#don’t say moore

[specialinterestshows]

If it’s okay to request, would you be willing to write dom!Liv (IZombie) where she makes you be quiet? 👀 (gn!reader is completely okay)

You got it, beautiful!

I present my very first iZombie ficlet, a dom!Olivia Moore x genderneutral!reader story:

Don’t Say Moore

It had been an unusually tame week in Seattle, leaving the SPD morgue about as lifeless as the few corpses kept cold there. Strolling in, you set your coat down on a nearby chair before quietly creeping up behind a man you’d gotten to know well enough with to startle.

“Got you!” you declare triumphantly as Ravi Chakrabarti jumps at your touch on his shoulder.

"Another busy day going out of your way to harass hard-working medical professionals, I take it?" he asks you, feigned irritation in the undertones of his East London accent.

"Yup!" you reply cheerily, "One down, one to go."

"I believe your second victim is rummaging around the supply closet somewhere," Ravi said, a mischievous grin on his face as he watched you quietly turn the corner.

It was your turn to be startled as the supply closet door swung open, revealing the exceptionally pale, blonde woman you had been seeing for about a week now. Olivia Moore had saved you from a close encounter with a zombie and the two of you had gotten close in the process - as close as a human and a zombie can get without becoming two zombies, anyway. The way she was looking at you today was different: the hunger that you usually saw deep in her eyes as she scanned your body - that definitely-too-sexual-for-work longing glance - seemed to instead have been replaced with the genuinely ravenous stare of an apex predator.

“Babe, you look like you haven’t slept!" you exclaim, surprised to see dark circles around her eyes. Then, upon seeing her shoulder, you began to panic, "Is that a bullet wound? Wait, when’s the last time you’ve… eaten?” your voice gets softer as she walks past you. Despite not having been together long, the two of you had already had your share of arguments about the realities of her investigative work. You had honestly expected more of a fight.

“Rough night helping Clive. I’m handling it," Liv grunts, setting out the medical supplies she had taken from the supply closet and missing the questioning look you gave Ravi, whose eyes seemed to plead you to change the subject.

“It’s just... the detective work you do is so dangerous," you continue, ignoring the doctor's animated grimace, "I know you want to help people, but you're already a medical examiner, right? So do you really need to keep putting yourself at risk doing this detective thing?” You look over at Ravi to back you up, but he stands up suddenly.

"I’ll just go update Clive on our progress, then. Be right back,” and with that he ducks out, looking for all the world like he couldn’t exit the morgue fast enough.

“Babe, I worry about something happening to you all the time-“ you start before Liv interrupts you.

“You don’t have to worry about me dying," she said bluntly, "I'm already dead."

Liv keeps her eyes on the supplies as she keeps talking, "Just a shambling zombie dealing with a slow week at the morgue. If I've learned anything working here, it's that the people of Seattle don't usually stop murdering each other for very long."

“Liv, I care about you. How am I supposed to not worry when you’re putting yourself in danger all the time?” you put your hand on her shoulder, wishing she would turn around and look at you - only to regret it. Her head whips around, eyes turning red before letting out a growl and putting her hand around your throat.

“Shut. Up.” she spat, pinning you down onto one of the empty exam tables. Knowing her nails were one small movement away from taking your humanity, you kept yourself as still as possible and your breath as shallow as you could manage under her grip.

"Say another word and I won't have to wait for a murder to get my next meal," she snarled, inches away from your face. Your own heartbeat pounded loudly in your ears and you had a moment when you were sure you were about to pass out - then, Liv's eyes shifted just as quickly back to their usual muted shades and she let go of you. Gasping to get enough air again, you clutch your chest before feeling your neck for scratches. Thankfully, you seem unscathed. Looking up, you notice Liv is smiling now and decide not to say anything that might change that.

[end]

[minimanic]

A thing I think about a lot is how a thing can be an objectively bad adaptation but a good whatever it actually is and how this is not a binary metric or flaw and the two cakes of it all etc.

We should all make art by processing information in polarizing ways is what I’m saying

[pycth]

Winner by Conan Gray is heavily Lasko coded

[le-agent-egg]

Guess who’s birthday it is

I’m 16 now what the heeeeeellll oh mah god no wayayay

[marisatomay]

director rob reiner and cinematographer robert richardson in 1992 dared to ask: we all know that maybe our most beautiful woman right now is demi moore but, what a few good men presupposes is, maybe it’s tom cruise?

