#like the label serves you and if it stops serving you then you don't need to keep it

[angel-archivist]

It's so interesting and so exceedingly frustrating how agab is being utilized now within the queer community as a way to isolate and sort nonbinary and genderqueer folks into binary boxes that determine their moral purity levels, and their authority to do and write and exist.

The way nonbinary writers are being put under accusation of fetishizing gay men while their AGAB is continually brought up in a way that feels like queer-space-approved misgendering.

The way feminist circles that are supposedly trans-inclusive will use the word AFAB in a way that implicitly but intentionally isolates nonbinary people who aren't AFAB from joining. It's for women*.

The way the language is already flawed and leaves out intersex folks from the conversations while focusing on a binary of sex that isn't truthful.

The constant obsessing over whether someone is AFAB or AMAB and whether or not that gives them the privilege to join, do, write, or be present in certain spaces really really concerns me. How are we supposed to dismantle a binary system of gender if we can't even move past forcibly assigning and focusing on people's genders assigned at birth?

[uncanny-tranny]

Hi 💛 I wanted to ask you something, it's been bothering me lately: I've always known that I'm attracted to people regardless of gender. At 15 I called it bisexual. At 17 I started using the label pansexual. Came out as a trans man at 23. I'm now 26 and I'm not sure if bi or pan work for me anymore. I know that I'm still attracted to people regardless of gender, but my experiences as a man in society have made the label gay resonate a lot more with me. Is that okay? What does this mean? Confused

It means whatever you want it to mean. People all across the queer community have used "gay" as shorthand for decades now (maybe including queer people you love). If you just don't vibe with bi/pan on their own, then you don't have to have them on their own. There's nothing wrong with being bi or pan, but there's also nothing wrong with feeling like that doesn't quite encapsulate your relationship with your queerness.

Basically:

[medicinemane]

At least even when I was a teenager and identified as communist, I was still never a soviet apologist

(And as I got older I came to dislike the USSR more and more and more, also seeing that soviet apologism kinda tended to fuck things up for western communists cause they'd be so busy running defense for people who didn't like or care about them, that actually getting policies passed to help western workers came second to being a tankie)

(Straight up, while I was volunteering in Quebec, one of the people I stayed with had this book by her uncle about being a Canadian communist, and he basically pinned soviet apologism as the whole reason he left the party cause they were more interested is doing PR for the kremlin than they were interested in like... unionizing in Canada)

Anyway, tankies suck, soviet apologism suck, and I'm glad to be able to say that even when I was a communist I didn't fall into that trap... like thank fuck for that, you know?

[prael]

Touch

Kinktember Day 9: Spa

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 7,422 Kinktember Masterlist

"My client, did you see her come in?" you ask.

"No, why? Is she famous or something?"

"Well, that would explain the secrecy, and it would also explain a woman barely twenty having cash to burn at a place like this," you whisper to the colleague who is far too jealous of how you just got requested by name because that usually means big tips for a good service.

"Did you get her name?"

"Supposed to be a secret." Your answer dissatisfies her, and she throws you a side-eye. "Okay. Okay. Danielle something... Marsh?"

"Shut up!" She hits you on the shoulder. "No fucking way. Let me take this one and you can have my next ten VIP bookings."

"Sorry, but she asked for me by name," you tell her. She mutters an obscenity under her breath. "Want to tell me what I'm getting into here?"

And then the girl spews out a jumble of ramblings about K-pop this and K-pop that—the kind of reaction that only the truly obsessed can have. Millions of views on this, charting on that, really fucking popular is the gist of it. So basically the whole planet Earth knows who this Danielle is. Well, shit. No pressure or anything. "Get in there already, do your best work and maybe get me an autograph."

A few forceful pushes out of the staff room and you find Danielle where you left her, her cleansing mask still on her face, sitting in that long white robe. You step barefoot over the soft wood, heat rising from underneath it.

As you draw near, you ask, "Miss Marsh, are we ready to begin?"

"Dani, please," her voice says from beneath the mask. It's hard not to be intimated after being hit with the fact that the woman before you is world-renowned. Though from here, she looks like any other delicate young woman. Her feet are small. Bare, tiny and arched, they hang just a few inches from the floor, and they are as perfectly still as the rest of her. "No need to be formal, I'm here to relax."

"Then let me start by offering you a drink." The bottle pops as you twist it. The label is adorned in cursive. "Bottled at source, premium mineral water." Your arm raises the bottle so she can see the brand clearly.

"Is it magical water?" There is a playful lilt in her voice, "Maybe it has some healing powers?"

"Guaranteed to nourish the soul and unclog those emotional pores," you deadpan.

The facemask stretches with Dani's wide smile, and she lightly chuckles. "That's good, laughter is good for the soul."

"Right." You pour from a height and a theatrical stream flows. When the flute is halfway, you stop the flow and pass it to her hands, which take it gently.

"What? You don't even hold the glass for me? Put it to my lips and tilt?" It's another tease, the joke stretching on her grin, but now it is her hands holding the flute, her fingers long and smooth around the stem.

"I serve, not control."

"Those don't have to always be exclusive." She laughs, and the sound makes you feel something. "But I appreciate the intention. I hear you're the best in the business."

"I'll let you be the judge, Miss Marsh. Now, allow me to remove that mask. I have raised the temperature in here to help open the pores, and I would like to begin with a facial."

"I do love a facial." Danielle smiles to herself. "And again, please, just Dani is fine."

You step over behind her, where her head tilts back against the chair, her long hair cascading below, shimmering in the moist air. Lightly, you place the tips of your fingers along her jawline, finding the edge of the mask and gently lifting it upwards. She doesn't flinch at all, and you watch the wet mask give way to her face. Even upside down, Danielle is indeed beautiful.

With her sun-kissed hair, radiant skin, and effortless, elegant beauty. She is, in summation of all her parts: perfect. The image the word calls up has always been fuzzy around the edges, an abstract idea more than a specific concrete thing, because real people aren't like this. That's what you believed until you laid eyes on her.

"You take good care of your skin, Miss—Sorry—Dani."

"Thank you," she says simply, no joke this time. Your fingers ghost over her chin and then trace to her cheekbones, moving lightly to test her texture, all so smooth.

"First, I shall cleanse away any impurities," you say and lean down to examine her face. Even when you are so close, there is nothing for your scrutiny—no visible crevice, no blemishes, despite there being not a trace of make-up. It's all-natural.

