft-spoken" thing also ties back to cultural differences; speaking loudly is something else that can be considered rude in Japan, so it's entirely possible that Vil encouraging Epel to be soft-spoken is another element of politeness that did not translate well to English (as the western world tends to be much louder and more animated in their conversations).

What it boils down to is that the way Vil and Epel's relationship was written did not work well for a western audience, whose values and perspective is VERY different from the original audience TWST had. It appeals far more to a Japanese fanbase than a western one, and has resulted in many misunderstandings or anger about Vil's character because of this.

I'm not sure if I managed to adequately explain everything, but I hope that this at least helps you to see from a different perspective!!

[youkaiyume]

Alright, so I've been a fan of Shane, Ryan and even Steven since their buzzfeed days and I've been watching this whole thing with Watcher moving their content over to their own streaming service debacle.

Like most ppl, I think it's a poor business move to alienate your fans like this, but I've been thinking on it more from maybe a financial perspective. I'm wondering how many people actually signed up for it. I saw a tiktok advertising expert say that the conversion rate for ads--meaning the number of ppl to actually buy something when they see an ad is about 1-5%. Like, right now they have about 2.8 million subscribers. And even though they've lost about 50K since and counting, they probably anticipated some loss. I'm sure they've mathed that if they just get at least like 100K conservatively out of their nearly 3 million fanbase to sign up, they'd be able to make $600K a month from their streaming service at six bucks a pop each month.

Maybe that's worth it? I'm not exactly sure how much they were making before. Ppl say they had 11K subscribers on patreon before but that's just their member total. Actual paid members was about 5K. But despite the controversy, their patreon member count has actually gone up. Today it sits at 12K members total with nearly 6K members paying. So they're making at least $30K-70K+ a month currently on patreon based on their offered tiers. not sure how much they were making on ad revenue alone or sponsors cuz I'm not sure how that stuff works on youtube. But maybe by their own accounting they think the loss of followers was worth it if they can hang on to that small, loyal but paying minority.

Another youtuber has pointed out that if you have a sponsor for a video and it's a one off, it can pay more. Up to $35K. So if that is the peak and they release 1 video a week, so 4 a month would be like 140K a month on sponsor money. And youtube pays about $10 per 1000 views a video, and they average 1 mil each video. So about $40K a month on views. So we can guess that they made about $180K a month currently on youtube (patreon and merch sales not included).

Honestly, if they can reach the goal of 1-5% of their subscribers converting to their streaming platform, yeah they probably would make more money in the long run. IF they can somehow manage to retain as well as grow those number of subscribers on their new platform. And don't forget, they don't plan to delete their current videos on their youtube channel so they'll still be earning revenue from those videos. We'll have to see I guess given how much goodwill they've lost with their audience.

Tbh, I am all for them trying to get paid more for their work but I also think they could have transitioned much differently, like only putting some exclusive content on their own platform while also posting free shows to youtube. Or maybe delaying releases for a week or a month for youtubers. or cutting back your production costs if it's really killing you cuz everyone has pointed out they liked the ghoul boys when it was just a black screen with text scrolling by saying "wheeze." Only time will tell if this move paid off for them.

But I'm not super knowledgeable on how the entire youtube thing works so if someone has some insight, feel free to weigh in.