[triple-to-stag]

Victoria moors 2013 worlds podium training floor changed the trajectory of my life

[softly-and-suddenly]

I just watched the 2011 Wuthering Heights film and it was so apathetic?? I don’t get it

[transgnckon]

Well this certainly was a year

[wilwheaton]

In a new interview with the New Yorker ahead of his 70th birthday on Monday, the comedian explained his theory about why there’s no “funny stuff” to watch on TV anymore. “Nothing really affects comedy,” he said, “People always need it. They need it so badly and they don’t get it.” Instead of getting sitcoms like M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and All in the Family, audiences miss out, he said, as a “result of the extreme left and P.C. crap, and people worrying so much about offending other people.” [...] A look back at some of his earlier comments on a similar subject adds some context, if not clarity. In 2015, Seinfeld sat down for an episode of The Herd with Colin Cowherd podcast, where he explained his aversion to performing stand-up on college campuses. “I don’t play colleges, but I hear a lot of people tell me, ‘Don't go near colleges. They’re so PC,’” he said on the show. After giving an example of his teenage daughter using the word “sexist,” he concluded that young people “just want to use these words: ‘That’s racist’; 'That’s sexist’; ‘That’s prejudice.’ They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Jerry Seinfeld Draws Right-Wing Praise for Comments on ‘Extreme Left’

This is such a bummer. Tell me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer without telling me you’re a privileged, entitled, myopic Boomer.

It’s interesting to me that he says these legendary sit-coms, none of which were cruel, punching down, or hurtful, but were actually satirizing power, celebrating women, changing societal norms through representation, and using comedy to do it all, wouldn’t exist if “the extreme left” had anything to do with it.

Umm. Who does he think created these shows? And is he really that ignorant? Has this guy never read a single interview with Norman Lear? Or literally anyone in the cast of Mary Tyler Moore? I mean. Come on, man!

Teenagers and college students don’t know what they’re talking about when they tell a privileged, entitled, multimillionaire Boomer that his “jokes” can be hurtful, and maybe he could use his tremendous talent to do comedy that is just as funny without being hurtful. Okay. Got it. Keep saying that, and see how far it gets you, buddy.

Hey, Jerry Seinfeld: when blue checks on Twitter are celebrating you being a dick, it’s not because you’re so funny and such a brilliant comic; it’s because they love how you’re validating what garbage they are. You can’t see that, or don’t care, and that’s such a huge bummer.

[elodieunderglass]

for the horse asks: appaloosa?

Appaloosa - What's your favorite horse color(s)?

I don’t really have one but I LOVE when horses and ponies are what they’re supposed to be!

I’m also a huge fan of the primitive markings, and general Lascaux cave horse appearance.

So like I wouldn’t say flaxen chestnut is my favorite AT ALL, but the Haflinger!! . yes you are a cobby little horse with a big butt that needs to be a flaxen chestnut!! and everyone understands this. Perfect animal. No need to track changes. Also I do love when a horse has a bit of texture in their mane and tail, so respect to Haflingers for being the rare wavy-haired horsie. I don’t even like blondes so you see what I mean here about it just being the pure synergy of intention and form and style, the Haflinger just is perfectly complete.

And then a brunblakk fjord horse. The mealy muzzle. The dorsal stripe. Black ear tips. Someone from 20,000 years ago is grasping my hand across space and time and we are crying together about how perfect a thick little horsie can get. Granted the fjords always have the weirdest haircuts in the world, but you can see exactly why. This horse is so perfectly what it’s supposed to be that you can’t resist scrungling it a little bit. Also another animal that IS its name like: all Norwegian Fjords LOOK like the breed name is Norwegian Fjord, and they ARE all named things like Freya. As they should be. This is an animal that is exactly what it should be.

You know how horse people compliment each other’s horses by saying they have a kind eye? It’s hard not to have a Kind Eye if you are a brunblakk Norwegian Fjord.

And of course, my baby, my darling, my moorland mousie, the feral shaggy brown/bay with mealy markings that is the Exmoor Pony. You look at this tubby beastie and you say YES. YES YOU ARE BORN TO BE A LITTLE BEASTIE ENCOUNTERED SUDDENLY ON A MISTY MOOR . The sculpting of the contour colours! Some sculpture artist would spend hours with an airbrush trying to do that! and they just wake up in the morning , eyeliner: on, eyeshadow: on, lipstick: on, cheeks: contoured, muzzle: mealy, dapples subtle, ready to go. Can’t even see their eyes half the time, but underneath 25 pounds of luscious pelted mane they’re wearing natural mascara. And for what? Living full time on rocks in the rain, baby!! This is a cave painting horse and it always will be!

The reverse of that of course is horses who Shouldn’t Be That Color. For example I am a little bit upset by this chestnut Shire, who isn’t a flaxen chestnut and probably should be. What are you doing baby? You need some leg markings sweetheart. Can we just dye your mane and tail black maybe, you have bay energy. Ughhhhh I’m trying not to be prescriptive. Ughhhh all horses are beautiful and beauty standards are fake but ———— - sweet child we HAVE to style you somehow!!!! You are a Shire!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??