There's a light whisper on her lips, one that you barely make out, "Good luck with that."

You tilt your head as you reach over for a fresh sponge, run it under hot water until it is filled, squeeze out the excess, and slowly drag a path of heat across her forehead. As your other hand holds the sheet over her neck to catch stray water, your first-hand works in large strokes from above, rinsing her skin with each successive pass.

As you focus, she leans back into the chair, and a soft hum escapes her lips. "Feels nice already," she murmurs.

You say nothing, working her in silence. Her eyelids are closed, her lips slightly parted, and she remains so still that, if not for the sound of her breaths, she could be easily mistaken as unconscious. This silence has a tranquillity and familiarity to it, one that feels like home, and without thinking, you are smiling.

She stays just the same as you begin to exfoliate her, brushing across her face in ever-widening circles. It's with such tenderness that her cheeks take a pink tint as she grows hotter and she smiles as you rub in gentle swirls, one spot, then the next.

Time passes in silence as you finish the exfoliation and apply all manner of natural, topical lotions, toners, and peels to Dani. When her skin is primed, you press your fingers against her skin and, starting at her forehead, you massage her face to a rhythm of long, soothing strokes. You enjoy touching her, you admit, which isn't exactly right for a professional, but since you have no outward reaction from her, you assume it isn't the end of the world.

Throughout it all, she keeps her eyes shut. Over time you move around her face, applying more pressure in some spots than others. She shifts and sighs, soft exhalations of her warm breath tickling your arm, yet otherwise doesn't move an inch. Her shoulders relax against the leather of the seat. "You really know what you're doing," she says, with a smirk. You pull her skin with your fingertips, moving them in large circles as it comes to an end. Finally, you tap your fingers gently over her skin to soothe.

"Now, your body, Dani."

Her eyes crack open, but slowly. "Are we moving?"

"I'll wash your skin over there, but the massage will be in the next room. Now, I'll need you to—"

Dani doesn't let you finish your sentence before she rocks forward in her seat and pushes herself to a stand. She's facing away from you and puts her hands in front of her, then she throws the robe back off her shoulders and lets it slide off her arms to the floor in one quick motion.

"Good," she says. "I was for too hot in that thing anyway."

Of course, as a professional, you would never gasp in surprise, yet, at the sight of her ass, the muscles tight, small, and round, the curves of her waist so thin, hair over her shoulders threatening to hide her slender back and those long slim legs, you manage to just barely gulp.

Too hot, she certainly is, you want to tell her and not just in the sense that perspiration coats her skin. Tiny beads of sweat that, as your eyes crawl over her, are in the process of running downwards. This glistening on her flesh is hypnotic. The curve of her ass, the slight tilt of her hips forward, the way the base of her spine leads downward, right down to a crack between her—

Focus. You remind yourself you have a job to do.

"In the far corner. The stone pool. Please, stand by the edge." It takes a second before Dani's head bobs, and then she slinks forward, slow and catlike. Her stride, and every motion of her muscles beneath her flesh that accompanies it, are mesmerising. And with every sway of her hips, you love her tight body more.

She pauses, a foot by the edge, and looks down into the water. Steam rises and envelops her form in a pale white that hugs her curves.

"Please, step in," you say as you walk over to her side and take her hand. Now, you catch a glimpse of her profile, and her chest, small, round and perky, and as you avert your eyes to guide her down the step, you tell her, "Watch your step now, go from stone to stone until you stand in the middle just there."

"Got it," Dani says. She steps with confidence and the hot water reaches quickly above her ankles and then halfway up her calves. With each careful move down the next step she gasps, soft and light. The water splashes with her movement and then swallows her up to the upper thigh.

"Please, take a seat there, on the wide stone." You reach to help steady her as she sinks down, her knees bending as she perches down so the water is at her hips as she sits.

"I just sit?"

"Yes, Dani, and I will bathe you." You step into the pool until the hot flowing water covers your knees, and then you stand behind her. You reach for a sponge, submerge it, and watch it fill, then draw it out and over her lower back and drag a large circle across her soft skin. "How's the water? Feel okay?"

"Great. Wow." She goes quiet as you work up and down her back, long, relaxing, soothing strokes until all the tension has left her shoulders. "That's wonderful," she says.

You clean her shoulders and then down her arms, the sponge dipping under the surface, and caressing her in a movement that feels like worship. With a slow rhythm, you run the sponge over her shoulders and around her neck, and finally, reaching over her, down to her chest. She shifts back as you do, resting herself against your legs. You run it over her chest a few times before coming up again to her shoulders.

"So soft..." her voice says, almost a breathy moan, and you catch a hint of it. Maybe she realises how it sounds because she soon goes quiet. Next, you work downwards, to her tight, toned stomach. Slowly you make sure you cleanse every part of her body. All while her back rests on you and her breathing is warm and pleasant.

"Miss, I mean Dani, can you stand now? We need to get you clean." You prompt, a hand on her shoulder.

"Sure." Dani snaps out of it. She stretches and cracks her neck before rising, leaning forward for a moment. When she rises, ripples run out in all directions and your eyes drift over her ass. It looks plump, perky, perfect. Then you sponge it, giving purpose to your stare. You push it down, over her cheeks and Dani shivers.

You repeat your slow, languid movements. Wipe away any trace of imperfection from her hips and thighs and then when you make her slowly step out of the pool, you work down her bit by bit. Finally, she stands on the edge of the pool, looking down at you, towering over you in her naked glory. She presents to you her foot and you hold her ankle to steady it and clean each digit, scrubbing between the toes.

"You can take the towel, on the peg, Dani."

"You do it." Dani doesn't move at all, keeping her eyes on you, staring into your eyes and through you.

You cautiously nod and then climb from the pool. You keep eye contact and wrap the towel around her small, wet frame. In your arms, she feels so fragile. You rub her down, first her legs. Long strokes, left and right. Each, in turn, both legs. Then you bring the towel up. When you wrap it over her hip and move upwards along her torso, Dani presses herself to you.

"You really know how to put someone at ease," she mutters.

You nod silently in return, and finish drying her shoulders, down her arms, back up, and down her back. You remain stoic as the heat between you builds, and she turns around without prompting. You wrap her again and bring the towel all the way down. Then over her rear. Soft, short circular motions with your palm.

