#a very shallow sense of community too

[basketobread]

I feel like lunara if she could would just... take knocked out minthara with them. She would come back to the group just dragging this unconscious drow woman behind her and the group would be like" ??????" And she's like " I just think she's neat "

THIS MADE ME LAUGH SM CUZ YOU'RE TOTALLY RIGHT DSFIUHFDSISD but also: lunara, you may want to fix her, but i can accept her as she is...

[strictlyfavorites]

George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate.

An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

[anxious-witch]

I think the reason why there are so many amazing ships in Dead Boy Detectives is because the show manages to show different versions of love/lust/devotion through different relationships all characters have.

Like, love triangles have been doing the whole "a girl has to choose between two guys who each being out a different side of her" for over a decade in popular media, some more, some less successfully. But the pitfall they often fall into is that those differences seem very shallow and often ignore the other aspect of the main person who have to choose between the love interests.

Dead Boy Detectives makes sure to not do that.

When we look at how Charles is with Crystal vs how he is with Edwin, we can clearly see the difference. In the beginning of his and Crystal's dynamic, he is flirtier and puts more if a bravado, but he pretty quickly opens up to her. Because he sees that she very quickly sees past his facade he puts up with his constant happy-go-lucky persona. Only when he starts opening up to her and showing his emotions does their relationship progress. Because after David, Crystal needs someone who can be emotionally vulnerable with her and in turn, Charles offers her the same, and offers her a safe space.

In contrast, we see that Charles is more at ease around Edwin. They know each other deeply, and are also woven into each other at this point. It's easy, like breathing. One thing it doesn't do is challenge either of them from the status quo they have built over the years. But there is a sense of ease there, and such devotion. There is no question about what they would do for each other because the answer is everything.

That said, while they both bring out different sides of Charles, those sides of him feel intricately linked to one another! Which is why Crystal coming into the pictures begins changing Charles' relationship with Edwin as well! It brings to light things they have ignored. And in turn, Charles' clear and unwavering devotion and loyalty to Edwin prompts Crystal to learn it herself. To quote Jenny in ep 8, "you were about to leave and never see these boys again, but now you are going to save them"? And yes, she does exactly that.

This even has influence on Edwin and Crystal's rs directly, which I can't recall ever seeing in a love triangle before, at least not in a positive sense. But it's so clear that Charles loves both of them that the other learns to love them too, and they realize their own similarities through it, too!

As for Edwin and his many love interests, well. I know there has been a lot of debate, especially around Cat King vs Charles dyankics with Edwin, but the thing is-you are comparing apples ajd oranges here.

The Cat King is enamored, fascinated by Edwin, and yeah above all, attracted to him. This dynamic serves to challenge both of their characters' beliefs and shake up the power dynamics between them. Whenever you like the Cat King or not Edwin clearly reciprocates the attraction part, at the very least.

Charles loves Edwin and is devoted to him and Edwin to him turn, as discussed above. What is difficult about their relationship is that it became stagnant due to lack of communication, which is why they needed other relationships to shake up that dynamic.

But to address the most prominent comparison I saw, which is the Cat King saying he'll wait for Edwin vs Charles going to Hell to save him.

Both are types of devotion, is the thing. A profession of love, if you will. To this day, we consider Penelope a faithful, loving and devoted wife for waiting for Odyssey for 20 years. Cat King saying he'd wait for Edwin isn't any small confession, given he is aware it could take decades, if not more.

Don't get me wrong, Charles going to literal Hell to save Edwin and succeeding where Orpheus and Eurydice failed is an enormous success and a way to show you love someone. I am not minimalizing that at all.

I am just saying that, for who these characters are and given their rs with Edwin, they did exactly what they were supposed to. They expressed in which ways Edwin had influenced them and what they can offer him if that dynamic becomes romantic.

Cat King represents experience, patience. As an immortal he has all the time in the world to wait for Edwin to return from hell, because he believes Edwin is strong enough to return on his own.

Charles represents love that breaks all obstacles in their way. He goes to save Edwin because he believes Edwin deserves to be helped in the way he helps others. He deserves to be saved.

My point is, there is no better of worse way of loving someone. The character in the love triangle choose the person that better alignes with who they are and who they wish to be as a person. So yes, you are absolutely allowed to say "I think this character would choose person a because it alignes better with their character development" but comparing the two as one being superior is kinda pointless imo? Exploring different dynamic of a character is the goal here, right? Either through canon or fanon.

...I was gonna talk about Crystal/Niko and Edwin/Monty too but this post got away from me to uhh. Might do another one if anyone is interested but in their way! I adore the way DBDA explores different sides of characters while still making them feel like a fully rounded person and doesn't shy away from letting one rs influence other rs character has.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

American Psycho Killer: The Sequel

Summary: After Leon perfectly got away with murder and finally got the chance to be with the girl who lived just down the hall, he hasn't noticed that she, too, was just like him.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, death, smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic, yan!reader, stalking, masturbating (female), dry humping, this might be my nastiest work yet

A/N: RAHHH GUESS WHO PASSED HER PSYCHOLOGY FINAL- ME!!!! im a certified psychologist now (this is joke btw)

[part one]

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

People always seem to forget that not all psychopaths are the same. Sure, most share the same goal. But not every psychopath is the same. According to Kurt Scheinder, there are different personality types within the psychopathic community.

Leon's an affectionless psychopath; he's cold, antisocial, manipulative, and very assertive. He's a perfect murderer who kills anyone who dares to touch or hurt you. But he won't show or tell you how concerned he is for you. He doesn't feel love. No, it's quite different.

Psychopaths can fall in love with other people, but it's not the same. Leon's emotions are shallow and empty. But he still wants you to be his. He's possessive over you, he wants you in a sense that he can't even explain it himself.

But what he doesn't know is that you were also in the same percentage of psychopaths. You aren't affectionless, you're an obsessive psychopath. Obsessive psychopaths are people who are extremely possessive and become obsessed with people. These types of people often act on their jealousy and sexual fantasies. What he didn’t know was that you were deep down the trenches for him.

After having sex with the man, he cleaned you up and left your apartment room. It was late and he had work tomorrow, like every day. You felt conflicted, in a way, you had sex with your neighbor on the day of your ex's funeral. If you believed in God, you were sure he would send you straight to hell. But you didn't care. Leon made you feel things you hadn't felt before.

You found yourself thinking about him and the way he filled you up. Luck was with you the next morning when you bought the last morning-after pill. The woman behind you glaring at you as you shamelessly grinned at her. You didn't care, why should you? You didn't want to get knocked up, as much as you'd love the idea of carrying Leon's child, you barely knew the man.

But that didn't stop you from taking his pictures every time he walked by. Your phone angled slightly as you took pictures of him when you two were in the elevator, or when you'd see him from your window as he walked away from his car. You'd watch him like a hawk watching the fish in the river, waiting for the perfect moment to claw deep into its fins and carry it to its nest.

Was this illegal? Probably but then again, most things were illegal in such a fucked up and greedy country. You cheated the system; too smart for them as you found loopholes around the terribly written constitution. You knew you could get away with anything if you played your cards right- a gamble.

Being a psychopath isn't praised in society, people hate such disconnected individuals but being a psychopath yourself, you actually blended in. No one would question your obsessive and stalking habits. No one would even guess that the sweet girl from the apartment building had a wall full of candid photos of the blonde agent.

You stood back as you marveled at the sights. Hundreds of photos plastered on the beige wall, all from different angles and days. Some you took when he had his morning jog, some were when you stayed up all night waiting for him to come home. Something about the way he looked when he was exhausted just turned you on. The wall was right in front of your bed. Every night, when you'd go to sleep, you would stare at the pictures and get all excited about your perverted fantasies.

As you stared at the wall with the photos, your hands slipped down your pajama shorts. Fingers rubbing against the lacey panties you wore. It was perverted but a part of you took pleasure in the way the countless pictures stared at you as you rubbed your clothed clit. Back arching as you bit your bottom lip, trying not to be too loud for the neighbors to hear.

It wasn't enough. You needed more.

Poor pillow, you thought as you took a long pillow from behind you. You sat up and straddled the pillow as you faced the Leon wall. The picures staring right back you as you rocked your hips against the comforting material. Wetness pooling in your panties, making them stick to your needy cunt as you humped the pillow, pretending it was him. The wetness seeped through your pajama shorts, feeling the cold slick collect as you rocked your hips. If anyone were to see you, you'd be embarrassed. Going off on the pictures of your neighbor as you rode the pillow pretending it was his cock. Your clit rubbed against the lace material of your panty, your folds gliding with ease as every hump. God, you felt like a teenage girl when she first discovers what Wattpad is.

Moans collected in your throat, daring to escape as you shut your eyes tightly closed. Bliss overtaking you as you grinded against your pillow harder and faster, like a dog in heat. Your hands squeezed tightly around the soft fabric of what you pretended would be Leon's shoulders- maybe neck if you wanted to feel more dominant. The pillow slowly began to get stained with your slick as you neared your orgasm, the way your panty roughly grinded against your cunt and clit set you aflame. It was all so wet and arousing; it got your back arching as you could just picture his cock thrusting up into your womb, sliding through your tight gummy walls as he would grip your hips and bounce you on his leaking cock. Even the thought of him made you cum faster. Feeling the way his muscles would feel and flex as you drove him to the edge from your riding, the way his sweat smelled as if it was an aphrodisiac. Addicting. He made you an addict.

Cumming hard on the pillow, your thighs trembled and your moans escaped your lips. As you rode through your high, you couldn't help but feel conflicted once again. This was psychotic behavior but who was here to judge you? Exactly, no one. Not even Leon's pictures who were staring directly at you. With a quiet sigh, you got off the pillow and began to clear the mess you left. All while you kept thinking about him.

-

The landlord of your apartment building was a strange man. Supportive, but strange. He had a basement in which he'd host events about anything. He believed he was some sort of Messiah that was sent by God to help cure the people of whatever was pestering them. Today was no different; you found yourself sitting in one of the chairs in the basement along with the other tenants. Leon was there too. Sitting on the other side of the basement with his arms crossed over his chest as he sat far away.

"Thank you all for coming, today I want to talk about a few things. Like grief. We know that the death of a recent tenant has been...difficult to overcome," the landlord began- referring to the guy that died from the fire. They never caught Leon, so no one suspected a thing, not even you.

"The fire department has told me that I should revise a fire drill in case something like this happens again," the landlord's voice was soft and you could swear he was high. Or maybe he wasn't and that was just the way he talked, either way, it made you want to fall asleep.

"Just so we're clear- there is a fire exit only on the right side of the building. The door to the stairs will only open once the smoke detectors have detected a fire. Do not, and i can't stress this enough, do not pry it open. Those things cost a fortune and I'd hate to have to increase everyone's rent." Everyone grumbled at the thought of paying more for some idiot's actions. Leon, however, just remained silent and observed. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, just admiring the way his brows were pinched together as his lips were a straight line.

For a white man, he looked very attractive. You'd let this white man colonize you.

And then his eyes landed on you. Those piercing blue eyes that were hard to read found your own, and he held eye contact. Daring you to look away, to which you couldn't. You were too enthralled, as if he threw a spell at you. Not like you'd mind, of course, but this man was intimidatingly attractive.

You had to pull your eyes away from the intense eye contact as the landlord kept talking. From your peripheral vision, you could see how a woman approached Leon and sat down next to him.

At first, you didn’t think too much of it. You thought but not too much. Until her laughter made its way to your ears. Her laugh was as if nails were scratching on the board of some classroom. You hated it. It drove you insane.

Her laughter could be heard- it was fake and forced, it had to be. No one laughed like that. She had to be flirting with Leon and it only made you feel rage and jealousy. God, you needed to calm down. Or maybe you needed to kill her. His expression wasn't different. He was simply just staring at her. How you wished that was you sitting on his cock as you memorized his face. As you counted the blackheads he had on his nose, as your eyes traced the wrinkles and acne scars. You wanted to memorize his entire being.

Kill her? The thought never appeared in your head but who were you to argue against your thoughts. You trusted yourself.

Once the landlord had stopped talking, you were the first one to dash out of the basement. Not without looking at how the woman basically threw herself him. Her breasts pressing against his chest. His face was unreadable, just coldly staring at her as she tried to seduce him. It made your blood boil. How dare she do that to your man? She needed to learn her lesson.

The next few days, you've been studying. Not because you had exams, no, you studied for other reasons. You studied the human anatomy as well as some chemistry.

One night, around 3AM, you came back from the library you were in. Just freshly studied, you had many ideas on how to kill her. A part of you, the good part, thought that this was immoral and terrible. But the other part told you that no one, absolutely no one, dares to flirt with your man. He's not even your man officially but he might as well be for all the times you masturbated in front of his pictures.

When you were on campus, you "borrowed" some tools. Of course, you were going to be nice and return them to the STEM building before they even charge you for overusing their supplies.

Being an obsessive and jealous psychopath, you're bound to be reckless and impulsive. But not this time. This time, you were going to be calculated. You had a plan orchestrated for her murder.

You made your way to the security room where the security cameras screened the halls of the apartment complex. As you lock picked the door, you entered quietly. Your footsteps softly thudding against the carpeted floor. The room had about 8 or 9 TV screens that showed different angles of the different floors. On one of them, you noticed Leon walking through the parking lot. He must've come back from work; he usually does at this time.

Hacking the security cameras weren't easy. You desperately wanted to just smash the entire setup, but you knew that would only make you more suspicious. You needed to control your temper. Plus, you wouldn't do that to your landlord. He's a cheap guy and would rather not pay from his pocket, he'd probably increase the rent to pay for the damages you could cause.

After some minutes, the screens all turned static, giving you the sign to proceed with your plan.

You stepped out of the room, closing the door on your way out. Leaving it exactly how you found it.

You climbed the stairs to where your floor was since she lived just a few doors away from you. She moved into the dead guy's apartment; you thought it was dumb. Why would you live in a place where someone just recently died? That's bad luck because now she was going to die because of you.

Once again, you lock picked the door to her apartment and looked around to make sure no one had seen you. You knew Leon just came back from work, so you needed to be quick as to not let him see you like this.

You entered her apartment swiftly and silently, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The apartment was dark and silent, except for the soft snores coming from just down the hall. Where her room was.

Your footsteps were soft and quiet as you made your way towards her. And there she was, sleeping peacefully on her stomach. All sprawled out on her bed as her hair covered her face.