And I love - LOVE! - a grulla/grullo. Obvious reasons: I like primitive markings, and I have the aesthetic taste of a small child. Who doesn’t secretly love a deviantart sparklehorse?

but I will be the first to admit that it is a razor’s edge between a really lovely grulla horse who reaches back to touch our shared history and knowledge of ourselves, an unbroken thread of beauty that should be painted in a cave under an ancient mountain, like a jewel of the earth: and a necromantic vessel that was bred to encourage possession by evil ghosts, to be harvested regularly and sold at retail prices by some midwestern white woman as part of some tortuous work-from-home scheme. And I do understand this. I know this about myself and about grullas. Like, this one is a horse that probably shouldn’t - we probably shouldn’t have done this. You know?

Do not ask about cremellos.

[seraphicsentences]

you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.2 here: all mine

tags: internalized homophobia, smut, cheating, tw:owen, fingering (aa!receiving), lowkey sub!aa

A/N: we do not condone cheating here! unless it’s on owen fuck that asshole. sorry i disappeared for 100 years!! hope this is half-decent enough to make up for it. working on reqs i promise!!!! i love you all my sweet angels <333

please click me!!!

it was undeniable— the tension, between you and abby anderson. your queer sexuality was common knowledge amongst the WLF base, and your reputation as a womanizer quite contributory to the hot topic. on the complete opposite of the spectrum stood abby: top soldier, with the highest leading score in kills, and most importantly, dutiful girlfriend to owen moore.

where she stood on the line of homosexuality was made evidently clear. from the way she scoffed under her breath at the sight of your marked-up one night stands, to her weekly mornings at the base’s sunday service, you had found an almost masochistic pleasure in ticking her off to your best efforts.

you would catch yourself throwing offhand comments towards your latest hookups when she was in ears range. “my dick’s better than any man’s, isn’t that right, baby?”

in the mere corner of your peripheral vision you would see abby’s jaw tighten, gaze hard as she refused to look your way— her own sort of defiance to your antics. a haughty smirk threatened to break across your face. you couldn’t exactly place your finger on as to why you were so enamored with her understated reactions, rather than focused on the pretty, blushing girl in front of you. it became a thrill you craved insatiably, and built up as a wall between you two over the years, bound to come tumbling sooner or later.

~

mid-summer now, the longer days and better hunt called for a compulsory celebration. wlf’s central lounge was buzzing with drunken chatter and alight with the golden hue of mini lamp lights.

your childish bickering with abby hadn’t lessened up any bit, and to much of your delight, had begun to stir up more volatile reactions of hers as they’ve persisted.

you sat across her now, separated by only a couple foot’s distance and a beer bottle, which lay empty and flat on its side.

“spin the bottle? what are we, twelve?” abby scoffed at the idea.

she sat crisscrossed, forearms resting atop her legs, muscles straining against her tight grey shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder how she, the very picture of masc, was so adamantly straight.

“aw, scared, anderson?” you grinned devilishly.

she physically recoiled, as if the very thought of being intimidated by someone like you burned her mind. haughty self satisfaction coursed through your veins, sick pleasure in knowing you could get under her skin so easily. running your eyes salaciously down her figure, you watched as she shifted nervously. cute.

“es solo un juego, abby,” manny says, shrugging.

“whatever,” she replies, “just get on with it.”

as the rounds go by, you can’t help but take note of the way abby awkwardly averts her gaze from whichever two lucky partakers kiss, no matter the duo. scoffing, she teasingly mouths ‘pendejo’ after manny stupidly grins into his third kiss of the night. you watch her smile disappear in a brief second when the your turn arises.

eye contact unwavering, you stare down abby as the bottle whirls around, waiting for it to select its next target. you can’t quite understand why your heart feels like it’s racing out of your chest the closer the bottlehead gets to nodding the blonde’s direction.

it inches closer. slower now.

a person away— and it stops.

…on the pretty girl next to abby.

abby releases a harsh breath you didn’t realize she was holding, chest rising slowly as she catches some air. you blink.

you cross the short distance between the two of you crawling, abby eyeing you down, before swerving your course of action in the last moment to land yourself in front of the girl next to her. without a moment’s hesitation you tug her in for a kiss, or no, multiple kisses as you tongue the girl down hungrily. she groans into it with a matched eagerness, desperate to get a dose of your infamous mouth.

your eyes flicker open between kisses, expecting to get an eyeful of the top of the blonde’s head, but you’re met with quite the opposite. the piercing stare of none other than abby anderson sends a chill down your spine. her breath hitches— she looks like she’s been fucking caught. and as tempting as the girl in front of you is, you can’t tear your gaze away from her.

you begin to dominate what is now a full-blown makeout session, eyes darkened, breaths unsteady, hands pulling. she just watches, bound to the floor. you watch her watch. and you want her to want it.

you pull away with a final tug on the girl’s bottom lip, feeding off the way abby’s eyes follow the action. someone wolf-whistles in the background, but, even flustered now, you can’t shake the undeniable tension between yourself and abby.

the rhythmic thumping of blood rushing through your skull acted rather as a barrier between your awareness and the continuing rounds. thankfully, you were left as a mere onlooker, free of any further unwanted attention.

abby had gone back to staring at her lap, you discovered, watching intently as she picked a stray hair off her jeans.