"The table in the next room, Dani. Start by lying on your front, you can use the towel on the table to cover yourself. Once I see you settled in, I'll join you."

She laughs quietly and starts her slow walk to the door. You take your own towel, drying your legs, the water has soaked into the front of your shorts from where she leant against you.

She's on the bed. The towel, provided for her decency, is in a pile on the floor.

"Dani, the towel..."

"I'm fine, I want it off. I want everything off. Is that a problem for you?" There's this undeniably confident quality to her like the universe just has to be as it is because she likes it that way.

"Not a problem," you tell her. "It does tend to get in the way."

You're close to the bed now, looking down at her, still so perfectly nude. So vulnerable and relaxed, and not a drop of shame in her eyes. She gives you a look that says she's in charge, and that she's been waiting for this, and now it's finally going to happen. And that smile is impossible to refuse. "You could join me if it helps. Make it feel more like an equal partnership."

"Miss— I—"

"I'm joking," she winks. Danielle bunches her hair by her head and turns her head to the side as she rests.

The first of your oils, imported, rich and infused, drip with a consistency thick as honey over her. You watch it roll from the top of her back and run down her spine. Its warmth makes her twitch gently.

Slowly you reach out, press your hands into her skin and drag them from top to bottom, following the oil, making sure you cover her.

She hums in delight.

With great care, you begin your work. Fingers sink in, and your thumbs feel her muscles. Stroking and rubbing, from the top of her back, your fingers coax and prod at the flesh beneath. Pressing it back and forth, at times as gentle as a summer breeze and then as hard as a hammer.

There are knots in her back, beneath the tender surface. You find them easily and work at them to relax, coax them into submission, untying the muscles until they go soft. She gasps at your touch as you release them. Her body responds to you in the sweetest ways. With the smallest of whispers, the little fluttering breaths, and with her skin taking on a pink glow.

When the last knot goes soft, she writhes in response, and a content, relaxed murmur comes out of her.

"Oh god, that's it, don't stop," she says, the first words to come from her for a while.

"You were very tight." You reach across, add a small amount of more oil and start working back upwards. One stroke at a time. Up her neck. Over her shoulders. She trembles when you go deep into her flesh and reaches out to grasp at something, anything, and finds the edge of the table, holding herself steady. Her arms now, you lift them one by one, prying them from her grip and then holding and rubbing and pulling to coax the stiffness out.

Oil over her legs, next. Slowly you run your hands over the outside and inside and rub them into her skin, kneading it into her. Danielle keeps her mouth firmly shut the whole time. No jokes. Nothing funny. You lean down to her, focusing on her thigh that refuses to let go. Bending down, you push into her. As you feel her tension drain, you are rewarded with another quiet hiss.

You place the oil upon her feet and work it into her soles with a finger, an instant trigger, she cackles as her foot recoils at your touch. "Sorry, that's a bit ticklish," she tells you, apologetically.

Her feet go still and she inhales deeply as you set back to your task, much to the quiet amusement of Danielle. It's the slowest you have ever worked on a client, with long, dragging strokes to make sure she really enjoys it. Each is careful, so careful, to pull and tease. "Keep working it all the way up, all the way up my legs," she orders, quietly. "Nice and slow. Can you do that?"

You agree.

You hear Danielle sigh as you move your hands slowly up her calf. So soft and firm at the same time as she breathes so gently. A trace of laughter, an easy smile. You work her in the same manner, up her thigh, as slow and relaxing as before, massaging deep and heavy. Danielle begins to roll her hips as you grip the flesh at the top of her thighs and dig in.

"Higher, please, just for me." Danielle makes a little hum to accompany the instruction. You obey, knowing where this is leading. You take the oil, and let it pour lightly onto the peak of her cheek, it threatens to roll away so you capture it in your palm, a firm squeeze of her rear, a spread of oily warmth. She shivers and pushes up her hips in silent encouragement.

Your hands trail along, smooth and oily, each touch brings more shivers. Her legs part slightly, a slow squirm of her hips. Your fingers glide on her tight, round cheeks; running across, back and forth as she breathes deep. You press deeper with each sweep and listen as her gasps become a little louder, and her body moves a little more. She bends her arm, reaching back, as you watch it shake. Her nails claw onto the side of the bed.

The more you tease her with your touch, the harder she grips and the more she parts her legs. You've known the perfection of her body, just by seeing it, but this feeling confirms it.

Your hand wanders with long, oily strokes as you glide up her back, tracing the curves of her slim back up, all the way to her neck. There, you hold her as you lean in. "You can turn over now. Let's work out your front," you say, and Dani nods in agreement.

She smiles, though she remains silent, slowly, with such care, turning onto her side, then twisting to face you, her face flush, eyes drowsy, her mouth agape. She rests upon her back, arms by her sides, legs flat against the bed, open, as you gaze into her eyes.

You apply the oil with long slow strokes down her stomach, feeling her as she flinches, watching the dimples at her waist appear then vanish with her body's twists, with every flexing of her muscles. When you trace up, her flat, beautiful chest, and slowly slide a finger beneath her small pert breast, Dani takes a deep, quick, raspy breath, then says, "They didn't lie when the reviews said you have the best hands in the world."

Your oil-covered thumbs graze upon her nipple, soft at first, gentle in pressure, but this becomes firmer, building and rising, faster. Round and round it swirls, and this delight sends Danielle's breath to hitches and sharp, shallow pants. As she squirms in delight, her legs twist, rubbing and clenching. Her teeth bite down on her lips. The flesh of her body glistens.

One hand reaches, down a thigh then back up, across her stomach and down the other. Repeated in pattern as the other thumb never ceases on her pert nipple. Dani's eyes go blank as your touch continues, circling, teasing, stroking and grabbing. Her body responds and you are delighted to witness every tremor and gasp as it arches. And finally, for the first time, a full-blooded moan rings free.

Your hand goes lower. Deeper into the pit of her thigh as she spreads her legs wide. You seek out the inevitable and when you reach her crotch, you watch her tense up. And when the touch slides between her pussy's folds, and against her clit, there's an immediate reaction, her body jumping as you make the slightest flick of motion with your middle finger. You lift and let a trail of oil roll down her slit and back down to her rear.

"I wasn't really joking before," she gasps. "You should be naked. It would make this whole experience better." Dani tilts her head, fixes her drowsy gaze onto you, and holds the stare for what feels like a hundred heartbeats. "Don't you think that's fair? The way things are going?"