Quietly making your way towards her bed, you kneeled down beside her and took out a small liquid bottle.

Potassium chloride (KCI), it read.

You didn't know a thing about chemicals and what they do, but to be honest, you didn't care. All you knew was that this stuff could be lethal. And that's exactly what you wanted.

Taking out a syringe from your pocket, you punctured the top of the bottle and pumped some of the liquid into the tube of the syringe, making sure it went past the middle line imprinted on the plastic container.

For once, you were glad to have access to the labs in the STEM building. The things you could do... but that was a thought for another time. Right now, you had a job to do.

Finding a vein on her neck was easier than you thought, based on the way she was sleeping, her neck tensed, and a vein was popping out of the side of her neck. The blue line traveling down her skin.

As you aligned the needle on her vein, you pushed without remorse. The needle penetrated her skin as you injected her with the dose of KCI. You watched in awe as the liquid entered her system. A dose enough it would cause cardiac arrest, instant death even.

You decided to leave her bed as she slowly succumbed to her death. You stuffed your materials back in your pockets as you stood up. What you failed to notice was the pair of footsteps nearing the bedroom. As you turned towards the door, you immediately noticed the figure lingering in the doorframe.

Leon.

Leon watched you kill that woman. He saw it all happen right before his eyes. But his expression was still cold and unreadable. He stepped towards you and stood in front of you, staring down at you.

'Hm," he spoke quietly, "well, this isn't something I was expecting," he muttered.

You didn't know what to say as you stared up at him. He knows what you just did but you don't feel regret.

After a short moment of silence, he spoke again, "I was going to kill her."

Your eyes widened at the confession; he was going to kill her?

"Why?" you asked quietly. The ends of his lips tugged into a faint smirk as he watched your expression, "Because she was annoying you."

You were stunned once again. He was going to kill her because he knew she had annoyed you? He really was the perfect man.

"Now," he stepped closer to you, leaning down until you could his breath on your face, "Why did you kill her?"

It would be embarrassing to tell him that the only reason why you killed the woman was because you were jealous.

As you nibbled on your bottom lip, you tried to come up with an excuse, "Like you said... she was annoying me."

Leon wasn't dumb, he knew you were lying. He brought his hands to brush away your hair away from your shoulders, "Don't lie to me," he muttered as he twirled a strand of hair in between his fingers.

"Fine," you muttered back, "I was... jealous." You felt embarrassment shot right up through your body as you told Leon the truth.

His smirk widened slightly as he let go of your hair, "You were jealous? Why? Because she was all up at me?"

You nodded, "Yeah... i didn't like how she tried to flirt with you."

He looked at you and then back at the woman laying on the bed, "I'm impressed."

That comment was sent straight to your core, wetting your panties. It was almost pathetic, how much power he had over you. If you weren't in this woman's room, you'd totally straddle him and ride his cock like how you rode the pillow.

As he turned to look back at you, he noticed your concentrated expression. His brow raised slightly at the sudden profound silence coming from you. But he didn't mind, you were still standing there in front of him and that was enough for Leon's shallow heart.

"Leave," he muttered as he looked at you. This caused you to pinch your brows together. Why would he want you to leave?

"Go back to your apartment, I'll clean the evidence for you."

Your mouth fell apart after he said that. He was willing on cleaning up your mess. But you were sure not to leave a trace behind... not really. You weren't wearing any gloves. You mentally slapped yourself for the small mistake.

"I'll meet you when I'm done," and with that he got to work. He walked around with disinfectant wipes and alcohol as he made sure to clean everything you had touched.

As he did that, you walked out of her apartment and went over to yours. A lot of thought scurried through your mind; thoughts like: why is he helping you?

A part of you felt guilty for killing someone but the other part of you didn’t. The id and the ego. A constant battle between what’s wrong and what’s right.

You did think she deserved it. But at the same time, you and Leon had sex. That must’ve mean something, right? Does he like you? Does he want to have sex again?

A part of being a psychopath that not many people know is that they are one of the most hypersexual people ever to exist. One single thought about him and it gets sent straight to your pussy. It’s not necessarily bad, you just have a lot of needs.

Part of you couldn’t wait for him to finish cleaning up and come to you. But a part of you also didn’t want him to see the amount of pictures you had of him on your wall.

As you walked to your apartment, you settled yourself in your bed, staring straight at the Leon wall.

What would he think of you if he saw this?

Would he be creeped out?

Insecurity ran through your body as you thought about it. Overthinking the possibilities of him reacting to just how obsessed you were with him.

You quickly got up and began to try and take off the photos of him on your wall.

However, just as you pulled a few of the hundred photos, you heard the noise of someone clearing their throat. Your head slowly turned towards the sound and your face fell pale.

It was Leon.

“Are those pictures of me?” He asked as he stepped towards your room. Standing closely next to you as he stared at the wall. His eyes scanned each and every one of the pictures. Almost as if he was impressed more than disrtubed.

But he didn't look disturbed. He had a small smirk on his lips that flipped your guts inside out. What exactly was he thinking?

"Yeah... they are," you murmured under your breath as you looked back at the pictures.

"You keep surprising me today," he muttered and turned his head to look at you with that stupid smirk. The smirk that made you feel so many things at once, "I never took you for... a stalker."

Your cheeks flushed red from embarrassment, and you quickly looked at him, "I-I well-" You didn't know what to say. What could you possibly say without looking even more demented.

"I like it," he whispered and stepped closer to you. His expression still remained distant but there was something in his eyes. A dangerous glint of possession.

You turned your body to look at him, staring up at his eyes. Something was starting to form in the air, and it was dangerous. As if gasoline was being poured into a barrel of fire.

Without notice, he harshly pulled you to him by putting a hand on the back of your head. His lips crashed into yours as his other hand snaked around your waist and he forcefully pulled you close to his body.

His kiss was dominating and harsh. As if he was hungry for you. Your hands gripped around his shirt. Your knees felt weak, and you started to grow dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

He was kissing you like no tomorrow. He bit your bottom lip hard, causing you to gasp. His tongue delved inside and wrapped around your tongue- dancing a battle of dominance that you lost long ago.

His hand went down from your waist to grip your ass cheek, giving it a tight and firm squeeze. He pulled back and pushed onto the bed.

"Strip," he demanded in a low voice. You quickly obliged and began to take off your clothes. His gaze was penetrating you, watching you like an eagle as you got naked under his command. It filled his veins with pure adrenaline, and he wanted nothing more than to claim you.

He saw that you were obsessed with him, and he was finally able to show you just how obsessed he was with you too.

He took off his clothes as well and climbed on top of you and began to kiss you again. His lips hungrily crashed into yours as his hands traveled around your body, squeezing the fat of your hips and squeezing the curve of your waist.

His lips trailed down to your neck, abusing the skin purple and red as you whimpered and moaned for him. His touch was electrifying, and you were going off on it. One of his hands trailed down to your wet cunt as he kept sucking your neck. He chuckled lowly as he felt how wet you'd become in just the matter of two minutes.

"Already so wet for me," he sucked the skin around your collarbone as his fingers faintly hovered over your cunt.

"I bet you imagined this moment, huh? Me fucking you in front of all these pictures you took of me," he grumbled as he inserted his index finger without warning, causing you to gasp and rolled your head back. Eye tightly shut as he curled his index finger in you.

He was going ruthless on you. He inserted another finger in you, scissoring you with speed as he watched your eyes roll back. Your walls pulsated around his fingers, and he could feel his cock getting hard against your thigh. He could feel you getting closer to your orgasm and that only drove him to reach deeper inside with his fingers until his knuckles were buried deep.

He smirked as he saw the way you arched your back and moaned for him. His obsession for you only grew as he heard the lewd noises come from your mouth. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to not be too loud for your neighbors to send a noise complaint.

But he abruptly pulled his fingers out of you, denying you of your release. You whined and looked at him through half-lidded eyes, "Why... why did you stop?" you breathed out. And all he did was chuckle lowly at your reaction.

He was cruel but he loved it. He loved driving you close to the edge and then pull you back into reality.

“Turn over,” was all that he said. You got on your stomach and he gripped his hands around your hips and lifted your ass a little higher.

His hands went around your ass and back before giving you a slap on your ass cheek, causing you yelp. It stung but it felt good.

One of his hands left your hips as he pumped his cock with his precum and aligned himself with your entrance.

He buried his cock deep into your cunt, gripping your waist as he pulled you closer to him, forcing you to take his size. You whimpered as you shut your eyes tightly. He slowly began to move his hips against you from behind, trying to find a rhythm that would be pleasurable for the two of you.

Your face was planted flat on a pillow as he fucked you. Your mouth was open, muffled moans echoing through the room. The sound of his balls smacking against your clit making this look and sound so pornographic.

He could feel your walls tighten every time his balls clashed your clit, “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted. You couldn’t reply, too preoccupied getting your brains fucked out by him.

His speed only increased as he became selfish and obsessive. He wanted to claim you, to make you his. It was psychotic but he needed it. He desperately needed you in his life, even if he’s fucked up in the head.

But you’re also a bit screwed up. What type of person stalks a man and kills for him? You, apparently.

You both have killed for each other. You both were obsessed with each other. One wouldn’t know if it was concerning or cute. Either way, you loved him and he loved you.

“I’m gonna breed you,” he grunted again as he pulled out and pushed back in brutally. His strength like no other, his muscles flexing and tensing.

His dirty words didn’t help either, they were driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. Your pussy clenched so tightly against his cock, wanting to milk him of his seed and force you to bear his children.

“Gonna fill you up- fuck- and make you mine,” he moaned softly in your ear as his hand left your waist and went down to your clit. Circling it and pinching it in between his fingers.

You mewled and moaned, drool dripping down from your mouth as you saw stars. He made you feel so good and you only wanted more.

His cock disappeared into your cunt with every thrust and he ogled at the sight. He loved the way you took him, he loved the way you looked so fucked out of your mind all because of him.

He made you feel this way. And he wanted more.

“You’re staying with me,” he groaned into your ear, “You’ll be mine whether you like it or not- fuck I’m gonna cum,” he grunted and kept thrusting into you. He kept pounding into you.

Every time he thrusted into you, he saw the way your ass jiggled and it only made his cock twitch and throb inside you. He shot his cum deep inside you but he didn’t stop.

He continued to toy with your clit as he kept pounding his half hard cock- which soon got hard again from seeing your face and hearing the way you moaned when he came inside you.

“Leon,” you moaned out lewdly as you neared your orgasm. It surprised you he came first but you didn’t complain, it only drove you closer to cumming.

“Cum for me,” he demanded in a growl. Your pussy spasmed around his cock and you came on his cock.

You arched your back as you came, feeling his deeper into your cunt as he continued to fuck you through your high.

And. He. Didn’t. Stop.

He wanted to cum in you again, he promised he’d fill you up and he never breaks his promises.

“Gonna cum again, sweetheart,” he moaned into your ear as his hand left your clit and went back to your waist.

“This pussy’s mine,” he grunted as he gripped your waist and pulled you on his cock, watching as your mouth hanged open, spilling moans and whimpers from overstimulation.

“You’re fucking mine, sweetheart,” he grunted one last time before ramming his hips into you and cumming inside you once more. His warm cum overfilling your cunt, cum oozing out as new cum entered your body.

He remained inside you as you both caught your breath. He couldn’t believe he’d cum twice but then again, you really did keep surprising him today.

And that’s what he liked about you. You were so unexpected and that only drove him crazy for you.

And you were crazy for him too.

[dykeomania]

PLS write smut for Hazel from bottoms..I need her so bad I fear..maybe like subtop!hazel..is her having a strap too far..I need her..

this is not. a full fledged fic. but this is the first time in a sec that ive let myself be inspired by an ask. this is weirdly switcher and just pure gay-sexier than it is subby!hazel. lmk if you want things to get subbier, bc i can probably do that. but for rn i have.. this image.. and i want you to walk with me on this but also hold my hand because i'm #supershy,

(minors [including 17 year olds 🙏🏽] dni fr, under the cut: not that proofread. strap lol (r!r), foul language, breeding... language... (my bad) (hazel has a strap tho), subtop!hazel except i could've made this shit so much worse so i guess switch!hazel but like, switch!reader, idk everyone's just a whore. there's an "i love you" (or.. multiple, i guess). there's a mirror. there's a vibrator. purely stream of consciousness, i don't even think the position they're fucking in makes physical sense fr. i was bored and i was thinking, so i wrote a lot. this whole thing is not realistic btw. i have very little confidence that hazel's blowing anyone's back out, but. it's my first day out in a min so i'm rusty. all respect to the community. next time when i pull up, i'll offer something a little more tame and saccharine as opposed to [exaggerated p*rnstar moans!!!]. reblogs and whatnot appreciated.)

so, i have this .. picture.

of you putting a bullet vibe in the pocket of hazel's strap before she fucks you from behind for the first time.

she eventually finds the confidence to blow your back out, and tbh, you think it's gonna end with you seeing stars because you can already hear the fucking lottery machines going off in your head. she's fucking you so well, and hazel's problem is that you're letting her know.

at first she thinks she's going crazy. but those fucking mewls into the pillow over how deep she is, how she's making you feel so good, how you've missed her so much, are sending shocks through her clit that the vibe keeps amplifying, everytime her pelvis hits your ass.

if she thrusts hard enough, which god knows she does, it almost makes her buckle over.

you're left clenching the sheets, and gasping against the linen while she fucks you, taking you in a way that's so uncharacteristically perverse that you don't even have the brain capacity to ask yourself why you didn't ask her to take you like this, sooner. her thrusts are quick and shallow, her words breathy and a little sharp. with every jolt of your body forwards as she experimentally blows your back out, it's like you feel yourself becoming more and more removed from this fucking planet. you can't help but cry -- sob, even -- as she makes you into a mess of limbs, leaving you tugging at your tits in one split second, and gripping at the sheets the next.

something happens, though.

where her hips rut into yours in deep, hard thrusts, spaced out by what feels like eternities, you can hear her. she's moaning now, breath quickening and chest rippling everytime her crotch hits yours at a particular angle. she's mewling, and unless you're hallucinating from how fucked up you are, you can hear her --

"fuck... f--uuh--ck, fuck, fuckfuck..."