“hey anderson,” you called over, her reaction immediate— head jolting up.

her eyes relaxed to a glare once she realized you were the one addressing her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“i think it’s ‘bout your turn, yeah?”

“you fu-“

“solo un juego, abby,” manny cuts in.

with a huff, abby begrudgingly leans over to give the bottle a spin, tapping her fingers against the floor in anticipation.

the bottle stops. so does your heart, for just a second.

you look up. abby looks to owen. the fucking son of a bitch lends no help, smirking, excited that his perverted fantasies have come to life before his eyes.

“c’mon then,” you nod at her, leaning back on your wrists, almost in invitation.

she moves slowly, braid dangling by her shoulder as she scooches towards you, hands coming to a stop on the floor in front of you.

closer now, you can feel the heat radiating off her large figure onto your own, the light brush of her breaths intermingling with your own. yet— she makes no move to get any closer.

you loop a finger around her neckline and drag her in, teeth clashing from the aggression, noses bumping; it’s no fairytale kiss. but then your tongue licks into her open mouth, perhaps merely by muscle memory, or maybe because you secretly want a taste of more, and she fucking whimpers. so quiet, strangled, from the back of her throat, but you hear it nonetheless, and god, you feel it.

the switch up is almost immediate: abby pulling away faster than you can blink, back in her original spot before you know it, wiping at her mouth. but she was too late. you knew what she craved, and you were going to make sure she’d have to beg for it.

~

the party was in full swing now, majority of the room drunk off of wlf’s own brew, which meant everyone was completely fucked up.

you stumbled over to the serving area, leaning haphazardly over the bar to scan the room without falling over. your eyes caught onto a familiar blonde, seated quietly with a group composed of what you assumed to be her usual patrol friends. she’s seated next to owen, the fucker, who has his arm lazily swung around the skank sprawled on the other side of him. your eyes are glued to the visible scrunch between abby’s eyebrows, fingers itching to reach out and press it away.

“who’s the lucky girl you’re sinking your claws into tonight?”

your head swivels towards the voice, met with a concerned look from alex, wlf’s residential mixologist.

“…you good, babe?”

“fuck— yeah, just got a lit, a little dizzy for sec. the answer to, uh- to, your question is no one,” you hiccuped, grinning up at alex as you rested your head against the cold counter.

“uh-huh, sure. i’ll let you have your secrets. i won’t pry,” she quips.

you laugh, miming an imaginary lock over your lips before tossing the ‘key’ away. “what can i say? i’m a gentleman, alex, no, gentlewoman. i don’t kiss and te-“

you’re cut off by another voice approaching the counter, low and slurring, asking for a glass of straight whiskey.

you roll your head over, faced with the towering frame of none other than abby anderson. she’s closer than you expected her to be, causing you to stumble back a step, and then laugh at yourself, muttering under your breath, straight whiskey for the straight girl.

“i think you’ve had well enough, anderson. even with all the muscle on you, man, i don’t know how you got this hammered. i’ll get you some water, honey,” alex jokes.

abby sulks, spacing out as she begrudgingly sips on her water. you doubt she even notices your presence, using the accidental peace as time to really take in her side profile. she’s stunning, in her own, amazonian sort of way. especially now in the hazy golden light of the lounge, the sweaty blonde strands framing her face made her appear in rather close resemblance to a goddess of some type. and all you wanted was to worship her in that manner, treat her body as your temple and such. perhaps the alcohol really was getting to you.

“what’s got you all pouty, anderson? your little boyfriend not doing you any good?”

it’s so comical, the effect your presence has on abby. her head jerks your way at the first breath of your words, and her pinning gaze blows away any of the fog clouding either of your minds.

her demeanor hardens instantly, as she crosses her arms defensively. “fuck off,” is all she manages to spit out.

you take it as an invitation to continue. “like,” you scoff, “there’s no way he knows how to hit all the right spots. does he even try to? how’s his head game, abs?”

her look away speaks volumes.

“oh? god, what a dick.”

“he-“ she tries.

“-i could show you a good time,” you ramble, “i can assure you that i know how to hit all the right spots. your spots— i mean, only if you want me to.”

she gawks at you, her look half full of disbelief and half full of curiosity. and you can tell that you’ve got her hooked.