You hold the eye contact and consider this, a sudden lump in your throat making any immediate reply a struggle. Her eyes don't move from yours. Even her chest barely heaves with her short, fast panting.

"Go on, I want you naked. I'm going to feel so, so empty otherwise..."

That's all it takes.

How could you deny her?

Your hands, still covered in the hot oil, reach for the buttons at your collar. You slip them in order from the top and release one after another. Danielle's lips twitch, and her teeth rake them to a shine. Your clothing drops to the floor. Bared. It feels so wrong, and unprofessional, yet Dani looks on and gapes with a hungry, dark delight.

"Nervous now?" Her eyebrow twitches up.

"Never," you bluff.

Danielle's mouth stays open wide, and her breaths get caught and flicker as your touch returns to the same spot as before. Gentle, light touches flutter with your fingertips, drawing the tips of your fingers back and forth, back and forth, over her clit. You watch as her eyes widen, how her legs straighten out and she starts to kick her feet with the faintest hint of frustration as you tease.

"I paid for a deep massage." She emphasises the adjective, dragging the syllable out like a whine. "This teasing is bad for my heart," she whispers.

Her arm rises, then reaches for your chest and trails its way downward. The pressure of her finger, nails lightly scratching at your skin, trailing down to the waistline and then she wraps her slender fingers around you. It's hard. Incredibly so.

"And I'll show you how generous I can be with a tip."

She licks her lips slowly and sensually as her eyes meet yours with a mischievous gleam.

You grunt, pressing down with your fingertip, and then without a second thought, push it inside of her. Danielle throws her head back in silent bliss.

"Holy shit," she mumbles in a muffled, muted moan. "Don't hold back." You circle inside her slowly with one finger, letting the oil's moisture guide you. Then, adding a second digit, you delve back into her, pushing in deep and making sure she can feel it all the way inside as the palm of your hand pushes against her crotch.

Dani rolls her head to one side as you work, staring you right in the eyes and biting down on her lip as she throbs and you press down inside of her, moving in all sorts of subtle directions that are impossible for her to guess. With that, she moans again and there's a little grunt from deep within her. Her fist twists around you and she gets bolder with her touch.

You build it into some sort of rhythm and she moves, each time, reacting so well with your own thrusts. When she's relaxed enough for it, you introduce another finger.

"I— You can— Go a little bit faster," she pleas. Stretched wider, Dani starts to grow even more restless. This time, instead of small, languid strokes, your whole hand works, fingers rubbing and swirling, thumb finding her clit to massage it with purpose, building, always building, until she is shuddering under you, every single time, tensing and twitching with every change in direction.

"Come on—more," she pleads, bucking up against your hand, so slick with arousal.

She's barely jerking your cock, not even intentionally, just the jolts through her body causing the occasional twist of her grip or slide of her palm. You let it just rest in the loose curl of her grip and focus on doing what she commands, twisting your hand, gripping and stroking, tugging in circles and holding inside. The quivering gets worse and worse. And her breath grows heavier.

You keep working her relentlessly, as she squeals a drawn-out curse. Dani nearly loses control. She grips you hard, tightens her fist around you in spasm, a pained wince on her face, as she curls her toes so hard.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." It's the only thing she says, no jokes, no banter, as her eyes roll back, mouth agape as if the wind's been knocked from her, and a final, body-length spasm overtakes her. Her whole body. Back arched off the table, eyes pinched shut. It lasts for the longest time, almost impossible to sustain, you watch with an odd mix of terror and wonder. Her hair is a mess. Her naked, stretched-out limbs, glisten in the warm light.

It takes her a good half minute to fall back down, her lungs now sucking in the air as if there were none at all. One leg quivers. Her breaths slow, her eyes open again and you're holding her stare, her cheeks a faint scarlet, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

More oil. More rubbing. From tension to relaxation again. Slowly she softens and you turn her whole body limp beneath your hands. All while you barely manage to hold yourself back from ravishing her. She keeps her eyes fixed upon you, so you force a smile, ignoring the ache clenched in her fist. You could kiss those lips, right now. Taste them. How soft and smooth would she feel pressed against you? What noises would come out of her?

You'd be forgiven for letting your imagination run wild with desire, but not forgiven for taking this service in any direction that Danielle didn't command.

She watches your thoughts as they float by, and seems to be considering the same. Then she smirks, and just with a look, reassures you that it's going to happen, and it's going to happen just exactly the way she wants it.

You're working your slick hands over her midriff, and have been for a minute or two, waiting for instruction. You work slightly up her body, perilously close to taking some initiative, but then she speaks, "That was... unexpected."

"Was it? Seemed to be your plan all along."

"Planned to tease. Planned to be touched. But did not expect it to be that good." She shakes her head softly, her cheek touching her shoulder as she stares with a fuzzy, dreamy look that is impossible to decipher. She has a cute, beautiful way of pouting her lips that's fascinating, you're struck still, hypnotised by the sight and the motion. "A few more would be perfect."

"You have me booked for another hour, and the client gets what the client wants."

Dani laughs. A light, melodious chime. "I know what I want," she tells you, gently rocking her palm over your cock. "I'm incredibly hard to fully satisfy, you better get to work."

Dani releases you from her grasp, and turns back over to her front, stretching out once more and looking back at you over her shoulder, holding a stare as she parts her legs. This stare could kill a man if his heart were too weak, and though your heartbeat quickens, your mind focuses on your purpose.

Your hands glide over her oil-coated thighs, wet and glistening. Dani rests her head back down and you are unable to stop your gaze from wandering along her spine, the gentle dimple above her ass, the two tight round cheeks below and the line bisecting between them. Up over her ass, you caress, then you slip and stroke in the valley, this, she clearly enjoys, judging from how her butt rises to greet your touch, her hips rolling once more.

Lower now. Lower and lower, until once again, your finger meets her lower lips and she hisses an inwards breath and tenses. Her body is so reactive to every touch. It makes this so easy, so rewarding, so deeply arousing. You are confident you can build her up, high, and crash her down in waves, for hours, until the sun breaks.

Two fingers again, to begin, that same twist and swirl to coax her towards delirium. Her quiet huffs and suppressed moans fill the air. With a heavy push, you dive in deeper, to watch as her whole body, muscle by muscle, starts to become lost in the sensation. And when you curl your fingers down and grind the heel of your hand over her clit, Dani absolutely loses it. She bites the sheets, body tight, hands trying to grab the far edge of the bed to give something to hold onto.