-- silently beginning to whimper.

the girl goes from bullying your cunt to burying her strap deep enough in it to make the apex of its curve nudge against your g-spot, in a way that leaves your mouth hanging wide open with nothing spilling out of it maybe other than drool, but...

it's the slick warmth of hazel's back pressed nearly flush against yours and the heat of her breath against your shoulder that makes your eyes flutter open, facing your reflection in the floor-length mirror stationed across from hazel's bed.

hazel's in it so deep, you can't even see the strap anymore. and by no exaggeration, it's like an earthquake pulses through her body everytime she nudges her hips into your ass, making your vision blurry. she's rutting into you. greedily grinding her strap into your cunt in the effort of chasing her own high.

it wasn't a secret that hazel was sensitive. more often than not, the poor girl writhed against your mouth whenever she let you put it on her ("let you" is a loose sentence -- she begs for it, sometimes). you don't even know why you're surprised that your girlfriend is getting this close over having a bullet vibe pressed against her clit, hardly protected by fabric. "b--babe--"

what sounds like a plea, amongst the feeling of hazel's thighs trembling against the back of yours, inspires something sinister inside you.

you wind your hips against her, pressing back against the strap and the toy. the sight of your ass rolling against hazel's pelvis, combined with how good it feels is gonna actually, like, make hazel fucking--

"don't cum."

she loses her breath, entirely, and her rhythm, apparently. she slows, as if that was her body's instinct to obey your orders, despite the string of breaths that tumbles out of her mouth. "n-- wha-- fuck, no, nonono--"

you wind your hips deeper into hers, extracting a moan from your own throat -- fuck, maybe your gut, since that's how deep you could feel her. you press your ass into her until you feel the buzz of the vibe against folds, the frequency of it changing and humming as you press it further into her clit. "y--es," you grit. "don't fucking cum yet, hazel."

the dull, rolling vibrations through the fabric of the strap draw hazel's eyes into the back of her head, and then closed. she's grunting now -- or all of the above -- and she tries her best to unchap her lips, fruitlessly dragging over them. the little breaths she takes through them only brings them back to being puffy, pink, and a gateway of noise that gives evidence to struggle.

"gonna let me count you down?" you puff out your sentence in one breath, and hazel can fucking hear the grin in your still-fucked-out tone and it makes her whine louder.

"yeah? gonna fuckin' let me count you down so you can cum in me, haze?"

cum.. in you. three words that you'd never even fucking uttered to her before this, and that she never fucking thought she would ever hear and.. it looks like she can't complain, because her eyes roll into the back of her head and hazel swears that she -- at least, briefly -- meets jesus christ, "oh my god--," hazel slurs, hips rolling impossibly deeper into yours, it's a miracle she hasn't swabbed your cervix yet -- "ohmygod, oh my god--"

"three..."

ohfuck. ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck. it's the soft chorus that she whispers to herself as she starts to fuck herself into you, again, opting for thrusts as a means of trying to regain control with no consideration for your demise. the vision of her blurs in the mirror, and you feel your fists grasping at her sheets again.

"fuck--" you croak. "t--two.."

she pulls you further into her, and at this point, hazel's okay with being written off as a lost cause, 'cause fuck, it's not like she has a choice. the strap brief is soaked and it's entirely your fault, and god, she throws her head back. a mess of words, a mess of sensations, hazel just blurts, "oh my g--od--i love you--"

you burst out laughing at the random proclamation, admist everything.

she forces her head down to watch you, jaw hung open. and at this point, she's just speaking. rambling and slurring and gasping, tears-in-eyes-in-awe-and-all, as she watches you throw your ass back against her.

"iloveyou so much, you're so f--ucking hot, whatthefuck?--"

there's something weirdly sweet about it. something that makes your cunt clench around the strap in a way that hollows you out shortly thereafter, and lets hazel hit that fucking spot just right. before you know it, you're wherever hazel is, cunt fully creaming around the silicon.

"i love you--" you dumbly spit out a giggle, a gasp causing a steam of spit to cascade off your bottom lip and onto hazel's navy sheets. "babe," you warn. "ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggod, you're gonna make me cu---"

"fuckingsayone," hazel, unbelievably pleads while she unbelievably spears her strap into your cunt. "oh my fucking god, say one, please, please, pleaseplease--"

she starts begging. unprompted. "it's s-so good, it's so, so good, feels so fucking good, wanna c--um in you--" and she probably repeats it. probably repeats that she wants to cum in you until she's blue in the face and,

"o-one--"

until you let her.

the noise that's ripped from hazel's throat is .. embarrassing. virginal, almost. fully reverberates off the walls, and she trembles. her clit convulses against the vibe, twitching with every short stream of her release and she folds. poor girl was holding your hips for something -- for reassurance, to get a grip, dear life, perhaps? as her hips languidly fuck and press into the surface of your ass., rocking your near limp-frame after you've pretty much creamed all over her strap.

hazel hangs over you for god knows how long, dark hair shaggy and some strands stuck to her forehead in wavy wisps. cheeks flushed, and lower lip bitten to hell. the bullet vibe fucking dies, thank god almighty, because god knows she was not in any shape to reach down and turn it off.

she stays like that for a while, until she you feel her again. this time, only gentler, and much more like herself. soft hands caressing the skin of your back, her breath warm and shaky as she peppers a splay of kisses across your skin.

as you come from the surface of your own high, you feel yourself hum. still full of her, and dizzy with it. despite it, you manage -- slurring, slightly.

"haze?"

there's a hum, somewhere.

"did that really feel that good?"

hazel distantly nods, brown locks brushing against your back.

"uh.." hazel frowns, letting out a weak laugh. "y-yeah, honestly."

the mental note gets filed away somewhere deep in the haze of your brain and you grin, when you press your ass one against her just for shits and giggles and hear her gasp, from the sensitivity of it alone.

"that's my girl."

[wildfairies]

things that are bothering me the most:

antaam stuff makes no sense, full stop. it's also explained poorly/insufficiently.

most of what we see of rivain is completely uninhabited. i also don't care about more warden shit there, i was looking forward to more lore on rivaini people and culture, especially the seers obviously, we've been dying to know more about them for three games.

every elf we've met is ok with the huge revelations that their gods aren't what they seemed and this process happened offscreen. i would think there would be many different reactions to the spread of info about the evanuris, and i would think it would be extremely important to make it clear that info had spread pre-game.

the venatori are the same nonsensical vague useless boring cult with the most nothing goals. as incredibly lame as they are, it's even stretching my suspension of disbelief that they'd serve elven gods for vague promises of 'power' given tevinter's extreme history with the elves. i would think this would come up at least one single time.

the past two points are part of an overarching issue. the contentious and complex political landscape of thedas that makes the setting interesting feels flat. i'm supposed to believe NO ONE in super-elf-racist tevinter would blame the elves for their gods terrorizing thedas? even inquisition acknowledged this, w solas/inky showing concern that revealing the orb was elven would lead to elf racism.

i'm supposed to believe NO elves who've been oppressed by humans for centuries would think 'fuck them' and join up? what happened to the elves who joined solas at the end of trespasser when they heard he was trying to bring back their empire? at least inquisition had wacky cults for every side.

walking down the street in minrathous as an elf or qunari with no difference is simply absurd, i would literally rather never visit tevinter if they were going to implement it so toothlessly. where is the immediate opinion hit for being a mage/elf the inky takes in orlais???

yes the tone is off and a little shallow. yes the companions communicate too healthily for my tastes. yes i was dreading 'evanuris are behind everything' lore reveals and that's what we got. but i honestly think i could overlook those things if the above problems were solved and it felt like the same immersive, problematic thedas.

i'm so completely infuriated by the worldstate choices i'm going to make a separate post about it. but yeah i was concerned but made no noise, i was willing to wait it out and see how the three choices played out in game. and it's absolutely ridiculous that so far two out of fucking three have basically no impact, and the last one idgaf about unless inky romanced solas. i'm so so so so mad and disappointed about this, especially after staying open-minded when it was initially revealed.

everyone loves companion quests, so i don't know why the game feels like it needs to sell you on their significance. why did we get two different scenes of varric spelling it out to rook: do the companion side quests, or else they won't be able to focus! it's such a weird and superfluous tie-in. i don't get why they went so out of their way to clarify this when it didn't need to be clarified, companion side quests are expected in rpgs and their relevance to the plot is very easily accepted/overlooked.

[sovasleepy]

hot and cold

[gekko x gn!reader] - you're an agent with such a seemingly cold exterior - both physical and metaphorical - but being gekko’s saving grace might change some minds about you.

warnings: the agents kinda make assumptions about the reader, a little hurt/comfort if you squint real hard. brief mentions of injuries, unconsciousness, very minor swearing

notes: tbh a “reyna being a motherly figure to gekko” vibe popped out a little too hard but i digress. requested by anon, i hope you enjoy!

kingdom's agents were well trained.

from the freezing temperatures of russia, to the most humid days on bermudian islands, the agents were resilient to all types of weather. today wasn't supposed to be particularly challenging in that aspect. a routine mission in some section of los angeles didn't sound particularly hot.

in fact, it had been the least of your worries about two hours ago.

you respected all of the agents on the protocol, especially considering the facts that not only were you newest addition, but some of the agents on this particular trip were among the first.

reyna, omen, cypher, and gekko stood next to you as the jet approached the site you were landing at. it felt almost childish to you that you were more nervous to be around your own coworkers than you were thinking about the fact that you could be lying dead any minute now.

they hadn’t ever directly been mean to you.

omen, bless him, was never any good at showing too much concern so you didn’t mind the cold shoulder you often felt from him.

cypher had his own secretive issues, and so did reyna.

that said, you never quite found your place amongst the agents. granted, you hadn’t been here too long, but the creeping and perpetual sense of being unwanted bothered you. to add to this, your abilities directly harmed the abilities of other agents. thus, your training sessions were always against your coworkers, which didn't always seem to sit well.

speaking technically, your ability did revolve around the manipulation of heat just like phoenix's did... only, you controlled the absence of it. the reaction of his abilities made fire, and yours made ice. this meant that you and phoenix either paired a little too well.

or not at all, depending on how one wants to look at it.

and then there were the other agents. kay/o's body produced a little heat, but ultimately couldn't produce enough to shake the ice. the same for killjoy's bots, cypher's tech, chamber's utility, sova's bow, even harbor's water.

and so you began keeping to yourself.

except for on missions, when communication was key. only your communications were down, and had been for some time.

the only people you could find were dead. slouched, bloodied bodies against buildings or in doorways seemed to mock you. luckily, none of them had been the faces of those on the mission with you.

that was until you heard a weak warbling. you called back to whatever created had made the noise, and was met with another weaker sound. still, you followed the creatures direction. after a few moments of sifting through debris, you were met with the dusty and bloody face of gekko.

dizzy sat curled up in his lap. his arm was limp, but bent as if he had been holding her close. for a brief moment, you thought he was dead. however, his chest rose and fell and slow, scarily shallow breaths. he was alive at least. the next thing on your agenda was to find the source of his unconsciousness, and hopefully stop it.

you knelt down to his level. he was slouched against the wall, head lolled to his left. there were splotches of dried blood on him, just the occasional mark on his clothing or his skin, but it didn't appear to be his.

his outer thigh had a darker patch of blood, thicker and definitely coming from him. however, the wound didn’t seem like it would be severe enough to have led to his current state. something else was wrong.

you continued to inspect him. his skin was pale, but cold and sweaty. this had to be the cause, right? but there was something deeper than that, those were simply more symptoms. you looked around and observed where gekko was. the trail in the dirt around him wasn’t footsteps, but was instead the markings of gekko half-dragging himself to where he was sat.

but yet he wasn’t in any danger at the time. the only pair of footsteps that had been close to him belonged to an already-dead enemy. so he dragged himself there for what? the shade that surrounding buildings and debris provided?

of course.

your alignment with the cold also gave you the benefit of not feeling the heat so harshly. it was the middle of a californian summer afternoon, of course it was hot.

heat exhaustion. that’s what was wrong with him.

you allowed yourself to feel the cool of chilled air surround your arms. you passed a hand over dizzy and wingman, who made weak noises of thanks. as much as you would like to help them, gekko needed you more right now.

you sat down beside him and pulled him onto your lap, his head on your stomach and him situated half on and half between your legs. you didn't want to turn him too cold too quickly, worried that the rapid change might cause him more harm. to the best of your ability, you slowly chilled your own body and the air around you.

one hand was placed on his forehead and the other arm hung over chest in an attempt to disperse the cool. dizzy, apparently feeling better, wormed her way up under his feet. elevating his legs was supposed to help too, right? maybe she knew that.

faintly, you heard a noise come from gekko’s earpiece.

“mateo? answer me, mateo. are you okay?”

the voice belonged to reyna. you hadn’t enteracted with her as much as you would’ve liked, but you respected her nonetheless.

you took your hand away from his forehead. after unbinding your own broken earpiece and tossing it, you leaned down to get closer to his. pressing the small button on the side, you spoke into it.

“hello? this is y/n. gekko is with me. i think he’s going to be fine, but he’s unconscious, and i really don’t know what i’m doing.”

“y/n?” the voice belonged to cypher this time. “how about you? are you alright? your communications and vital signs went down. we thought we lost you.”

“i’m… okay, i think? a few bumps and bruises, but nothing too bad apart from the earpiece i’ll be paying for.”

“good.” reyna spoke again. “omen is here, too. we have mateo’s location and we’re on our way. a medic is with us. just keep him alive until then.”

“got it.”

rushed as it may be, the concern they showed you warmed your heart. but everything felt like it was going to be okay. help was on its way, everyone was alive, and the mission was successful.

“just me and you guys,” you spoke, looking down at wingman and dizzy, who looked equally worried.

true to their word, the jet landed close to you roughly three minutes later. reyna was the first one to step foot off the aircraft, and the next thirty minutes went by in a blur. when your brain finally settled from its adrenaline high, you plopped down in a chair next to gekko’s bed in the makeshift-infirmary of the jet. reyna stood at the end of the bed. her arms were crossed and she wore her usual stern and hard-to-read face.

“the doctor said he was be alright, y’know.” she spoke after what felt like twenty minutes of comfortable silence.

you looked up from where you had been spaced out, staring at gekko. wingman was on the floor at your feet and you were absently letting him play with your fingers. however, he stopped to look up at reyna too.

“i hope so. i was… scared. honestly, i was beginning to think you guys would have left me. not that i would blame you. everything was down, you had every right to assume i was dead.”