“i don’t need you,” she mutters, but a glance at her thighs pressed tight together says otherwise.

you smirk, placing your hand down that just so happens to land on her mid-thigh. her muscle jolts at your contact.

tentatively dragging your fingers higher, you speak lowly, stare locked, “you sure, baby?”

the wall comes crashing.

abby’s snatching your hand off her leg in a heartbeat and dragging you into the closest bathroom, shoving you against the door and pushing her lips against yours.

your tongue is dipping into her open mouth almost immediately, desperate to pull another one of her addicting whimpers out.

“shit,” abby curses in between gasps, before leaning back in to just consume more of you. her hands are searching for any part of you she can reach, grabbing at the meat at your hips, thighs, pressing your waist against hers with a groan.

the feel of your body against her own is so different from owens’, but so satisfying in a way she can’t wrap her head around. you fit into her frame like a puzzle piece, and your touches are needy and selfish, but they don’t feel offensive in the way that owen’s do.

you venture a hand under her shirt, tracing along the ridges of her toned stomach, and abby shudders, breaking your kiss to look down at your moving hand. she’s panting against your neck, heavier now, as you slide your hand up under her bra to cup her chest softly, rolling her hardened nipple between your fingers and watching hypnotically as she gasps into your skin.

with her head down at this angle, her neck is perfectly bared, and you can’t deny yourself a taste, can you? you’re sinking your teeth in before you realize it, soothing the marks with a wet lick over, only to tug the skin in between your teeth to suck at.

the quiet noises abby’s trying to muffle against your shoulder now are sending you into a frenzy, your hands now abandoning her breasts to pull her hips closer against yours.

abby nearly cries at the loss of your direct touches, but stops when your fingers return a place far more rewarding. you’ve unbuttoned her jeans now, your hand cupping her over her boxers teasingly, digits pressing over the damp spot in the fabric.

“bet you’ve never been this wet for owen,” you laugh, running a finger over her soaked core.

“don’t bring him up right now,” she pants in return, hips keening to your touch as she grabs your face to press into a sloppy kiss.

you push her boxers down eagerly, teasing two fingers by her leaking entrance to gather her slick.

god, abby gasps, and it seems to be the winning word of the night when she repeats it as she watches you stuff those same two fingers into your own mouth, and again when you stuff them straight into her pussy.

her pretty eyes are rolling back into her skull farther with every thrust against her gummy walls. “look at me while i fuck you dumb on my fingers, abs, look at me,” you beg.

“i c-can’t,” she whines, blushing a deep red and burrowing her face into your shoulder.

you slow your pumps, using your free hand to grab her by the braid and force her look at you. “awh,” you coo, pouting mockingly at her gaped mouth, “cute.”

your fingers buried as deep into her as physically possible, you curl them to hit that sensitive spot you genuinely believe has never even been touched once. and with the way abby lets out her loudest moan yet, you cannot believe otherwise.

“there it is,” you murmur, massaging your fingertips agonizingly slow inside of her, “see what you’re missing out on?”

her only response is a strangled whimper. baby blue eyes big and pleading as they threaten to roll back with every slight movement.

mhm, you goad her on, “that’s your g-spot, baby, feels real good, huh?”

she nods her head vigorously, quiet mhmmhmhm’s trailing out from her bitten lips.

“now if your little boyfriend’s dick is too small to reach it, i guess he can’t help it,” you laugh. “shame, you make such pretty noises when i touch you here,” you let out an exaggerated sigh, picking up your pace abruptly to slam into her spot over and over.

abby’s nearly gone cross-eyed, tossing her head back now as her pussy throbs almost rhythmically with every thrust. she’s never felt so filled to the brim, so overwhelmed with pleasure, and she’s too blissed out to even care about the stupid fucking smirk you’ve got plastered on your face.

“but his mini- dick is no excuse for not touching you here,” you continue, letting loose of her hair to finally touch her poor, neglected, pink clit, rubbing circles harshly into the button.

abby’s heart nearly jumps out of her chest. she’s moaning nonstop and swearing like a fucking sailor, the combination of your actions almost too much for her to physically bear. after a particularly loud oh god, fuck-please, you have no choice but to stuff abby’s mouth full with the bottom of her shirt. and fuck, was that the right move; the way her ab muscles flex and tighten as she nears her release, glistening with sweat, is enough to make you let out a groan of your own.

“‘m- close,” abby cries around the fabric, hips rocking with your motions as she begins to ride out her high.