Her feet kick uselessly and a series of incomprehensible phrases fill her breath and break apart on the way out of her. Though you don't quite understand them, you grasp the meaning. This is what she wants you to do right now, to see how high you can bring her.

Her whole body starts trembling again. Tingling, quivering, shivering. It's one constant shake and her moans are louder, and longer. She struggles to breathe out a scream. Sweat begins to mix in the oil, and she lets out another unintelligible mess of words as you pull away. Dani collapses back into a quivering heap, gasping for air and stretching her hands out as if reaching out to the void, reaching out, grasping for something in the dark.

She lies there, spent, breathing deep. Her entire body is hot and burning as her muscles relax. Each breath is a moan, and her thighs clamp tightly together as if the feeling of nothing after being so worked up is torturous to endure.

Your fingers are soaked in her creamy fluids, it drips down onto the bed below. Yet somehow, this isn't over. No. There's a single goal, right in the back of your mind, that's never stopped clawing. If only you could taste her. Sink your face between her firm ass cheeks and tease her with your tongue and suck and devour her, the entirety of her.

Maybe you could ask. Or maybe you could just start kissing her lower back, your nose rubbing against her tailbone, working to the left, towards her hip and tease, trailing your lips ever lower to a spot just over the peak of her butt, until she wants your tongue to dive right in.

The thought is interrupted by her blessing, "Again. Another. However you want," her words stumble upon each other, a raspy, spent quality to her. "Whatever you want."

You kneel at the very end of the bed, lean over and take her hips and you lift them up with an abrupt strength that earns her immediate interest, judging by her sudden gasp. You put her on her knees, ass in the air. Beneath it, her lips shine and spread. You're going to drown in her. You lean over, planting kisses along her body until they land right where your fingers had been, right along her soaked pussy.

The taste is so sweet. Dani whimpers as her body twitches. Your lips part her, and your tongue stretches and laps her up with an unshakeable excitement. Dani tastes amazing, like every inch of her, hot and rich and so unbelievably delicate. She is desire—concentrated and distilled into the female form. Your mouth descends, kissing every tiny spot you can reach, your lips closing, sucking the sticky warmth into your mouth. You might spend the rest of eternity here, savouring her juices.

Each rough lick gives Dani a small burst of pleasure. This is perhaps not the most elegant approach, but you wouldn't dream of stopping and so you continue, over and over, eager to return Dani to her previous, tranced bliss. So wet and sweet and smooth as velvet, your tongue flattens over her clit.

Dani cums twice like this. Ass in the air, your face in her cunt, two more delicious releases and you lap up both. They come accompanied by Dani's musical screams and moans and swearing and mumbles and complete incoherence. Every part of her body tenses. Every movement becomes forced, with less control, until every part of her, quivering and shaking, is taken by a rapture. Her throat chokes off her moans and breathy whimpers, and then she becomes lost for a time, struggling to remember to breathe, caught up in the overwhelming, and unstoppable waves.

"Enough, enough," Dani chokes out, and so you stand back, watching as she twists back into a flat position on her back again, her hips shaking with the effort. She trembles for a while longer before lying perfectly still on the table. As you gaze at her, she still appears ethereal, unattainable. She gazes up at you with lidded eyes and the drowsy content smile that rests upon her lips—she is a goddess. Even after all those body-racking orgasms, she settles into that same elegant grace that makes you question what makes her mortal.

Dani raises a hand and curls a beckoning finger, "Come here."

And you come to her, to her smile that draws you in, a moth to a flame and the moth will burn, not the flame, it will never tire, it will consume anything. She takes you in her hand, hard and throbbing under her delicate touch, and yet so helpless against it. With a pull, Dani draws you in—to consume.

She parts those pretty, pink, curled lips and then looks up into your eyes and sighs as her warm breath runs across your length. Danielle curls her tongue to the underside of your head and engulfs it. She doesn't raise her head from where it rests, instead making you clamber up to her, so you put a knee on the wooden frame and a hand next to her shoulder. The heat grows, and Dani is swirling her tongue over your tip, making you twitch and throb in her grasp, a slave to her touch.

You're pushing forward, leaning over her, as her mouth opens wide and lets you in, then, all at once, tightens. Her tongue and lips stretch around your thickness and then enclose you, sealing tight. She makes a point of looking you in the eye, holding your stare, a curl at the corner of her mouth that only further sets a tremble to your loins. She pulls, slow, agonising and without hurry, her mouth holds tight and sucks back.

You pull out of her, an inch, and she stays clamped tight and as she draws away, she uses the time to slowly slide her tongue along and around your crown and against the sensitive underside. Once Danielle has pulled right off with a wet smack, the warmth of her breath covers your cock once more. She flicks her tongue against your tip, first as a long, sweeping, lingering brush, then a rapid flick that teases.

"Dani, fuck," you groan.

"That's the idea," she whispers, right against you, her warm, panting breath driving you crazy, her own burning desire barely contained. "Get down there and do me. Right now."

Then, in one fluid movement, her hands find her legs. She grips behind her knees and pulls her thighs up and back. She spreads her legs wide, with her feet in the air.

"Fuck me. I mean it," she states firmly, fixing you with that stern gaze. Her words send a flaming arrow directly to light the most basic of your instincts.

She has presented everything to you and wants to give even more. You can think of nothing else but ploughing her into the table until your vision fades to white. It takes only seconds and you find yourself over her, between those slim legs. You put a hand on each thigh and spread her.

Cock bearing down on her leaking cunt, you lower your body until she has all of your weight on top of her. Her hips squirm under your pressure, and she drags your arm tighter around herself until she finds exactly what she's been looking for. A rub between her folds as your length slips against her, up and down.

"Mmm, yes," she giggles, "put it in, all of it."

In an almost unconscious action, you place the head of your cock against her opening. Her wetness provides no friction, and Dani uses her nails to scratch your back impatiently. Slowly you flex forward. Every inch. So warm, so fucking hot. Tighter than anything.

"Oh, yes," is all Dani has to say as her breath cuts short. You feel the intense squeeze, you have no doubt this is a step beyond the pleasure your fingers gave her, and her entire body tightens, and she pulls you in, deep and full. Her eyes grow wide and her fingers dig into you as you draw back and drive in once more.