“never.” she spoke. there was a chilling certainty in her voice. “you are an asset.”

“i suppose.” you paused for a beat, debating whether or not to finish your sentence. “i adore you guys. all of you. i think i just have a hard time finding my value to you all.”

you were met with silence. it festered, feeding the anxiety already unfurling within your chest. finally, reyna spoke again.

“admittedly, it’s hard to join the protocol and feel like you fit in. mateo felt the same way when he first joined, too, but the feeling goes away eventually. he wanted to speak to you, y’know?”

“he did?”

“all the time. he has this… fantastical way about him when he speaks about you. like he has all these… emotions or something built up, and instead of talking to you he’s trying to fit them all into two sentences while i’m still drinking my damn coffee.”

you couldn’t help but smile. you were always so nervous to talk to him, yet you never took the time to consider the fact that maybe he was nervous to talk to you too.

[theriverbeyond]

arcane s2 act 2 THOUGHTS, overall I think this was a lot stronger than the first act --- at the end of the day arcane is a character and relationship (primarily sisterhood/brotherhood/parent-child/family) driven show above all else, with plot as a sort of loose secondary, so like, even though i DO have plot critiques they're feel a lot softer just because the arc was genuinely so enjoyable to watch on an emotional level. anyway #SPOILERS and critiques below. well more like one big excessively long critique but I spent ages typing it all up so here it is:

i think my big critique thus far is pacing and story planning. there is just... a lot going on, for a 9 episode show. like a LOT. like way too much. and I think this was obvious in the first arc, and better managed in this arc -- but that is largely because this arc wildly narrowed the focus. this arc totally left out Ekko and Hermidinger(i can never remember his name. the squirrel dude), the new enforcer squad were basically back to being background characters, and while Sevika, Jayce, Victor, Cait, Ambessa were all present/involved in plot, they all took a big backseat screentime-wise. This allowed the act to really focus in on Jinx & Vi, Jinx and Vi & Vander, and Jinx & Isha, which is of course where the arc really shines -- but it brings BIG concerns for act 3, where presumably we will be back to having a full plate of characters. So I expect the "too much going on" issue to be more obvious in act 3, which is disappointing because that's like, the finale.

following from the above, there's a lot of skipping around that feels very economical but also like.... WEIRD! like.... we are watching a highlight clipshow? or something? Salo gets told "hey check out this healer" -> next time we see him he is totally healed. WHAT? like sure i dont care about him as a character, but that just feels kinda.... like we are really squeezing in here huh!! and we go from seeing Victor heal one dude in act1 -> next time we see him he has set up a whole commune and is playing big jesus. WHAT???? we dont get to see anythijg in the middle?? what about Jinx and Isha reuniting after escaping Stillwater but before finding Vi??? etc etc etc? and sure those scenes would be not be necessary on a "the plot doesnt work without them" level, but these types of "TITLE CARD READS: 2 DAYS LATER, AFTER THE GANG SETTLES IN" situations are happening SO frequently in this season that it really seems like they have too much story to fit into the time they are given, and are now aggressively trimming anything they can so stuff will fit and still make sense.

Basically what I'm saying is the show feels like my twitter reads, where Im a verbose mf and have to aggressively abbreviate words and cut sentences and rambling when I tweet so it can fit the character limit. and sure I don't need all those extra characters and words to convey my full meaning but "economical with time" is not really the best compliment I could give a show. Like why do you have to be so economical. why are we pinching pennies seconds here instead of modifying the plot to improve the pacing.

shallow critique but the "Jinxers" all getting blue hair and pronouns and pink accents was weird. like..... Jinx has a lot of symbols, like the monkey or the shark or whatever, that they could have easily done something like that. and the blue hair is GOOFY!!! the only one who gets a pass is Isha, bc her hair clearly looks like a quick dye/paintjob, versus everyone else who looks like they went to a salon.

I think this is, again, an issue of screentime economics, but im honestly disappointed in the CaitVi reunion. it's not that I dislike the scenes themselves, but it all feels so... easy! fast! like their breakup felt so emotionally resonant and them making up felt so quick. I have my fingers crossed for Consequences (and fallout from both Vi's alcoholic era and Cait's rebound bedsharing) next act, especially based on the preview, but like.... we have so much other stuff to tie up I am just not sure there is enough time for them to really deliver the impact that the breakup promised.

I've been told that they always planned for 2 seasons and had everything plotted out beforehand but the pacing is... really weird for something they had so meticulously planned for two seasons. It feels a LOT more like they wrote a story they wanted to tell, they were then given 18 episodes in which to tell it, and they decided they liked their original story so much that they didn't want to cut anything even though 18 episodes is a huge squeeze for this number of characters/this level of plot complexity.

And I think the quality difference is SO noticeable between the acts that are tight and focused (like this arc here, or the original season 1 act 1 -- both were tightly focused around Vander family dynamics, with some B and C plots. Compare that to act 1 of s2, which feels like trying to the contents of an entire pringles can into my mouth at once)

Related to that, I keep getting the sense that the writers want Specific Events to happen -- they want Jinx to care for someone that represents Powder, in order to coax out that part of her again. They want Cait and Vi to pull a doublecross deception on Ambessa. They want Victor to lead a jesus cult. etc. And then they draw a line from A to B in the most efficient way possible instead of doing things in a way that feels natural or actually rewarding. And then of course the specific Thing they wanted to happen does happen, and they do it really well. And it going really well retroactively justifies the hamfistedness of the setup, but also, should it? I talked about this issue for s2act1 last time but it remains, so.

Anyway that ways just way too many words to essentially talk about one issue. But that one issue (pacing/story planning) just... seeps into EVERYTHING, and I spent a long time typing all that out, so.

This is a bit of a complimentary critique, but I think the wild pacing means that there is a LOT of feeling jerked around emotionally, and I think the show is doing a pretty good job at making that feel exciting instead of confusing, so props for that

Ok now for stuff I liked, because despite my Hater Energy I loved this arc. that is why I have critiques. Because I love it and wish it was better.

like I said, Isha's introduction felt really hamfisted but I can't deny her story crushed my SOUL this arc. I loved that she was nonverbal, I loved her growing relationship with Jinx and it all definitely got enough screen time for Jinx's character development to feel natural/real/earned. I loved that. I cried. oh my fucking god. I love the thematic parallels of it all and I love how it puts Jinx into the role of a parent -- this WHOLE show is about family. sisters and brothers and parents and their kids. this is what it is ABOUT this is why i love this SHOW aughgaaiudsadsafdkha

Jinx's whole character development and everything is so. I don't have brain to write more about it tn but im like. yeah. i love it a lot. she allows herself to try to be the big fat hero...

I love women. This was such a good arc for beautiful handsome women.

I was suuuuper skeptical of Warwick -- I knew from fan speculation the likely connection between him and Vander, and also that he was a big fuckoff werewolf, and I was worried it would all be too goofy but really loved this. Jinx's look of utter terror when she didn't know if she'd killed her father/sister again, the hug, Vander's head touch with Vi, his love for his children bringing him back from thoughtless rage... i loved it. i can't even think about that last scene oh my GOD

I did just complain about the CaitVi reunion but as a homosexual I loved it a lot. Like. It was hot. There was spit and handcuffs and wrassling in the dirt. the almost-kiss when Cait pulled the bag over her head was more intimate than a kiss. there was name calling.

I love Cait having a rebound gf/fuckbuddy. It is SO funny to me, it's an excellent characterization moment for Cait, it's great tension that will HOPEFULLY have payoff in act 3, it's incredible fodder for angsty erotic fanfiction that I hope will soon grace a browser near me. and i hope it influences the CaitVi NETFLIX SEX WARNING scene that will soon grace a TV near me. I hope it is so long it compels me to write 1k words complaining that it was an irresponsible use of screen time

Jinx and Vi teaming up is another thing that felt too fast for me but like, was retroactively justified by how good it was. LIKE!!! Vi protecting Jinx. Parallels to childhood. Their sibling fight. How Vi reached out to her and welcomed her into the family hug. I'm emotional

We finally got to see BLOOD like I'm not a gore person, honestly, but act1 was pretty bloodless even during violent scenes, and I was a little worried that it would just be like that. but NO!!! Warwick's massacre was soooo good and got that blood spraying

I really like how Silco continues to haunt Jinx, and I love the way the show is exploring her grief and like... that she doesnt know who she is anymore. ough.

LOVE Sevika and Jinx's heist/disguise scene, especially all the animation/art details. Like the way Jinx's disguise is so poorly fitted, it's so good. I rewatched that scene specifically like, 4 times

Pitfighter Vi 🧎

as always super interested to hear other people's thoughts, critiques, critiques of my critiques, if im missing something big, etc etc.

[spdrvyn]

i love my husband — miguel o'hara drabble

fluff. heavy inspo on this video.

sorry for the inactivity and the lazy ass title, exam week came around before i could even start on the next request and i did nothing but relax the entire break (which was only FOUR days) so i'll bring this out and see if i can clear my sched enough to actually do shit. enjoy!

the moonlit sky reflects beautifully onto the shining surface of your mug, filled to the brim of chamomile tea and flooding your nostrils with delight as your body melts into the couch.

work kept you on the edge of your seat for the entire week, it was non-stop meetings and non-stop emergency calls even outside of your working hours that had you so stressed. you were sure you'd picked enough hairs out to make a wig.

the weekend is truly a blessing, you want to stay as far away as humanly possible from your phone and shut yourself out from civilization before you come protector of debra's last minute files.

you missed the soft cotton of your pajamas, not like you haven't worn them in the past couple of days but to actually be able to appreciate what it means to wear them and the greeting of a good night's sleep had you sighing and moaning almost a little too much.

you worked hard, you definitely deserved this. you grab a spare pillow and tuck it under your head turning to the side and looking at the city that surrounded you, your patience and tenacity at the office has now been rewarded with the view you're able to appreciate.

however, the shadow that looms over the carpeted floors of your flat don't go away even after rubbing your eyes. you look up and a faint red glow in the symbol of a very familiar spider catches your eye immediately, you smile lazily through the glass.

miguel slides open the door with no hesitation, cape still drifting in the wind from what you can only assume to be his own previous working activities. you can sense the tension wafting off of him like waves especially as he stomps all the way over to where you are on the couch and looks down at you.

his mask isn't off, he's still fully geared, and all you can do is stare back into those lenses.

that is until he surrenders, body giving up, and his body flops right on top of yours. it doesn't really surprise you, there have been times where miguel has come home after a worse day of saving the multiverse and traps you in a hug before you can protest or move. though you've never really seen him do this before.

he adjusts his position, but still keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you as you move as well so that you're holding him back. his face is buried into the crook of your neck and the feeling of his nose tickling your skin tells you that he unmasked already.

not a single word leaves his mouth, you silently adore the way he's melted into you already, the way the muscles on his back rise only to slowly fall again.

you don't want to break the silence, neither of you do. right now, the only form of communication that matters is touch. your lips burning kisses into his curls, your nose now erasing whatever of your tea was left and making the way for miguel.

he shies away from your touch with a small groan, "i stink."

a giggle threatens to break out from the back of your throat, as many times as he would insist that you'd keep going anyway. "so when you do it, it's fine? i see how it is then."

miguel chuckles, he inches himself into you further. deeper. his breaths become less and less shallow, it's clear that he's taking his fair share of sniffs from you as well. "because you smell good."

"i ran a bath, that's why." one last peck to his head and you opt to just comb his hair instead, running your fingers through the strands and observing as they twist back to curl after brushing it some more.

both of you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just being here. existing with each other. you always find moments like these beautiful, even when miguel is probably one work call away from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

in miguel, you've found yourself open to so many new experiences and risks you could've never imagined on your own. despite the many amount of times at the start of your relationship that he'd give you space and wouldn't be mad if you left, you kept still by his side anyway. you knew that he was worth it.

in you, miguel found that mundanity that he's never had his whole life. passing out on the sofa on his own never felt the same, most times he'd wake up still in his suit and would have to go to work right after anyway. yet with you, the stress ebbed away over time because he knew that you'd always be waiting for him.

whatever historians had with their relics, miguel had with you. not to keep them confined in a metal case, of course not, but he felt as if you were to be revered. kissed and touched with utmost respect and you'd bring the people their good fortunes and long lives. you certainly did for him and miguel might as well be immortal now.

his hands wander, fingertips delicately grazing over the skin tucked beneath your nightwear. he goes slowly, traveling up to your chest where he—

"miguel?"

his hands freeze, face going red. the guilt of possibly going too far is ready to break free from his heart and consume him until he can feel your body trembling with laughter.

"since you apparently stink so bad, shouldn't you shower first before getting so handsy?" miguel pouts at your comment, he already had the apologies locked and loaded for you.

"just a few more minutes, corazón."

[tripleglitchwriting]

if you're taking requests, maybe something about g1 beachcomber attempting to communicate and make friends with a human?

I don’t know too much about G1 Beachcomber, but I think I know enough to write about him. Here goes!

Also, I am so, so sorry it took this long 😭😭 I’ve been having a bit of a hard time writing recently.

In That Moment

First contact G1 Beachcomber and human

No warnings!! Other than a few mentions of war, it’s pretty fluffy. Enjoy!

The planet they ended up on was beautiful. It was filled with so much life, most creatures too small for him to hold or see properly, but that didn’t make them any less amazing! The sheer variety in each and every species was astounding. To think they had been here all this time, just waiting for someone to find them.

The Ark had landed near one of the planets many oceans. Water covered most of planet actually, which made for quite a wide array of biodiversity both on land and in sea. The area he’d found himself in had tall trees with only a bush like flourish of leaves on its top, plenty of grasses and flowers, as well as a lot of sand. A lot of sand. Not his favorite, but things like that were common in places unlike Cybertron.

In the water nearby he spotted splashing, something other than the crashing waves hounding the shore. Out of curiosity he trotted over to investigate. A slick, gray marine lifeform was making arcs leaping from the water into the air. It was too far out for him to truly get a good look at it, but it was a fascinating being even from where he was standing. Just as he stepped into part of the shallows in a vain attempt to get closer, there was a scuttling at his pedes.

A very small crustacean was darting away from him. Unfortunately Beachcomber was a little too big to properly handle the thing without accidentally hurting it. It seemed to have an array of legs with two large pincers on its front. For protection maybe? Hunting for prey? It crawled out of sight before he could figure it out. Beachcomber ex-vented. There had to be something here he could get closer look at….