“there you go anderson, you got it,” you mutter, circling her swollen clit faster now as you fuck into her g-spot repeatedly.

mmmmph is all you can make out, as abby’s walls clamp down around your curled fingers and she digs her nails into your sides, eyes squeezing shut.

her jerking movements eventually slow along with your own, half lidded eyes staring as you slip your cum-coated fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. the moistened fabric falls from abby’s open jaw as she attempts to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

before you know it, she’s tugging up her soaked boxers and jeans, shoving past you as she buttons them up and promptly bolts out of that bathroom.

well, that was one way to deal with the tension.

she’ll come running back to you before she knows it.

yikes! i just read that over and yikes! lol uh! sorry guys i’m out of practice!! we love abby anderson though and pray that she gets over her internalized homophobia. she’s too sexy for allat.

send me more reqs!! not that i need any more but send ‘em!

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

Calling the acotar men 'good boy'

warnings: smut (18+!), sub!acotarmen (wingplay, hair pulling)

Rhys

Sometimes he gets needy, very needy. And I think Rhys would be very whiny and pleading when the moor is like that

You were on his lap, kissing his neck. His hands holding your hips, pushing you harder against him

You nibble ons his earlobe, making him shudder. “Please touch me already” he pleads.

“So eager, aren’t you?” you tease, slowly stroking the hardening bulge over his pants.

“Please” he whines when you start opening his pants. You grab his hard length, slowly stroking the soft skin. 

Rhys always lets out those high pitched moans when he’s needy like this. His eyes and mouth halfopen when you start tugging in an agonizing pace.

“That’s my good boy” you smile. He lets out another one of those high pitched moans when he hears the nickname.

You get off his lap, lowering on your knees before him.

“Y-you don’t have t-“ he tries, but you cut him off, pressing your lips against his tip. He always acts like this, wanting to give. But you want to give something back, you want to give this to him.

Cassian

He’s a switch, definitely, but his filthy mouth never stops. So when you’re both in the mood and you’re riding him, holding him down against the mattress with your one hand, the other one touching his wings teasingly, he loses it. 

“Yes baby, you look so hot like this” he groans out. You answer with a slow stroke on the inside of his wing. A strangled moan leaves his lips, making you grin. 

You quicken your pace, his hands guiding your hips to move faster. 

The man looks so pretty like this, I swear. He is blushing hard and his hair is so messy, his eyes all droopy and sometimes you can even see some tears on the edges.

“You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” 

The nickname always makes him melt in a puddle for you, he lets out a loud whiny sigh, his eyes closing and head leaning back into the pillows.

“Yes, I’m your good boy”

“You are baby” you smile, your hand tracing his sweaty muscular torso. “You always are”

When he’s in a subby mood, he always comes so hard and so much. “Yes baby, come for me, such a good boy when you moan like that for me” you whisper, guiding him through his orgasm.

Azriel

Az is mostly a dom, but sometimes…sometimes he lets you take control.

He is sitting up on his office chair, you straddling him, slowly riding him. Your one hand is around his neck, softly caressing the hair on his neck. Your other hand is on his thigh behind you, helping you for leverage.

The rare moments you take control, he is so fucked out. His half closed eyes tracing your body, watching the way you move up and down. His hair hangs before his eyes and his mouth is slightly open open.

“Feels so good” he moans. You start moving faster in answer, grabbing his neck harder and leaning in for a passionate kiss.

You had never tried new (subby) nick names before, but you had wanted to for a while now. So that’s when you finally did it.

“Good boy” you mumble against his neck. The only thing he does is grab your ass harshly and stare in your eyes with a confused look. “Huh” he says.

“I said you’re a good boy Azzie, my good boy” you say, licking the soft spot on his neck.

Az lets out a high pitched moan in answer. “Yes, y-yes I am” he stumbles out. “Always so good for me, fucking me so good, filling me up just like the good boy you are” you just can’t stop saying it once it’s out and you see the effect on him.

He comes in you with a loud moan then, grabbing your hips so tightly, pushing his seed into you harshly. His whole body is trembling. He looks at you shyly, he’d never come that fast before.

“Guess I should call you that more often” you smirk

Lucien

You’re in the same position as with Az, but on the couch. It’s one of his all time favourite positions. You riding him, but close enough so your breasts are pushed against his chest. 

He moans into your hair, his big hands on your back, grabbing you tightly to hold you close to him. 

“You’re so pretty” he groans. You smile and tangle your fingers in his soft long hair. 

“Not as pretty as you” you smile, placing kisses all over his face and neck. “So pretty”. And it was true, he looked beautiful. Soft moans on those swollen lips, his golden skin glowing. The hair that was normally so neatly styled, now messy with your hands in it.

You’re surprised when he puts his hand on the one you have in his hair. His eyes are pleading. 

“What do you want baby” you tease. “Please” he sighed “pull it” he says it so quietly, it always gets him shy when he has to admit he likes it when you grab his locks in your hand.

“Only when you are a good boy for me”

“B-but, I.. I am.” he stutters. “Are you sure ‘bout that baby?” you smile.

He doesn’t protest but decides to let his actions talk by grabbing your breasts softly, putting your nipple against his mouth. Sucking and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. You moan out.