Another moan, her pitch gets deeper, this one drawn out from her very core. You hear it right in her chest, from the depth of her lungs, before it squeals free, right into your ear. "Worth every penny." Her words are thick and drawled, hard to make out, she can't seem to decide whether she wants to open her mouth or close it and keep it shut.

She wraps her arms tight around your neck and pulls you in deeper, you push her legs higher, folding her body up and it only makes things tighter, a thrill she clearly relishes.

You roll forward, holding her close to you, giving you a better purchase with her feet held up so high. Dani groans as you bite and suck at the soft skin along her neck. Your thrusts are still slow, so damnably slow. You push, and fill, and wait. Over and over, it's a cruel torment to both of you.

"Ah, come on. Give it to me, hard," Dani says, raking nails on your neck. She turns her head. Finds your mouth. Seals her lips against yours. Teeth nibble and then her tongue penetrates your mouth. Her hips start to rise and drop. Her sex grabs at you, pleading to pound her.

So you let go of your iron self-restraint and fuck her. Fuck her good.

Your tempo grows more powerful. Her walls squeeze and pull and writhe with a desperate need. It's tight, so, so tight, the way she envelops you, the slick warmth around you. Each stroke sends a shudder through her. Another ripple follows and with it, her high, pitchy wails. Dani's never been so loud, so demanding that her pleasure be delivered.

Number five is close, you can feel her body going rigid, the quivering, twitching, curling of her toes, the growing tension, you go faster, a force building within, trying to rush her to the inevitable. Dani screams, moaning incoherently, her eyes screw tight as you throw yourself into her with such ferocity, like an animal, with no regard for pace, or rhythm. Pure, unrelenting pleasure.

She grips so hard on your shoulder, and then her other hand goes back, over her head, gripping the edge of the table in white-knuckled desperation. "I'm... cumming," Dani spits through a clenched jaw, unable to even form her tongue around the word.

Her orgasm feels more powerful this time, so much more; it flows through her and you can't help but stare. Watching the way the pink blossom blooms on her face and how the rest of her pales. One orgasm into another, you think, it's difficult to discern. You're in no rush. No race. Instead, you delight in the absolute loss of control you see in Danielle's face and you feed off it.

Her mouth forms a soundless scream and she reaches up and sinks her nails into your chest and drags them across, not breaking the skin, but hard enough to leave marks. It feels amazing. All the more so watching Danielle break herself, willingly.

"Holy shit..." Danielle pants then sucks air into her empty lungs.

Her little, flexible body, pinned beneath yours, seems incapable of even the tiniest motion, save the trembles.

Through gritted teeth, she says, "I want— I want a facial. My face. Cum."

This is the single sexiest thing she could have possibly said at that moment. For all the time you've spent watching that pretty doll-like face contort in a hundred different ways, you want nothing more than to see it coated with your lust. To paint every last bit of that sweetness on her lips, on her cheeks—everywhere. To witness that brief moment, after climax where she is confused and awash with bliss and trying to remember how to breathe, and it's interrupted by a load of your cum. You want it.

You round the table, standing over her head, lowering down and watching her eyes spark with anticipation. Danielle knows how bad you want it, how close it is, and you watch, enraptured by the way she tilts her head up and licks her lips. Her little, eager tongue.

Dani wraps her fingers around you and strokes and pumps fast, pulling, urging you to completion, teasing you to spill over her, onto those pretty, dainty features. Your skin feels alive, like static and pinpricks and pure lightning, like your nerves have come to the surface. Pent-up energy coils low, threatening to snap. You cannot resist her anymore.

It all unfurls in a glorious, explosive instant. Blinding. A shiver climbs up your spine, spreading to every limb in one long spasm. A long, raw growl in your throat as you shoot thick and hard, some on her face, and some overshooting onto her chest. Dani gasps a cute little "Oh" and then starts to giggle as the second rope lands right over her perfect little features. And then another, this time across the bridge of her nose and her cheek and down her lips. Her tongue collects whatever it can.

Dani's small hand keeps a hard grip and keeps coaxing, even as you feel like you have nothing to give, with it all painting her face, still, she jerks up and down, until you are empty, trembling and drained. Still, she goes, forcing you through painful shivers, laughing the whole time until the pain becomes too much, and your hands take hers and pull.

You prop yourself against the table, looking down at the mess you made. Dani's happily laughing to herself, licking up what she can. "You'll need to clean me again now, won't you? Sponge away all your dirty filth," she giggles.

Her giggle is intoxicating. Loving. It warms you right through. You wish you could bottle up her laughter.

"Need a minute," you grunt, and there's so much pride on her cum-strewn face.

"Aw, need time for recovery?" Dani quips. "I'll just lay here, all messy and defiled. Waiting to be tended to. Enjoy the sight of me, of your filthy cum all over my sweet, innocent face, until you get the strength to lift me. Really, don't rush, I love this feeling."

[cute-sucker]

smile for the camera

˚❀༉‧₊˚

rafe called you his prized trophy, and you didn't mind it. you trotted in your tight skirts, black card and tiny heels. it was a ritual, something calming. you needed a label, something to stand by.

something that branded you to be his. but you didn't mind his demands, sometimes you were sweet about it. sometimes you let things go wild, but you knew he would take care of you. that was the important thing. that was what you needed most of all/  

there was something about him that made you feel protected. and he liked that you let him do that. you fueled his male insecurities of having to be a strong, strong man, because of how desperately you needed someone like that.

you used to be a pageant queen, a girl who had gems stuck to her forehead, makeup drowning her face, teeth bleached white, and the constant need to be loved. one of your vivid memories was getting dragged to get your hair done, your mother screeching about how needy you were. the whole appointment you cried your eyes out, arms flailing out, whispering questions.

"do you love me mommy?"

and she would pull you up, her lipstick clashing againts her leopard orange jumpsuit. you could already hear the insult, and braced yourself.

"would someone love their cash cow?" then she paused watching your expression. you were five. you didn't know what that meant, but you could feel yourself being inspected like an insect, and then finally when you cowered your gaze to the floor, she hummed with contempt.