Oh well. He still had some time before he had to get back to the arc. Optimus had specifically told everyone not to get involved with the local dominant species, but how was he supposed to pass up an opportunity like that? The war had robbed him of peaceful interaction with countless other races. Now that they were hiding here, maybe he’d have the time to communicate with a brand new people!

The time passed slowly. Most of the organisms were either too far in the water or too small to handle. They were all terrified of him too, which made sense, but it was still a bummer. He’d really hoped to make a grand discovery here, it seemed like a great habitat for plenty of species. Turning away for the water, Beachcomber decided it may be time to give up for the cycle. Maybe he’d try a different place next time, or a- OH!

When he came to turn around, something new was standing in front of him. Bipedal, strikingly similar to a Cybertronain, just… smaller, and with… fabrics, and… carrying something. He hadn’t seen anything on this planet wear fabrics before… or approach him willingly, this had to be the sentient species of the planet! How lucky was he to meet one just as he was about to leave!

It- or, they, he supposed, began warbling something at him. This was a fantastic opportunity to communicate! Quickly Beachcomber fell to his knees in order to get closer to the new person, inadvertently causing the ground to shake around them, the person stumbled. They took more steps back in hesitation, obviously weary.

“No, no, sorry, I’m not tryin’ to scare ya.” Narrowed eyes met his own optics. In an effort to connect, Beachcomber held out a digit. “See? I’m not hurtin’ nobody.”

Their little eyes sparkled with curiosity, and though he detected a healthy amount of hesitation, they put both their hands on his one digit after flinging the object they were carrying over their shoulder. The tiny servos were warmer than he thought, it was very pleasant feeling actually. Their lips curled up into a shy smile.

Beachcomber could hardly contain himself. This was the discovery of a lifetime! Well, maybe not a lifetime, but it was still fascinating to witness! They weren’t as afraid of him as the rest of the creatures, they were intelligent, sentient! He’s been over that fact in his head before, yet it still astounded him. Prime might be upset with him if he knew… but no self respecting bot would pass up an scientific opportunity like this. Maybe Wheeljack would want to see… no, actually, on second thought that’s probably a horrible idea. Bumblebee maybe? Or Percy. He wasn’t even supposed to be here though, what is he was found out? What if- a sound coming from below dragged Beachcomber out of his thoughts. The person was doing something with the object they had, seemingly opening it. It’s a carrying device then!

They bent down and set it on the ground, still wearily gazing up at him. From inside the device, they pulled out some small rectangular object with a glass lens in the middle and some other bits and bobs around its front. Of course he didn’t have any idea what it was. Alien technology isn’t something easily understood at first glance.

In his frenzied daze, Beachcomber completely forgot one key component about actually communicating with this new species: language. That didn’t stop him from trying to talk to them anyway.

“Hey, what’s your designation little guy?” The creature raised the object to its optic and pressed a button, causing the thing to make a bright flash at Beachcomber. He immediately went on the defensive and positioned his helm much farther from the thing, ready to use his servos is need be- a product of fighting for so long. However, the flash didn’t seem to have any effect on him or the creature, though his little friend was visibly caught off guard with his sudden movement. Primus, he really needed to stop doing that if he was going to talk to this thing!

Not long after a small white slip of something began to come out of the bottom of the device. The creature grabbed it and began waving it around in the air… was it another attempt to communicate? Or maybe a threat display or some kind? Against his better judgement, Beachcomber brought himself closer once again. This time, he resigned to observation. Studying other species always intrigued him. Organic species especially, he could never get over how soft some of them were! Like this one, their little cheeks were so pinch-able! Oh how he would love to talk to them about it… but at the moment the language barrier was too large.

Or so he thought.

The white slip began to change color the longer it was waved in the air. He hardly noticed it at first, and he couldn’t get a good look at what was appearing before it was turned away from him. To Beachcomber’s surprise, they began warbling at him again, and to his even greater surprise, they showed him what was on the slip.

It was him. It was a picture of Beachcomber.

Needless to say, he nearly shouted at the poor thing in pure excitement. Luckily he was able to contain himself through the power of focusing all his energy into thinking about the implications of this rather than actually moving or saying anything. What is this technology? How did they do that? Did they make it themselves? Oh, the questions he had were making it hard to think!!

“What an interesting lil’ one you are…” He slowly raised one of his digits to them. They backed up, hesitant, but he didn’t chase them. He just kept his digit patiently in place. As it seemed, that patience was about to pay off.

The creature stared at him for a second. Then, after carefully setting down their device, they raised their own tiny servo to his digit. Their squishy little palm radiated warmth. Beachcomber radiated utter joy. Their itty bitty face shifted from what he assumed was fear to an astounded wonder. He could even feel something that reminded him of a sparkbeat behind their digits. He couldn’t hide his smile.

Unfortunately, the bearing of dente seemed to scare them a little. The wonder on their face was replaced with nervous concern as they retracted their servo and took a step back. Beachcomber immediately covered his intake and shifted his weight away from the creature. They were so skiddish! But that was probably how any rational being would react in this situation…

Now what was he supposed to do? He could try again, they responded well to the slow movement before, maybe they would understand he was trying to make a positive connection. Maybe he could find them fuel, they’d like fuel, right? His mind traveled elsewhere as he became lost in thought. Just when he decided on what to do, (try slow moments again) he felt something on the tip of one of his digits- one that was splayed on the ground after he moved back.

It was the creature. They’d made their way towards him while he was preoccupied in his thoughts. The expression of contemplation he held previously dropped like a weight off his chassis. At that, they smiled. It was awkward and unconfident, but it was a symbol of mutual understanding. He didn’t know exactly why… but it felt like an apology.

Beachcomber pulled his lips into a much neater grin. The creature brightened up at that, chirping at him and bouncing in place. He took the opportunity to move his other servo slowly towards them. They acknowledged the change but didn’t shy away. Carefully, as they stood there with wide and curious optics, he rubbed a digit on their helm. He was both ecstatic and astonished to see they didn’t try and push it away or take it as a threat. They just waited until he was done.

When he did finish, he figured it was time to take the next step. Beachcomber slowly brought his servo down palm-up right next to the creature. They were a bit confused as to what he was trying to do, but when he took his other servo and tapped his palm with a gentle metal clink, they seemed to understand. With weary but brave movements, they put one pede on the living platform. Then another. Cautiously, they made their way to the dip of his palm.

Beachcomber gave them a second to find a comfortable position. When they did, he began to move. He began slow enough that they would be able to jump off if they felt uncomfortable. To his delight, they stayed put.

As the planet’s star began to dip down under the horizon line, Beachcomber held the creature close to his chassis. His spark was filled with complete warmth for the first time in a long time. It was a comfort he’d been missing since the war started.

The two simply sat there in a serene moment of peace and appreciation. This planet wasn’t his home, but it was the home of the friend he made today. No matter what, he vowed to protect this harmony at all costs. But for now, he resigned to watching the sunset and feeling the lightweight creature on his servo tap a soft and gentle beat on the metal.

In that moment, it seemed like everything was going to be okay.

[crow-n-tell]

I had a lot of trouble with this lil guy. Weird lil music men aren't easy to shift over when their body's are so... Weird. Still, here! Hermit Crab Music Men!

If you wanna see what went on in my mind for this come right this way...

So a lil info about these boys! These lil music men have adapted to live in the safe shallows, as well as some undersea areas if need be - having two different palettes which match... you've probably guessed by the additions of orange in the music mans usual pastels

Acid mushrooms! I realized as I was trying to get it all sorted that they are a nearly identical color scheme so it worked out that their colors are a little wacky. Not that real life crabs aren't a bit audacious in their colorings too. Actually the deep sea version of this guy is based off a purple crab called the Palawan Purple Crab who comes from the Philippines.

Their colors are more so for other crabs of their species to recognize them, or so I've read, but in this particular scenario it suits our lil music man as a sort of camouflage too.

Aside from it being a sort of camouflage, it also gives you insight into these lil guys diet. Most of what (I really need to come up with a name for these guys, but all I keep thinking of is crab rangboom. like crab rangoon? but a sound pun.) they eat are poisonous, which has directly affected how predators view them. Yea see, there are certain families of crabs which are toxic only because they are eating things that should not be eaten.

So music men don't have a lot of predators, other than those who have natural immunities to things like that... ahem, moon.

I imagine that the crabs closer to the surface tend to a little smaller than knee high for an average height human, where as deeper sea versions of them are a lot bigger... Like... I DONT KNOW, Leviathan big? After all these are just lil guys, lets not forget about the big music man!

Next topic is... oh yeah!

Seismic communication is basically communication through vibrations. Not just through the water, actually it's used by spiders which we can all sort of agree is what the OG music boys are. Spiders use seismic communication when it comes to their webs in particular, able to sense through vibrations in their web if they've captured prey.

Similarly a lot of sea creatures use vibrations as means of communication. Not only in the way spiders do, but sensing out prey; but by avoiding predators or talking to each other. Crabs in particular use all three, but in terms of communication to one another its been noted they will rub their legs together like crickets to talk to other crabs.

For our lil crabby boys, their claws are fashioned sort of like the the original music man has. Hollowed out in the center, they are able to click their lil crab claws together to make sounds and vibrations which distress and confuse their prey long enough to snatch em up and eat em.

Of course they also have the very on brand to SB behavior of just being a literal face hugger if they come out of the shell.

m...mmmmm..... no... noo....ooo.......

I guess the only thing left to mention is his lil

Barnacles!

I struggled with how i'd give this lil guy a top hat. Then. I remember how WEIRD barnacles are. You see a lot of barnacles that look a lil something like this:

But they come in many variations!

And I hate all of them! they are great for designs, helpful in this case, but I get nauseous when looking at them and I can't even begin to understand why.

Sorry if my adhd really popped out on this one, I am actually holding back some of the mostly irrelevant information about colors and uh, other stuff.

[strictlyfavorites]

George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate.

An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

[writers-potion]

Hi, I am trying to write a homosexual book that takes place in the 20s. I am unsure where to start and how bad the 20s was for homosexuality so if you have any tips it would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Homosexuality in Historical Fiction

I'm going to answer this in two parts: (1) Tips for writing queer historical fiction, and (2) the 1920 gay culture.

Get Your Language Right

Vocabulary is key to capturing how homsexual people identified themselves and interacted with one another at the time. Consider:

The kind of language/code used at the time. For example, gay men in the 1950-60s would have spoken Polari to skirt UK’s strict anti-homosexuality laws. This might mean your characters say seemingly ridiculous things like, “Bona to vada your dolly old eek!��� (good to see your nice face)

Authenticity vs. Sensitivity. We don’t need to perpetuate old slurs just because they were used “at the time”. Would the readers of today (your target audience) be accepting towards use of such language? 

Is it really necessary? Just like in the case of foreign languages and dialects, it may be better to just refer to the code/secret language being spoken rather than overdoing it in dialogue. Also, does your character identify themselves as a part of this community at all?

Balance Between Struggle and Hope

Often in historical LQBTQ+ fiction, if the conflict is badly written, the readers are just going to feel angry and frustrated. Because:

Even the likable, otherwise reasonable characters won't be able to accept homosexuality easily, often opposing it downright.

Homosexual characters may be confused, struggle with self-doubt and self-hatred (which can't be fun to read, obviously)

The norms of the time make any “resolution” rather disappointing (compared to modern times).

Your goal is to juggle between these strong negative emotions to convey the central message and let hope shine through. Linger too much on negativity and your novel will be dark, but treating these themes 'lightly' will make you sound shallow.

So, treat oppression just as you would write a physical antagonist. It's powerful and a possible life-threatening opposition to the Lead, but it has flaws, loopholes and needs time to regroup before it hits our Lead again with increased force.

+ General Tips

Beware of giving your characters hindsight. As a writer, we know what happened both before and after the time period the characters live through, but they don't! The characters not being able to predict what comes can be a good tragic element.

The word “homosexual” wasn’t coined until 1869, and didn’t become common parlance until the early 20th century. From at least the very early 17th till the mid-19th century, the most common term for women was “tribade,” referring to the act of tribadism (scissoring). Some people used the term “fricatrice.” In the 18th century, “lesbian” and “Sapphist” started to become more common terminology. Men were called sodomites and pederasts (a word which didn’t have the paedophilic connotation it does today). The word “homophile” was coined in 1924 and was most commonly used by gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

“Gay” didn’t take on the almost exclusive meaning of homosexual until the 1960s, and even then, it was still used in the old sense of “merry” more than a few times. Only in the 1970s did it finally emerge as the most popular, mainstream word.

Less suspicions were aroused by a lesbian couple living together for decades than a gay male couple. Many people assumed they were just two very close spinster friends, not that it was a Boston marriage. There were many more questions about why two men would want to live together.

To avoid the very real risk of jail, lobotomy, conversion “therapy,” or the loonybin, sometimes a gay and lesbian couple would enter a ménage à quatre. Though it appeared on the surface as though two straight couples lived in the same duplex or right next door, they were actually just lavender cover marriages. Some had children (through various means) and co-parented.

Photo booths were seen as a safe space where a same-sex couple could kiss, cuddle, and embrace without fear of arrest or public suspicion.

Some lesbian couples were able to adopt children as single women, in jurisdictions which permitted that. More daring couples underwent artificial insemination and then went abroad to give birth, coming home with “adopted babies.”

Similar to the handkerchief code in the BDSM community, some gay men signalled to one another with red neckties and green carnations. Parisienne lesbians signalled to one another with violets in their hair.

There’s a long history of gay bathhouses, dating back centuries. Since male homosexuality was illegal and severely punished, a bathhouse was among the few places it was safe to meet potential partners and engage in sexual activity. Even the very real fear of police raids didn’t deter patrons. Manhattan, Paris, and London were home to many famous (and luxurious) gay baths, but there were plenty of lesser-known ones in other cities.

While not everyone was lucky enough to have a lavender ménage à quatre, many people had individual lavender marriages. Sometimes the spouse knew s/he was serving as a cover, sometimes not.

There were also more “traditional” ménage à trois marriages, composed of the lavender couple plus the true same-sex partner all living together. Sometimes these arrangements were composed of a bisexual plus a partner of each sex.

People did NOT casually out themselves! They could only confide their secret to other confirmed friends of Dorothy and extremely radical allies who had proven they could be trusted and wouldn’t turn on them.