“Yes, good boy” you sigh. Before he can answer you reward him by increasing your pace, riding him faster. You grab his hair, not that hard, but with enough forse to make him moan out loudly. “Yes, baby, so good, I love you so much” he mumbles out.

Eris

Eris is pounding into you, your legs tightly wrapped around him, skin slapping and moans filling your bedroom. 

He has difficulty with letting his control go sometimes, so you decide to try something, just to get him out of it. To just let him get loose, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Harder” you groan out. He complies, breathing heavily, his hair falling before his eyes.

“Good boy” you moan out, for a moment you’re nervous about his reaction. Will he be repulsed or will it have a good effect on him?

But it was the latter, he unexpectedly lets out a whine, his face falling into your neck. “You like it when I call you that, don’t you?” You smirk.

“Y-yes” he stutters shyly into your neck.

Let's just say, that moment started something. Eris dared do let you take control sometimes and it was amazing

You didn't expect his whines could turn you on so much, but here you were, going feral over the sounds your mate makes.

He looks at you like you were a goddess

He also can't stop playing with your nipples.

He even calls you mommy one night when he's far gone in the pleasure

__

I'm thinking about writing for Helion too, let's be honest he's so hot. (or some other high lord)

[batmanego]

im sorry are you defending alan moore here by trying to paint him as some sort of tragic figure? alan moore who wrote the killing joke? alan moore who created a 4-issue comic the sole purpose of which was to write an extended multi-issue rape scene? alan moore who wrote mina murray being explicitly brutally raped and degraded by the invisible man? alan moore who then wrote the invisible man being revenge-raped so hard he fucking died? alan moore who introduced this character?

we’re defending him? we’re defending alan moore? not on my goddamn post we’re not. don’t get me wrong: moore’s wildcats run is one of my favorites, and it would be downright blasphemous to say that swamp thing isn’t a masterpiece. but we’re not letting alan “I LOVE BRUTAL GRAPHIC RAPE SCENES” moore off the hook like that.

this is one of the funnier questions ive ever been asked. Where do i even start

[titleknown]

So, while I've talked about this in other posts, I figured I may as well compile it in one post with this nifty propaganda poster (more on that later)

Long story short, they're bringing back KOSA/the Kids Online Safety Act in the US Senate, and they're going to mark it up next Thursday as of the time of this post (4/23/2023).

If you don’t know, long story short KOSA is a bill that’s ostensibly one of those “Protect the Children” bills, but what it’s actually going to do is more or less require you to scan your fucking face every time you want to go on a website; or give away similarly privacy-violating information like your drivers’ license or credit card info. 

Either that or force them to censor anything that could even remotely be considered not “kid friendly.” Not to mention fundies are openly saying they’re gonna use this to hurt trans kids. Which is, uh, real fucking bad. 

As per usual, I urge you to contact your congresscritters, and especially those on the Commerce Committee, who'll likely be the ones marking it up.

Those senators are:

Maria Cantwell, Washington, Chair

Amy Klobuchar, Minnesota

Brian Schatz, Hawaii

Ed Markey, Massachusetts

Gary Peters, Michigan

Tammy Baldwin, Wisconsin

Tammy Duckworth, Illinois

Jon Tester, Montana

Kyrsten Sinema, Arizona

Jacky Rosen, Nevada

Ben Ray Luján, New Mexico

John Hickenlooper, Colorado

Raphael Warnock, Georgia

Peter Welch, Vermont

Ted Cruz, Texas, Ranking Member

John Thune, South Dakota

Roger Wicker, Mississippi

Deb Fischer, Nebraska

Jerry Moran, Kansas

Dan Sullivan, Alaska

Marsha Blackburn, Tennessee

Todd Young, Indiana

Ted Budd, North Carolina

Eric Schmitt, Missouri

J.D. Vance, Ohio

Shelley Moore Capito, West Virginia

Cynthia Lummis, Wyoming

Again, it doesn't work unless you do it en-masse, so make sure to call ASAP and tell them to kill this bill, and if they actually want a bill to allow/get sites to protect kids, the Federal Fair Access To Banking Act would be far better.

Also, this poster is officially, for the sake of spreading it, under a CC0 license. Feel free to spread it, remix it, add links to the bottom, edit it to be about the other bad internet bills they're pushing, use it as a meme format, do what you will but for gods' sake get the word out!

Also, shoutout to @o-hybridity for coming up with the slogan for the poster, couldn't have done it without 'em!

[laundrybiscuits]

(ETA: now edited and up on AO3)

Look. Eddie knows he can be a little uptight about these things, but. There are rules. If you become a vampire, you don’t need to go full gothic Count Von Dickhead or whatever, but you absolutely cannot just wander around in a puffy vest and light-wash jeans. 