"no. now, shut up" then her harsh hand would graze against your chin to fix your hair. you whimpered, hands aching to take out your outfit. the rest of the memory was too painful to remember.

but those days were gone. rafe had caught your eye the first time you worked at the country club. you lacked the vanity or the items that would attract someone who had money, but there was something about your smile.

you were dazzling no matter what, and that was when rafe had seen you. you had gone to the bathroom before to serve him, and came back with pink glossy lips and doe eyes that showed him that you were innocent. you needed protection. you needed someone to give you the firm hand, and then kiss you with forgiveness.  

so there it was. within weeks he would only call you to serve him, and you would do so quickly, the same smile plastered on your face, and finally as if he was pissed he pulled you down. your mom had always told you that the one thing she liked about you was your winning smile. but, something was wrong.

"nah, i don't like that."

you snapped to look at him, your fake smile wavering for a moment, "what's the problem, mr. cameron?"

sometimes that would earn a chuckle out of him, and you could tell the way he was sitting that he liked it but - but there was something wrong, and suddenly he was pulling you down to sit with him. you felt shocked seeing him so close. you could smell his breath, and you felt your heart drum faster.

"get that-" he pointed to your face, "-fucking fake smile outta here. if you wanna make me happy? give me a real smile."

and that was it, and then he grunted almost pushing you up. you sniffled, and then got up, hands reaching to fix your skirt and then hurried out to the backdoor. no one called back for you, and it was almost as if his words echoed all the way home as you caught the bus.

you spent hours crying over that moment. as you got home you rushed to the bathroom. your disgusting apartment smellt of cockroaches, and burnt food, and you sat there in your sink. you smiled. stopped. smiled. stopped. smiled. it hurt the way the cracks of your smile etched into your mouth.

what was wrong with it?

for god sakes what was he talking about?

x

those days were now long gone. no longer did you wait tables, or go back to your crappy apartment that made you feel gross. instead you slept in a warm bed in tanyhill waking up to rafe's firm hands on your body. you snuggled closer to him, placing your hands on his chest.

"hey?" he murmered, head buried in the fluff of his pillow. you giggled at his strange expression, and he quickly stuck his head out, eyes squinted, "what's wrong?"

you sighed, "nothing rafey. i-"

he looked at you again, a pointed look on his face, "spit it out."

you bit your lip, your voice a whisper when you asked your question. you had always been told to never ask questions unless you wanted the backhand, but rafe waited patiently.

"um," you sputtered out, "um, you remember that day when you came into the country club and i was serving-"

he hummed appreciatively, "yeah you were so hot, goddamn-"

at this you giggled again, before placing your hand on his mouth, "gotta shut up for a second-" and then you bit your lip before tilting your head, "remember that day when you told me to stop smiling, or something like you didn't like my smile?"

rafe seemed to furrow his eyebrows, "no, baby, i don't really remember that," he muttered out, and you felt your heart prick.

your eyes watered the way they always did, as your throat clogged up, "i was wondering what you meant by that?"

he sighed finally, looking at you. you looked so small in your pink nightgown, lip stuck out as you seemed to clench your fists to the sides of your body. you watched him carefully, hoping that something - some emotions would show on his face.

he sighed again, before reaching out for you, "baby, come here. you seem so far away," he said soflty, pulling you closer until you were in his lap. he held you close, his words humming a sweet vibration through your body. you felt safe, you felt at home.

you felt your breathing calm, as you listened to his steady beat. his hand moved up and down your back.

"listen," he began, his voice a low rumble, "when I said that, i didn't mean I didn't like your smile. i just meant i wanted to see the real you. not some fake, plastered-on smile you thought i wanted to see."

you sniffled, tears brimming in your eyes, but you felt a small flicker of relief. "but why didn't you just say that?" you whimpered, your voice small and vulnerable.

he tilted your chin up, making you look into his eyes. "i was a dickhead, and you seemed like a sweet girl. i wanted to know you as that sweet girl"

you blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek. he make a soft sound of protest as he wiped the tear away with his coarse thumb, touch tender

"you mean that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. you felt shy now, folding into your self, as rafe smiled against your skin.

"of course, i mean it," he replied firmly. "y'think i'd lie about something like that?"

finally he pulled you up to give you a firm kiss, "my princess."

you buried your face in his chest, letting his words sink in. the weight of the past seemed to lift, if only a little, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. "thank you, rafe," you murmured against his skin.

he held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "no need to thank me, baby."

for the first time in a long time, you felt a genuine smile tug at your lips.

[found-pham-ily]

@harvestandhearth

I almost didn't write this because of the amount of hate I was getting but you were so excited I figured one little addition wouldn't hurt.

Tw Cop!Danny if you don't like don't read.

It had been an offhand comment. Walker had notice the ghost boy...now man had seemed upset. Upon hearing Phantom's plight he had made the suggestion, become a cop.

Danny wasn't a fan of cops, too many bad things done under the guise of protecting and serving. But he'd failed at becoming a fire fighter. The heat from one of the training events had all but hospitalized him, which got him kicked out. Thanks to the meta protection acts and the open secret of who he was no one judged him for his weakness.

Then he tried for the Emt route, but between his poor high-school grades effecting any chances at a scholarship and the time he had to spend fighting ghosts he didn't really manage well and ended up dropping out. But hey he picked some stuff up and used that to patch people up post Ghost fights.

He considered a social worker too, but he couldn't exactly fight Ghost on the clock, and the lack of action made it a slog. After so long of being a vigilante, the need for action was a second nature. The Ghost biology needing to fight didn't help either.

Walker's idea buzzed around his head. It made sense in a weird way. He could actually help people, fight Ghost on the clock, and get a decent pay check...

His sister ever the busy body had asked why civil service jobs? Why not go for Nasa like he dreamed of. With the acts repealed and him being labeled a meta he could legally do so. But those damn grades ruined it.

So a cop be became. It was disturbingly easy to become one too. Worrisomely so. He was both good and bad at his job depending who you asked. The people despite their teasing loved him. He had always done his best for them, he only rarely used any form of violence with people, and when needed nothing more then the bare minimal to safely stop them. Hell he'd taken a few bullets from other cops to save people.

The other cops hated him, Danny didn't subscribe to the usually loyalty and standards a cop had. You did something illegal and abused your power he'd report it in such a way consequences had to be given. Yeah he'd keep his partner safe, and did his job well but he broke the status quo. He also made the whole force in Amity look bad. He was so good he made them look incompetent.

But despite all he did Danny wasn't free from the social scrutiny. Both from the living and the dead. Ghost mocked him for becoming lame and joining the cops. Humans just went with the stigma, not unfairly so; and it just fueled him to do his job better. To prove to people that just because he wore a uniform he wasn't full of hate.