You don’t have to make your straight characters raging, violent homophobes, but it’s completely unrealistic and historically inaccurate to show them all immediately, unquestioningly, lovingly accepting their friends’ homosexuality if the secret comes out. They might agree to not let anyone else know, but the friendship would probably be over. Other people, a bit more open-minded, might eventually reconcile but never be able to completely shake the belief that their sexual orientation is unnatural, strange, or wrong. Some people might only come around after decades of estrangement and realising gays and lesbians are just like everyone else.

To avoid discovery, some lesbians called one another by male names in their letters. Some liked those nicknames so much they continued using them in real life.

1920 Gay Culture

The United States - The Roaring Twenties 

As the United States entered an era of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity in the years after World War I, cultural mores loosened and a new spirit of sexual freedom reigned.

Harlem’s famous drag balls were part of a flourishing, highly visible LGBTQ nightlife

"Pansy Craze”: gay, lesbian and transgender performers graced the stages of nightspots in cities

lesbian and gay characters were being featured in a slew of popular “pulp” novels, in songs and on Broadway stages (including the controversial 1926 play The Captive) and in Hollywood—at least prior to 1934, when the motion picture industry began enforcing censorship guidelines, known as the Hays Code. Heap cites Clara Bow’s 1932 film Call Her Savage, in which a short scene features a pair of “campy male entertainers” in a Greenwich Village-like nightspot. On the radio, songs including "Masculine Women, Feminine Men" and "Let’s All Be Fairies" were popular.

On a Friday night in February 1926, a crowd of some 1,500 packed the Renaissance Casino in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood for the 58th masquerade and civil ball of Hamilton Lodge.

Nearly half of those attending the event, reported the New York Age, appeared to be “men of the class generally known as ‘fairies,’ and many Bohemians from the Greenwich Village section who...in their gorgeous evening gowns, wigs and powdered faces were hard to distinguish from many of the women.”

The tradition of masquerade and civil balls, more commonly known as drag balls, had begun back in 1869 within Hamilton Lodge, a black fraternal organization in Harlem. By the mid-1920s, at the height of the Prohibition era, they were attracting as many as 7,000 people of various races and social classes—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and straight alike.

London - Balls and Adverts

Like other large cities at the time, London was home to many drag balls and nightclubs where the gay community could express themselves. 

"Lady Austin's Camp Boys" (1933): At a private ballroom in Holland Park Avenue, west London, 60 men were arrested in a police raid after undercover officers had watched them dancing, kissing and having sex in make-up and women's clothes. But despite facing a lengthy prison term and disgrace, the organiser, "Lady Austin", told officers: "There is nothing wrong [in who we are]. You call us nancies and bum boys but before long our cult will be allowed in the country."

Other gay men found partners through personal advertisements, which could be an equally risky strategy. 

In 1920 the publisher of a magazine called the Link and three gay subscribers were each sentenced to two years of hard labor on charges of indecency and conspiring to corrupt public morals.

Some adverts even appeared in the national press, such as the Daily Express, although they were not quite so blatant. People would ask for 'chums' of their own sex and offer to take people on holiday.

One man responding to an advert in the Link wrote that he was "very fond of artistic surroundings, beautiful colours in furniture and curtains, and softly shaded lamps and all those beautiful things which appeal to the refined tastes of an artistic mind". He added: "All my love is for my own sex", and wrote that he longed to give his love "in the most intimate way".

Gay adverts often had references to Edward Carpenter, Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman, or would say 'I have an unusual temperament'.

Berlin - The Weimar Republic

The Weimar Republic, Germany’s first parliamentary democracy lasted from 1918 until 1933 and was a time of progressive cultural renaissance from cinema, theater and music, to sexual liberation and a flourishing LGBTQ scene.

Berlin was home to around 40 known queer bars, a number which had doubled by 1925. The cabaret bars and clubs like Eldorado were packed to the brim with lust, tassels, glitter and flamboyance.

Drag shows were the norm and stars like Marlene Dietrich (a Berlin-native) and Josephine Baker who were icons for the queer community, performed regularly in Berlin’s lavish halls.

Kiosks sold an array of well known queer publications like Die Hoffnung (The Hope), Blätter für Menschenrecht (Leaflets for Human Rights), Frauenliebe (Woman Love), and Das dritte Geschlecht (The Third Sex).

As homosexuality was still illegal, Berlin’s Tiergarten and other parks, Nollendorferplatz as well as train stations and the infamous octagonal public bathrooms

Underground spaces flourished.

Here's a list of books with an LGBTQ+ POV character, set at least partly in the 1920s:

Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix

Dead Dead Girls (Harlem Renaissance Mystery, #1)

In the Field

The Lady Adventurers Club

Last Call at the Nightingale (Nightingale Mysteries, #1)

A Good Year

The Last Nude

The Sleeping Car Porter

Once a Rogue (Roaring Twenties Magic, #2)

Slippery Creatures (The Will Darling Adventures, #1)

Crazy Pavements

References

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180212-polari-the-code-language-gay-men-used-to-survive

https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jul/03/gayrights.world

https://www.history.com/news/gay-culture-roaring-twenties-prohibition

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

You expected Ghost to leave you before the morning; he usually does. However, you're surprised to see him rush to your aid after being woken up by violent night terrors. A sweet and unexpected moment between you, that only ends as quickly as it began.

Tags: Romance, Drama, slight Hurt/Comfort, slight Angst, Intimacy, Fluff that turns sour, Mask-Kissing, Arguing, Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, FWB, Jealousy, Toxic Relationships, "Couples", Arguing, Swearing, A Little Melodramatic, I'm aiming for something more real though, Reader is somewhat bratty and immature, Ghost is bad at communicating his feelings, Damaged people not knowing how to talk to each other and let their walls down, reader has night terrors, I wanted representation!

WC: 4.5k~

Author's Note: I'm back from Vegas! I was on a drunken bender on Fremont St. partying with my brother for his birthday this week (I talked to a lot of interesting people too 😏). This chapter might be a little different, I don't know? I'm not gonna lie, after this chapter, the tone is about to take a shift. Please enjoy~

Also, thank you so much @argella1300 for helping me out when I asked. Your insight was greatly appreciated and it really meant a lot! 💞

Masterlist

It came in the dim shade of dusk, tucked in by shadows of your hall -- the abnormally tall silhouette of a man. Stalking you. Haunting you.

He looms at the brink of your hallway, expressionless, unmoving, and yet somehow inching forward all at once. With each step he closes between you and himself, an encroaching darkness fills the room behind him within the blink of an eye.

Who was he? It's a question you've had since adolescence. The answers never felt as true as his unsettling existence.

The world around you is silent, fogged as though you were being held underwater, your mind racing at an incoherent speed. The only sounds you hear are that of your own screaming. You knew what was happening; your body and mind had just been unable to control it.

Night terrors.

You've never told anyone about them before; you've never felt any need to. It's not exactly a hot topic of discussion, nor something you could even put forth any real value into if asked; you can't explain something you don't understand.

They haven't been anything beyond a waking three-minute inconvenience. An on-and-off occurrence throughout your life. But once it happens, there'd be no avoiding it.

They send your body into a mindless, cold panic, the only emotion coursing through your veins being the unknown fear that first woke you. Your arms thrash frantically as you scream, your body feeling as though it were being grabbed by a million hands...

Don't touch me, your mind cries out. Don't touch me. Don't touch me...

...Until you've felt the one, very real hand touch your shoulder, taking with it the darkness you'd thought had all but swallowed you whole and replacing it with the waking world around you.

The morning returns, as do the rest of its unpleasant realities.

"Hey." That deep and raspy Manchester voice is the first sound you finally register, and for once in your life, it couldn't have sounded any sweeter. "Hey," Ghost says again, placing both hands gently over your shoulders to wake you. "Everything's OK. You're in your living room."

Your chest heaves shallow breaths when sitting up on your couch, taking in your surroundings. That's right, you're still in your living room. You'd almost forgotten you'd passed out on your couch last night, now catching the breaking dawn which pooled through your windows.

It always takes you a moment to regather yourself after it happens, having to make sense of what had been real versus some strange in-between with you and your REM state. In those moments, everything felt real, and fake all at once.

Even the shattering and reforming of reality around you could not take your mind from Ghost's hand, which remained wrapped protectively over your arm, fingers trembling with the hesitancy of his own actions.

"Are you alright?" His dark eyes look your face up and down, taking in every twinge your lips made and how your eyes seemed to look in every direction but his own, still glossed over and dazed from sleep. "You just started screamin' out of nowhere."

Once his words run through your head a few more times, you realize that you'd made a scene right in front of the one person you hadn't wanted to know this about you, a new detail he no doubt did not expect from you at all.

Ghost has known you to be many things -- seductive, witty, cold, distant, and near every other synonym in between. He's heard your voice moan in pleasure more times enough to recognize it within a crowd; he's heard you hurl enough insults his way to send even the hardest of soldiers home crying and insecure.

Never has he heard you scream like this before, with such fear and strife. In fact, he can't think of a single time you've ever been so frightened around him. To see a glimpse of that had been more unsettling than he wished to let on.

He'd only woken up a few minutes shy of you, having slipped away to fix himself up and reset his balaclava. His lips had still felt stained by your kiss from last night, the skin on his face tingling off the memory of your touch alone.

Nearly two months he's spent with you in this odd, little fling and he's never actually kissed you like he had last night before. Never for so long. Never so deeply. He wouldn't allowed himself to. Kissing just for the sake of it always felt like a step beyond casual, as much as he often craved your lips on his most exhausting days.

Ghost must have stared at himself in the mirror longer than he should have, just chasing that feeling again, making himself sick with it. He debated on leaving before you woke, though he'd keep that to himself, having heard your screaming once he'd rounded the corner. In which case, Ghost ran to your aid without question.

His first thought had been that you were in danger; perhaps someone had broken in, or worse, you'd been hurt. You might get on the man's nerves, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about your well-being at least somewhat. He never wished any harm to you, and he damn sure wouldn't let anything happen to you if he can help it.

The archway between your hall and you had felt as foreign and distant as space itself, however. When Ghost found you on your couch, your arms writhing, and wide eyes locked on him with confusion and terror, he had frozen in place.

For a split second, he thought that fear had been caused by the sheer sight of him. And then, the strangest thing had happened -- it tore him to pieces being given a glimpse of a reality he didn't know he feared most of all. One where the sight of him brought you complete anguish.

Your screaming didn't stop when he approached you, nor had it stopped when he knelt beside you, saying your name and asking what was wrong, only falling on deaf ears.

Nothing had stopped your screaming, nor these emotions that ripped at him, until his hand had touched your shoulder, and you both felt the sensation of one another.

Your features calmed, your gaze softening at the sight of him, now having been pulled from that sudden trance. In a matter of seconds, you'd just barely managed to get your breathing to a more manageable pace, your heart not drumming so loudly in your ears. You played his words in your head, again and again, until you've slowly regained composure. Everything's fine. Everything's fine.

Had you noticed he had this effect on you? Ghost imagines you'll only carry on as though it were just another thing; the kindest of gestures are often the hardest to notice in the moment, and you never did like to dwell. It only took years' worth of tragedies for Ghost to be able to recognize them himself. Though every now and then, it isn't something he can catch either. He only wishes this hadn't been one of those times.

Embarrassment and shame flood within you like a crashing wave, though you mask it in an annoyed groan, turning your body away from Ghost in hopes he'd take the hint and give you some space. You always hated when this happened around others, most of all around the men you slept with. Slowly, you prepared yourself for your usual dose of reactions.

"I'm fine," you say. "I just... I'm fine." You rub your hands over your face in defeat, before sinking your head into them with a low groan.

There had been reasons you didn't sleep over or have others do the same often, this being one of them. You didn't need to have another guy slowly ghost you because you scared him awake at 2am in a frantic panic; the best way to avoid it would be to not put yourself in the situation at all, right?

But what happened last night hadn't been like any of your normal nights with Ghost. Last night had been something... not quite the same. There had to be some reason you haven't sent him home yet otherwise. You wondered if it had been the same reason why he hadn't gone home yet either.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost sighs. "You might've woken the neighbors with that one."

"It's nothin' they're not used to," you say casually, though the second you do, you wish you hadn't been so cavalier about it. You hadn't meant to invite him into your world like this.

However, no one had been more understanding of these sorts of troubles than he; Ghost knew what a pain it could be feeling as though you needed to explain emotions you had no control over. So he wouldn't ask you what that was about, or why you think it may have happened. He didn't need to know anything beyond the fact that you were OK.

"Well," Ghost sits down beside you on the couch with a dramatic "oomph", huffing to himself with a certain contentment to it. "I've been there."

"I'm sure you have," you groan. You couldn't help being sly with him, even now. It came out of you impulsively, knowing he'd always reward you with some form of attention you both could get something out of. Something you both let sit at the back of your minds all day.

You stretch your arms over your head feline-like, your body now finally feeling as though you'd slept in your living room instead of your bed. Your shoulder ached dully, your back already popping at each stretch you made with your body. The wonderful joys of aging.

"That's one way to get the blood pumpin' in the mornin', yeah?" Ghost jokes, he always did feel a little humor could lighten any mood. "You never scream like that with me."

"Perhaps you should do a better job then," you tease.

"Don’t tempt me, love."

Love. He doesn't call you that often. Only in your most intimate of moments. You hadn't felt your face smiling, but you knew you were.

You looked so innocently up at him after without even thinking. "Tempt you, Manchester?" You give the man a rather tired but still lurid look, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. "Perish the thought," you say. "As if it's that hard to do."

"Oh, fuck off." Ghost sighs, and you can practically feel the man smiling beneath his mask. A smile that felt as warm as a heater come after a snowstorm.

Wind chimes clung lightly outside your window, the finches gathered at your bird feeder chirping blissfully. You both laugh lightly to yourselves, your arms faintly brushing at every small exhale from your noses. And you both sat there even after the laughter, simply looking off ahead of yourselves, with eyes still heavy from waking.

It had felt suddenly a tremendous task to look over at Ghost. Once you've worked up the courage, you catch him gazing out your window aimlessly, peacefully, his body settled into your couch as though he'd been with you the day you bought the thing.