“Why not?” says Steve. He’s leaning back in an armchair, sipping on a bloodbag like it’s a goddamn juicebox. “What, are the vampire police going to arrest me?” 

He pauses. “Wait. There aren’t vampire police, are there?”

“No,” says Eddie. “Probably not. I don’t know. But there are standards which you are refusing to uphold, Steven.”

“Thought you were all about hating conformity, Edward,” Steve says. He’s got an obnoxiously cocky little smirk, the smug undead fucker. 

Eddie grimaces. “Don’t call me that, asswipe. Don’t you feel, like—the call of the night? The siren song of life coursing through fragile human veins? A hunger for destruction that those paltry plastic bags of blood can never truly slake?”

“The bloodbags aren’t so bad,” says Steve, around the straw. “Better than protein shakes.”

“I actually hate you,” Eddie tells him. “Vampirism is wasted on you.”

Steve noisily slurps the last of the blood out of the bottom of the bag. “Come on, you can’t really picture me in some Dracula getup, can you?”

The problem, of course, is that Eddie really, really can. When Robin had read him in on the whole situation, obviously he’d been horrified and concerned—but also, a whole wing of his brain had immediately been cordoned off to work overtime imagining Steve in elaborate Dark Prince regalia, maybe leaning elegantly out of a castle window on the moors, gazing into the foggy dusk. Velvet might’ve been involved.

“...guess not,” says Eddie. It doesn’t sound incredibly convincing to his own ears, but Steve just shrugs and gets up to throw the bloodbag away. 

“There you go, man,” he says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he passes. “It’s the 80s. Vampires can be whatever we wanna be.”

———

It gets way too easy to forget about Steve’s condition, until Eddie ends up having to haul him out of a bar in Indy before they get banned for life.  

“Simmer down, buddy,” Eddie says, pulling him into the shadow of the van. “Let’s get those fangs packed away before any of the nice villagers wander by with torches and pitchforks.”

“I’m good,” pants Steve. “It’s all good. Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

Eddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure, that’s why your eyes are glowing red and you’re, like, fully vamped out. Which, by the way, looks extremely dumb with the whole clean-cut vibe you decided to rock tonight.”

“Fuck you, I look great,” says Steve, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s not wrong, it’s just not relevant to how he also looks extremely dumb like this, wearing a pristine henley with fangs hanging out in the parking lot for anyone to see.

“So what the hell happened in there, man? I was finally starting to get somewhere with Todd, and…” Eddie trails off in dawning realization.

“Holy shit, am I—I’m like your territory, aren’t I? Your stupid vampire brain got all screwy and decided to loop me in with Robin and the kids as part of your freaky human coven.”

“Uh,” says Steve. He looks unhappy in a shifty kind of way. “Something like that, maybe.”

“Wait, so, are Nancy and Jonathan—are you okay with them because they’re both already in the vamp pack? Is Vickie gonna have to be inaugurated before she and Robin can bone down?” Eddie perks up. “Shit, is there a ceremony? We could totally do a ceremony.” He bets he can get the kids to liberate some velour curtains from the drama club. With a few candles, they could get some serious atmosphere going.

“No, shut up, nobody’s doing a damn ceremony,” Steve groans. “Vickie’s fine.” 

“Okay,” says Eddie. “So…you gonna tell me what all that was about, then? Do I have to start running guys past you first so your vamp instincts don’t wig out? Or…hm, maybe Argyle’d be down to mess around sometime.”

Steve lets out an actual snarl with weird animal echoes, then claps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, muffled. The shadows around them seem darker somehow. 

“So I’m just not allowed to get laid ever again,” says Eddie slowly. “For vampire reasons.”

“Do whatever you want, man.” Steve’s still got his hand pressed tight over his mouth. 

“And it’s…just me?” Eddie peers at the tightness around Steve’s eyes; the way he’s scowling stubbornly at his feet. “Huh. Kind of…possessive, Harrington.”

“It’s—weird,” says Steve miserably, dropping his hand at last. “I know it’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs, biting down on the grin he can feel tugging at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m into that shit.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “You’re…”

“Always wanted a vampire boyfriend,” says Eddie. “Like, are you kidding? I would’ve sold my fucking soul at 15 for something like that.”

“I’m starting to feel a little objectified here,” says Steve, but he’s smiling, and he reaches out to snag Eddie’s belt loop and tug him stumbling closer. “Just in it for the fangs, huh?”

“Well, you’re kind of a shitty vampire, actually.” Eddie drapes his arms over Steve’s shoulders. “So I guess I must just be in it for you.”

Steve hesitates, searching Eddie’s face. Stray red lights are still sparking like embers in Steve’s irises. “Okay, but—you’re in it? Right?”

“Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Bunnicula. I’ll send the vampire police after you, just watch me,” says Eddie, and kisses him.