And then he looks down at you. Maybe he felt you staring, but you never noticed how brown his eyes are, or how deep they could look in a dimly lit room. Similarly, he's never noticed how animated your own eyes are, always moving and observing some small, unknown detail. It made his skin crawl delightfully. Ghost would have thought that feeling to be a bad thing, and yet it had been quite the opposite.

Why don't we ever do this? You asked him that last night, and though he'd answered you, it hadn't been the entire truth.

A sudden burst of energy springs from you, pulling you from your seat and inviting yourself onto Ghost's lap, who leans back and lets you do so without question. Your legs settle over his boulderous thighs, humming lightly as he rests his hands back against your hips, sighing pleasantly to himself and looking back up at you.

Ghost did his best not to squirm around too much with you on top of him. It hadn't been the worst thing you two have done together. However, it wasn't common for things to feel so... easy. He could stay like this all morning if you let him.

Something tells him you felt the same way; you don't usually take this long to start getting to the point of things physically.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

You watch your comment bring him to a short pause and find yourself now at the edge of your seat, arms resting gently over his shoulders and not being used to this sudden anticipation towards his answer.

Ghost had thought about being completely honest with you, admitting that he'd been equally surprised. That's when he woke up and saw you still sleeping on the couch next to him, it had been the hardest thing to even excuse himself to the restroom.

Your arms had been entangled around him, cuddled against his large shoulder like a giant pillow. You slept soundly beside him, peacefully, having felt so at ease with letting your guard down, all things considered. An innocent sight too far and few between bitter exchanges.

He's never slept over after before, nor has he ever held you in his arms like this. Yet, it had felt like the most sensible thing to do now, something as natural as breathing or blinking.

He found himself just watching you sleep for a while, still. In the early morning light that crept through your living room window, he sees all these details to you he's never had the chance to; you are beautiful. Truly. And he hadn't meant it in ways that were superficial or lustful. Genuinely, he really did find you a stunning woman. He's always found you so, even behind the toxicity.

Seeing you next to him had made him happy, and all at once, it hurt him the same, knowing this time would always be finite. You'd bore of him soon enough, only to call him later as another passing thought. Maybe one of these days, he'll gather the strength to stop answering.

Even now, with you over him like this, it's odd. He doesn't want to get up, and yet he does. He wants to pull you in closer, and he wants to leave. He can feel himself breathing, yet the sight and touch of you made the air catch in his lungs each time he went to inhale.

Maybe he could just blame that on the smoking.

"Good thing I was 'ere, yeah?" he finally quips.

"Right," you lean forward, letting your nose brush the tip of his just faintly enough for him to long for its sensation beneath his mask. You watch the blond of his lashes flutter innocently, with eyes wrapped up in you even more than they had been last night. "My knight in shining armor. You won't hear me complaining."

"That's a first," he teases.

"Fuck you."

Your kiss is what truly wakes him that morning, your lips sculpting the shape of his mouth through his mask and gently planting slow, light pecks. His arms hug around you warmly, with strong fingers gently grazing their way up your back. He always did like these rare occasions where you'd treat him softly; he liked to think it had been a side of you that only he had seen. Even as he knew it wasn't true.

You continue to kiss him for a little while, the man's hands only remaining comfortably at your back to keep you over him. Ghost wasn't sure how much more he could take of you wiggling about on his lap before he gave you what you were clearly looking for. But it wasn't until you started reaching for his mask that he felt a sudden bolt of lightning strike him.

Both his hands shoot up to grab yours, large fingers hooping across your wrist like cuffs, keeping you just out of reach from the brim of his mask. His sudden hesitancy makes you smirk, and already does he know that you're about to push his buttons.

"Aw," you tease, purposefully rocking your hips into him. It makes you giggle when he huffs to himself. "Feeling shy?"

"Not shy," Ghost says. "Just..." Vulnerable. Anxious. Wary. Careful. "...You know how it is."

"Aww," you start to pout mockingly. "Is that honor only reserved for the special girls in your circle?" you ask. "Or just the ones you don't fuck?"

"For the ones actually interested in sticking around," he says. "Instead of just being some fling."

You can't help but scoff, and Ghost can't help but tense up afterward, already preparing himself for an outburst. You certainly were good for them, and Ghost hadn't wanted to kid himself here either; this would all end soon enough.

It wouldn't be long now... and he knows he should pull away before that day comes. He's lost enough people in his life to recognize not to get close to something that won't last long enough to really matter. So he won't hold back his words with you. You can't have your cake and eat it too, he thought.

But some small, sad part of himself wanted you to fight his words, however harsh that storm would be, just like you always do.

Your shoulders slouch and your eyes drift off somewhere into the room. You couldn't make it more obvious that what he said had stung, in ways you hadn't even known you'd been capable of feeling towards him.

A fling. A piece of meat. That's how you liked to present yourself -- it's how you've viewed others too -- most of the time. So you can't get mad if that's how he sees it.

Yet every time that truth is brought to attention, it can't help but make your gut twist up in knots. As if some delusional part of you felt you could continue to sleep with Ghost and see other men as well without him caring.

You've been in a losing battle with Ghost since you first slept together. You knew on that night that any real formalities between you two were forever gone; you'd already spoiled so many of the first joys of being with someone, and it often left this feeling of things being too late to change. What you have now will probably always be what it is. So why can't you enjoy it for that while you still can? Why must he complicate things?

"I just wanted to kiss you," you admit.

It's the honest truth. You dreamed about his lips; his kiss had felt that good. You never expected him to have left such an effect on you, yet you've woken up, and the want to taste him has not subsided.

Ghost takes his eyes from you, dark orbs lowering to your lips as though to telepathically share the same thoughts as you.

"I..."

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Your eyes turn to the thunderous rumbling of your cell phone against your hardwood coffee table. A phone call.

Ghost looked back at you, expecting you to sit up and answer it. You merely turn back to him, letting it buzz until the call finally drops. You could always call them back.

As you've opened your mouth to speak, however, the phone begins to buzz again. Another phone call. It's this time that you've decided to sit up and see who it is; you freeze once you read the caller ID. Shit!

"Who is it?" Ghost regrets asking the second his voice lets the words rumble out.

"It's uh..." You stumble on your words, purposefully being coy, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Your boyfriend?" Ghost answers for you, and your silence after speaks volumes.

Your boyfriend. Mr. Sweet and Super Understanding himself. This supposed "doomed" second relationship that has been nothing but highs since you've known him, if anything you told Ghost last night had been true. It figures he would call you so early this morning, you two had seemed close after all.

And like the strike of a match, his entire demeanor runs from cold to ticked off. Ghost can do nothing more than laugh to himself, shaking his head as though you'd just pulled the rug from underneath him and blown the ceiling off the roof of your prior delusions.

After all, you got exactly what you wanted here from him. He fixed your car, fucked you after, and now you get to send him on his merry way while you spend some real time with someone else.

Grumbling to himself, almost without him even knowing, he mutters, "I don't know what else I fucking expected-"

"He's not-" You struggle to find the right words to say, feeling as though every sentence spoken made a true difference between Ghost walking out of your life for good or not. The thought made you start to panic all of a sudden. "I'm not with him like that. You know this already."

You're right; he does know this. You haven't lied about a single thing since he drove over to jump your car. "Besides," you start to argue. "Why does it matter anyway? Why do you care? It's not like you want to be with me. You won't even let me look at you! You've said it yourself; I'm just some "slag" you sometimes like to fuck. Why the fuck do you care if I'm seeing someone who doesn't think that way about me?"

Because he hadn't felt that way about you. Not anymore. Not ever.

Never has he met a woman able to push his buttons so effectively, in ways all too familiar to his childhood. But at the same time, this woman, this human who unknowingly held so much power over him without even being aware, you equally found the littlest of ways to creep into his mind and bring him a bittersweet peace he had not felt since his youth.

But if he said that to you would you listen? Would you even understand? You've never been a woman to be tied down. He's known this. Who was he to think he'd be the difference when what you say is true. He has not been kind to you, not until it was too late, and now you've one foot out. How could he blame you for that?

And yet Ghost stands up, a bubble now having been burst. "As though you're so innocent," his voice raises, emotions finally starting to tip. He matches your hostile energy, his dark eyes glaring down at you, a mirror of wounded gazes. "How many times have I been here for you, only for you to cast me aside like an old toy you can just play with when you're bored? All I've ever been to you is an easy out; you've never cared what I've thought-"

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Ghost's eyes shoot down to your phone ringing in your hand, and you swear you've never seen him more upset.

A passing fear of him stepping over and snatching your phone from your hand passes over you, and your entire body language subliminally shifts in response. You instinctively take a step back from him, lightly turning your body to keep your phone from his reach. You'll be damned if he thinks he can try that.

He notices this small action, and a part of himself felt akin to his father, recognizing that fear in your eyes from his mother, even as you hide it behind a biting glare. That feeling alone could have done him in for good.

Though Ghost wanted nothing more than to answer that call and tell that other man to fuck off already, he had more self-composure and respect than that, along with his own moral obligations.

Still, it didn't take long for the conversation to take a turn, and from that point, it had been as though everything this morning had been but a slow build-up to an inevitable argument between you two. It always did come naturally.

It started out antagonistic from the jump. You questioned and belittled his sudden emotional flare-up, criticizing every one of his reactions and ignoring the obvious signs that you really needed to back off and just let him go. Or it would be better to say you didn't care for it.

To be frank, you didn't understand his frustrations. If other men had been such a problem, why does he keep coming back? What is it that he keeps seeking here?

Ghost hadn't been interested in spending his whole morning arguing with you, and physically feeling a grave be dug for the remains of your tarnished relationship. He moves around you and begins gathering his things, needing the air now more than ever.

"Hold up-" you approach him, throwing any caution or personal space out the window, as you've stopped a few steps shy of him. "Where are you going?"

"Back home." Ghost starts to put his boots on, the frustration he controlled in his voice being taken out by the aggression he used to tie his laces. "It's time I've made myself scarce."

"You're just gonna run off now? Just like that? I didn't take you for such a pussy, Manchester-"

"Don't push me, Spice," Ghost warns you. "I mean it."

"Or what? You'll leave?" you taunt. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"And that's the problem," Ghost says, standing up on his two feet and towering over you. "All you ever do is what you want. You never care how your actions affect others or what someone might think of them."

"What do you want from me, Simon?" You finally ask him, voice starting to rise, your chest puffing up aggressively. You'd curse him for getting you so emotionally riled up this morning.

What do you want from me? What do you want? A simple question that had been impossible to answer, because answering it would mean being honest with himself about what's happened with him here. It would mean being vulnerable.

"Stop calling me," Ghost says. "Stop seeing me. Stop being with me. We should never have done this in the first fucking place... This has to stop."

No longer did he wish to feel this way, to feel as though the worst parts of himself came at a constant full display with you. No longer did he want to feel himself slowly start to care for you, knowing that at any moment you could be gone. He's not sure he could handle something like that again.

Your mouth opens, and then it closes, and then you frown. Ghost thought you wouldn't say anything to him. He thought you might even cry. But no, you never were one to just leave things at that. You always had to say the last thing in an argument, and you never minced words.

"Then fucking go already," you say. "Get out. You won't have to worry about me calling you ever again."

Ghost didn't say anything after that, though he had looked at you for a little while longer. If you hadn't known him as well as you think you did, you'd say his brown eyes looked rather sad.

He moves away from you, making his way to your front door and unlocking it. He makes sure not to look back as you see him out. The man wouldn't be able to stomach the sight.

He remained on the other side of the door after you'd slammed it, feeling the wind hit his back and the sharp silence that it brought with it. Ghost then cocks his head back and closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. He felt the warm, morning air hit the little parts of his skin left bare for the air to kiss, and as though his mood couldn't drop any lower, he remembered he still had to go to work with you this morning.

Part Seven Coming Soon. Stay Tuned~

Since I'm trying to explore toxic relationships, I wanted to delve into the complexities a little (while not being so on the nose about it). They have their ups and they have their downs; they blend and happen all at once and take each other's places at every positive or negative interaction. You can have genuine moments of care and empathy with people you simultaneously butt heads and take issue with I feel; nothing is ever just black and white. I'm rambling and probably not making a lot of sense.

But, now that Ghost and the Reader are in the pits, they've gotta look within themselves and fix their shit if it's meant to be. I want to write them in a way where it's clear if they could just sit and figure out what it was they wanted from each other, then this could be something real if they let it. However, life waits for no one, and they're about to be in for a doozy. The mission i have planned for them is gonna be 👺👺👺

Taglist: @cabreezer0117, @homicidal-slvt, @deadbranch, @argella1300, @poohkie90, @glitterypirateduck , @sarraa-26, @quincessimus, @0-444-4444, @crazymela, @13thprogenitor, @joce2fine, @sapszilla, @dmitriene, @justherebecauseafarisucks, @zevrajalexxandra, @corvusmorte

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A FRESH START [23.5]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: fluffy, mentions of trauma, fear of water, mentions of near drowning

Word Count: 2,196

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i am so sorry i have been MIA. Here's something. Someone ages ago requested this scene and I thought it was so sweet I had to do it. I'm hoping to get the actual full length chapter out soon. Same for the other stuff. Better news though, this is the last build up to what we've all been waiting for😘. date night is gonna go very very well.]

#23.5: AM I CLOSE TO REDEMPTION? .

"tickled fingertips, goosebump skin, wandering eyes, shallow breaths, all in anticipation to be completely consumed by you." -Chrissie Pinney

.

“Grogu?” You called out while peering around furniture. When the boy wanted to keep out of sight he was very good at doing so. “Grogu, where are you?” It was nearing bed time which made sense why he would hide. Lately, he’d been wanting to stay up later and later. Usually though it would only take you repeating yourself once for him to come out of hiding. You stopped in place and set your hands on your hips. “Grogu, baby, I’m being serious now. I need you to come out.”

Seconds later, you watched Grogu squirm out from under the couch with a frown. You blinked in surprise. ‘How did he even fit⏤ nevermind.’ He waddled over to you slowly, dragging out the motion, and you knelt down. “Ma…”

“What’s going on?” You didn’t hesitate to scoop him up into your arms. 

“Don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna what?” You asked. Grogu mumbled under his breath a mix of Basic, Mando’a, and gibberish. You walked toward the bathroom, bouncing him lightly, and Din glanced up from where he was working on reattaching a new door to the broken frame.

Din was dressed in his sleep clothes and his helmet’s visor focused on the two of you, “Everything alright?”

“I think so.” You reassured him. “Someone just doesn’t want to go to bed.”

“Listen to Ma, ad’ika.” Din hummed distractedly while shifting his attention back to the door frame.

Grogu was too big for the sink, but he wasn’t quite big enough to shower on his own yet. Din had bought an attachment for the sink that could be filled with water and used as a little tub. Bath time ended up being one of your favorite times with Grogu just because he had so much fun playing in the water. You had even bought him toys and bubbles. 

You set Grogu down on the ground so you could get his bath set up, “Get undressed, baby.” When you got the water to a comfortable temperature, you glanced down to see Grogu was shifting in place. “Grogu?” Something definitely seemed wrong now. You carefully picked him up to stand on the counter. “What’s going on?”

Grogu squirmed uncomfortably and eyed the water skeptically. You reached out to hold his hand, but he must have assumed you were going to get him undressed for the bath. He burst into tears making your eyes widen in alarm and he lunged forward. Quickly, you opened your arms and caught him. He clung to you desperately and sobbed in your shoulder.

“Grogu, I need you to talk to me.” You rubbed his back. 

Din was immediately at your side. One hand settled on your lower back while the other reached out to set his hand on Grogu as well. “Me’bana?”

“No, no. No bath.” Grogu shook his head frantically.

You glanced up at Din, worried, and then back to the boy, “Why not? I thought you liked bath time.”

“No more water. Bad.”

“Since when is he scared of water?” You asked Din in a soft whisper.

“Uh,” Din shifted in his stance and cleared his throat, “Good question.”

“Bad. Water hurt buir.” Grogu whimpered.

Your eyes widened, but Din ran his hand lovingly over the back of Grogu’s head. He threaded through his hair with a reassuring hum, “Ad’ika, that would never happen to you. You’re always safe here.”

“What happened? What is he talking about, Din?” You demanded. Din stiffened and remained silent. You tilted your head and narrowed your eyes in a glare. “Din?”

He cleared his throat, again, “During our trip to Mandalore, there was an incident… I may have, er, fallen into the Living Waters…” Your jaw popped open. “With my gear on.”

“You nearly drowned and never told me??”

“...In my defense, I did tell you that I nearly died three times in one day.”

“No.” You shook your head. “You didn’t. Bo Katan did.”

“Nuance?”

You began to speak but forced yourself to stop. With a glare, you lifted your hand to point at him. “This conversation is not over. You hear me?” Din quickly bobbed his head up and down sheepishly. You returned your attention to Grogu and rubbed his back again. “Buir is right though, baby. You are safe here.” You shifted so Grogu was forced to peel his face away from the crook of your shoulder. He rubbed his watery eyes and you offered him a soft, reassuring smile. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

Grogu sniffled. “Ma promise?”

“Ma promises.” You leaned forward and brushed your nose against his back and forth until he giggled. You could feel your own features brighten at the sound and and snuggled him closer to your chest so you could tickle his sides. Din chuckled from beside you. “How about this? Let’s jump straight to the bubbles today. Yeah?”

Grogu bounced in your arms happily. “Bubbles. Bubbles. Bubbles.”

The little boy’s fears had been qualmed enough for you to get him into the bath’s warm water and you filled it with as many bubbles as possible. Enough that it billowed up and nearly swallowed the giddy boy whole. Din had paused on fixing the door to wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on your shoulder. The cold beskar pressed to the side of you face was comforting⏤ you associated it with Din’s presence and care. 

“So?” Din murmured softly. You could hear the curl of his lips in his voice. “How much trouble am I in, ner kar’ta?”

“Oh, a lot, mister.” You replied and scooped up a handful of bubbles to rest on top of Grogu’s damp hair. “So, so much trouble.” Grogu clapped his hands to make the bubbles surrounding him float up. You turned and pressed a kiss to the temple of his helmet. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Din chuckled and his hand lifted to reach the lid of his helmet. “I’d rather your lips on my skin.”

“I bet you would.” You turned your head to look back at Grogu. “Shame you’re in trouble.”

You heard the deep rumble of his laugh, felt it against your back where his chest was pressed, and a small smile lifted the corner of your lips. You unhooked the drain, but left Grogu in because you knew he liked playing with the water as it spun down. Din shifted so his head hid behind yours and you heard a quiet hiss before you felt his lips press softly to your neck. You still felt the chill of beskar as well so he probably only lifted it up enough to kiss you.

“Can I show you how sorry I am?” Din mumbled against your skin.

“Trying to seek redemption, Djarin?” You teased.

Din tugged on the back of your shirt to reveal more skin to kiss. You tried to ignore his innocent kisses and filled the cup with warm water to rinse off the remaining suds on Grogu’s skin. Din’s teeth brushed against your skin and you jumped just enough to make Din chuckle. 

“Make yourself useful and get me Grogu’s towel.” You chimed. Din squeezed your waist before tugging his helmet down and wandering away. When he stepped out of the bathroom you shook your head at Grogu. “Your buir is trouble, you know that?” He giggled and you ran your hand through his damp hair to make it stand up on end. “Must be where you get it from.”

“Ma like trouble.” Grogu replied.

“I suppose I do.” You bopped his nose with the tip of your finger making him scrunch up his face with a snicker. Din returned with the fluffy, gray hooded towel you had bought him at market and you took it from him. “Thanks, honey.”

You wrapped Grogu up in the towel and began to dry him off. Din put his chin back on your shoulder, “I like that.”

“Like what?” You asked absentmindedly while carefully pulling Grogu’s ears through the holes you had cut in the hood for them. Grogu beamed up at you while bundled up in his towel. “Hm?”

“When you call me that.” Din answered and you could hear the slight embarrassment in his tone.

You pulled Grogu into your arms and turned to smirk at him. “What? Honey?” Din just tilted his head at you. “Who would’ve thought such a simple pet name would make the big, strong Mandalorian weak?”

“Everything you do makes me weak.” Din chimed. He leaned over to press his forehead against yours. After a beat, Grogu began to whine and hold his hands up. Din was grinning, you could hear it in his voice, and he leaned down, “Sorry, ad’ika. I didn’t mean to leave you out.” Din set his head against Grogu and when the boy was satisfied with the love he pushed Din back and lifted his arms up to you. You chuckled and leaned down to press your own forehead against Grogu’s. “Hey, no more stalling. It’s bedtime.”

Grogu blew a raspberry at his words and Din’s hands fell to his hips. You reached out to lightly rap your knuckles against the side of his helmet. “Don’t you have a door to fix, honey?”

Din shook his head while you slipped out of the bathroom to head to Din’s bedroom. You scrounged up Grogu’s pajamas and helped the boy into them. By the time you got him dressed for bed, he was already beginning to yawn and his eyelids began to droop. You set him in his hammock but lingered to murmur a soft lullaby while petting the boy’s soft hair and dragging your finger down the bridge of his nose. When Grogu’s eyes finally drifted close you nestled his stuffed frog closer to his body and tucked him in. Carefully, you pressed your lips to his forehead before sneaking out of the room. 

The second the bedroom door was shut, Din was on you. He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close and dragging you further back from the bedroom. “Eyes, ner kar’ta.” Unable to hold the shock, fear, and irritation that came with the mental image of him drowning, you closed your eyes at his command. Din yanked off his helmet, you heard the sound of it lightly hitting the floor, and then Din was pushing you backwards until you felt your back bump into the wall. You squeezed your eyes closed tighter to resist the urge to look at him as you felt his form surround you entirely. You tilted your chin up, and your lips involuntarily parted in anticipation. Din chuckled. “Good girl.”

The words sent a sharp thrill through you and you let out a soft gasp that was muffled by his lips latching onto yours. Din was everywhere and everything. His hot tongue explored your mouth while his hands roamed your body. They brushed down your neck, across your collarbones, down your sides⏤ Din didn’t let any part of you go untouched. Then his lips followed the path of his hands. You missed the taste of him, but the way he left open mouth kisses along your jaw and down to your neck made you moan.

“Am I close to redemption?” Din asked in a husky voice.

“Getting there, honey.” You repeated the nickname you knew he liked and Din groaned before kissing back up your neck and sucking your earlobe between his teeth. It seemed like Din was making up for lost time when it came to using his mouth, and you were growing obsessed with his obsession of constantly keeping his lips against your skin. 

Din returned his lips to yours for a moment more before pulling back. “We need to go to bed.”

You jutted your lip out in a pout. “Last I checked, we didn't have bedtimes.”

“No, but we have to be up early.” Din replied and you heard the excitement seep into his voice. “Peli will be here before the shop opens to pick up Grogu and then we can leave for our first courting session.”

You reached out to set your hands on his chest and slowly dragged them up to his neck and then carefully cupped his face. Hearing how eager he sounded for your date made your heart swell. Your fingers dragged through scruff that covered his jawline and you pulled him closer to set a soft kiss against his lip. Din seemed to melt in your touch and he let out a sigh through his nose⏤ his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. When you finally broke apart, you grinned in excitement yourself. “Tomorrow is gonna be so great. I can’t wait.” 

Din moved and a moment later that same cool beskar kissed your forehead. You let your eyes slowly open and you were greeted by the sight of your reflection in his dark visor. You let your finger trail against the edge of where the metal met glass. The thought of what tomorrow could bring made your heart flutter in your chest and for the thousandth time since Din returned with Grogu, you thanked your lucky stars that this was your life.

mando'a translations

ad'ika: little one buir: father ner kar'ta: my heart me'bana: what's happening?

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @modiddys-blog @harriedandharassed @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition

[ariaste]

Hi! Regarding your recent post about how you taught your writing workshops, I was reading through it and was feeling very inspired (you sound amazing as a teacher), but I also really wish I had a community like that. Since I'm currently focusing on an original work, I was wondering how do you go about finding fellow writers/betas that you can trust with work and form a mutual writing relationship with? I've looked for and joined many communities like Nanowrimo and discord servers over the years, yet nothing seemed to click? So yeah sorry for the bother but I was wondering if you had any advice :D

Re: "you sound amazing as a teacher" -- aw thanks! I was an INCREDIBLE teacher. That might sound kind of vain to say with so much assurance, but it truly was the first time in my life where I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was doing a really, really fucking good job. (And that's WITH my anxiety, so like. Oof.) I just set out on purpose to be the kind of teacher I always longed to have when I was an apprentice writer, and that got me most of the way there. The rest was just spite for all the shitty creative writing classes I'd had before LOL. I'd already seen all the mistakes myself from the other side, so I just came up with better ways of doing things. And then day one of class, I had them all do a self-assessment of what they wanted to learn in the class, what fears they had, etc, and I was really struck by how universal the sense of insecurity and under-confidence was in all their replies. So that just confirmed what I already suspected, to wit: my ONE JOB (and again, this was a "writing and publishing scifi/fantasy" class) was just to hammer in the idea of, "Your ideas ARE cool, the things you think are cool ARE IN FACT COOL, you ARE allowed to write about queer dragons or whatever and that's an awesome thing to be doing and I'm HERE FOR IT." If the one thing a student takes from a creative writing class is more confidence in their writing and more trust in themself, then the goal has been achieved. If a teacher says anything else, we're verging on snobbery (Iowa Writer's Workshop can go get fucked btw)

ANYWAY.

Finding a beta you click with is a lot like finding a friend or a romantic partner who you click with. That is: there's a lot of fish in the sea, but not all of them are going to be right for you, and sometimes it takes a while to find that special person. It sounds like you're doing all of the right things, though, so just keep at it.

That said, a couple lifehacks: do NOT talk about your work with the vibes of "hey, i'm looking for a beta, does anyone want to beta for me?" because (at least in my experience) those acquaintances often turn out to be sort of transactional and shallow -- think of people who walk into any situation like "hey will you be my girlfriend? i'm looking for a girlfriend. do you want to date me as my girlfriend??? will someone please be my girlfriend?" rather than trying to make genuine connections with people as *people* versus the role that the girlfriend-seeker wants to put them in. (Exception to this: Fandom-specific servers where you are looking for a beta for a fic. Then it's less weird to ask out loud for a beta, because you've already established a mutual shared interest/passion. It's not cold-calling in the same way, you get me??)

Instead, aim to project vibes of "I'm having so much fun playing in my sandbox :) I am having so much fun by myself, maybe too much fun in fact [psychically broadcasting that the fun is in such abundance around here that there would be enough to share if someone happened to wander past...]" Post about your work, talk about it in public, give people little excerpts or tidbits you're proud of. Look for people who express interest in the sort of fun you're having, and then start up conversations about it. Look for people who are having the sort of fun of their own that you're interested in, compliment them on it and ask questions, and build a relationship. (If they're writing the sort of thing you're into, chances are that you're writing the sort of thing they're into. Not always, but frequently!)

Sometimes it is possible to take an existing friend who is interested in your work (or at least supportive of it and loving of you) and kind of train them into being a great beta reader even if they themselves are not really a writer. It takes a lot of self-knowledge of what you're looking for and what you need in terms of feedback, it takes some patience and trust in your relationship with them, it takes the ability to negotiate boundaries and ask really good questions, and it takes a friend who is game to try and who likes the sort of things you like. (Personal recommendation: Don't try to get feedback from someone who isn't even interested in the genre that you're writing. A dedicated literary fiction fan is probably going to have a REAL hard time appreciating your gruesome scifi horror book for what it is, and if they're not familiar with the genre conventions, their suggestions are predisposed to be kind of Weird and Not Right For What You're Writing. Accept their love and support, but also accept that neither of you are going to have a good time if they try to beta for you.)

Trying to build relationships in an open community like a forum or a Discord server is a good way to cast a wide net, but all deep lasting relationships happen on a single line between you and the other person, so look for opportunities to talk to people one-on-one in DMs to build that kind of creative intimacy.

It takes time! But if you're open about the things that are bringing you joy and you're talking about them and setting them out in plain sight, the right people will eventually be drawn to your joy/fun like moths to a flame. Humans cannot resist that shit.

If you've been doing that and it's still not working, check in with yourself -- is your project actually bringing you joy, or are you going through the motions? Readjust, reorient yourself, try again. Lean into it. Go hard or go home. If you're really truly genuinely having fun by yourself, then your eventual readers will too.

If you're doing all THAT and it's STILL not working (that is, if people are expressing initial interest but you can't hold their attention and they wander off once they read your work), then that's a signal that you've got a tension problem.

GOOD LUCK. You will find your people eventually, just keep going! :)