Apparently he did his job too well. At least that's what he assumed as he sat in an office a Green Lantern in front of him. "So let me get this straight, you want me to become the face of a civilian branch of the Justice League?" Danny was still bitter about all the help he didn't get as a budding child hero.

"Yes, your work as both a cop and a meta dealing with supernatural threats has gained an online following. We want people to know that we work with the authorities and accept metas in non-hero jobs." Hal could tell the man was suspicious of him. Which wasn't unfair since the league seemed to always recruit metas into hero jobs.

"You wouldn't have to do more then you already do aside the occasional press conference." He continued.

Danny sighed and thought on it, this would secure his job that he knew was on the chopping block due to his 'insubordination'. They couldn't fire him without a major backlash if he had the Justice League on his side. But he didn't like the idea of being some sort of symbol. He just wanted to help protect people, and maybe throw some punches with some ghosts. He was a simple man after all.

"Fine but I want the medical benefits the League offers." Medical was expensive, and while Danny healed faster then the average person that didn't effect the initial bills. And he had to go to the hospital for paperwork's sake.

"That can be arranged." Hal was just glad he didn't get the expected rejection from the ex-teen hero.

[mattslolita]

꒰ biker!matt sturniolo ꒱ ⟡ headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

꒰ SFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have met you at a party, no doubt — he noticed you in your short, black dress with the ribbon tied in your locs as you stood around uneasily among the crowd of people you didn't know. he made it his mission to have spoke to you by the end of the night. sweet, unsuspecting you wouldn't have realized he'd been standing near you until you accidentally get bumped against him as he's leaning against a wall.

"oh! m'so sorry bout' that, i didn't see you there."

"s'alright, sweetheart. why's a sweet girl like you doin' at a party like this anyway, huh?"

"my friend dragged me here, i'd be home reading if i had it my way."

"want me to take ya home?"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ take you on a long, late night ride whilst you fill his head with any random thought that pops into your head — and as time goes on, you find yourself on more late night bike rides around the city with him, your figure huddled up close to his as you enjoy the breeze that sifts alongside you both.

biker!matt would . . .

✦ keep you close to him when you guys go out — his hand hangs dangerously low on your hips just above your skirt, and when he feels you drifting away he's immediately pulling you back towards him.

"aht, stop movin' around so much."

"sorry..."

✦ when you're leaning against his bike, he's got both if his hands resting right above your ass while massaging your lower back area. and he enjoys how flustered you get when his hands are on that particular part of your body — it's fun watching you squirm slightly under his touch.

"s'got you so worked up doll, huh? stay still..."

"keep your hand up there, an' maybe i could!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ love picking out your outfits — his favorites are the cute little mini skirts you wear paired with a cute cardigan and matching bows that go in your hair.

✦ doesn't hesitate to take you shopping, either per your request or just because he wants to do something nice for you. he'll watch you pick out whatever you like, then let you drag him into the dressing rooms as you try on various outfits.

"whatcha think about this skirt? is it too short?"

"makes your ass pop out nicely. put it in the cart."

"matt!"

biker!matt would . . .

✦ unfortunately not put a label on you guy's relationship — he's not one to trust easily, so he's not ready to give you that title yet. however, he'd do things to let others know you're off limits such as...

biker!matt would . . .

✦ let you wear his signature leather jacket, no doubt because he wants everyone to know that you're his. if you're at some kind of outing, he'll casually drape it over your shoulders and shoot a death glare to anyone who even thinks about trying it.

✦ he'll make you put his jacket on when you insist on straying away from him to join your friends, but the jacket made sure to serve its purpose as a constant reminder to anyone.

"y'keep this on, 'kay? don't need anybody thinkin' they can try it."

"i highly doubt they will matt, i'm-"

"y'know i don't take no for an answer, bunny. keep the jacket on, got it?"

"yes sir."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ never let you smoke cigarettes, yet he keeps his marlboros tucked in the pocket of you denim skirt or your pocket in your cardigan — you got a custom made blue, eeyore lighter just for him.

"here, come light this f'me sweetheart."

✦ he's holding the cancer stick up to his lips whilst you flick the lighter on, getting momentarily distracted by how the fire accentuates his features but you focus again as the fire catches onto the cigarette successfully.

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

biker!matt would . . .

✦ fuck you against his bike any chance you got — he'd have you bent over, your hands perched on the seat as he's pounding into you from behind mercilessly.

"fuck, gonna make a mess all over my bike, aren't ya?"

"thas it sweet girl, fuckin' take it."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have his hands all over you — his ring clad hands with either be wrapped around your neck whilst he's got you in missionary and doggy,

"fuckin' like being choked, sweetheart? wan' me to do it harder? such a naughty girl..."

✦ or they're groping your titties whilst you ride him.

"jus' like that doll, doin' so good f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ have a major corruption kink — everyone thinks you're his sweet, innocent girl clad in her cute bows and quiet personality; but matt knows better, and every chance he gets he's always reminding you about how he knows you're a freak ass on the low.

"always so quiet got nothin' comin' out ya mouth, now you're chokin on my dick like the good slut you are..."

"you like bein' fucked like this, don't you? such a naughty girl, so perfect f'me..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ make you cockwarm him at parties when you guys are sitting alone, on the couch or something — if you're moving around too much, he's thrusting up into you subtly to get you to stop.

"s'not that hard doll. jus' sit still, got it? don't you dare move."

"fuck, matt..."

biker!matt would . . .

✦ be a brat tamer! you might be quiet and sweet most of the time, but when you act out, you're bratty — so matt makes sure to put you in your place.

"told you to stop actin' up, didn't i? now look, all fucked dumb on my cock..."

"you cum when i tell you to, got it? y'know what happens with you disobey me..."

"keep talkin' back sweetheart an' i'll give you somethin' to whine about..."

( lilly's corner 💌 )

i am all things biker!matt, y'all. this is mostly inspired by my biker!matt fic on my wattpad, so i thought i'd share it here🤭. feel free to spam my inbox with more biker!matt headcanons! 💌

@muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

[honeydewcorporation]

Some Things I Did Not Realize Until Later In Life

When it is sunny and miserably hot (>65F) outside and someone tells you to "enjoy the beautiful weather," they're not being ironic and genuinely think it is pleasant weather.

The default amount of pain most people are in is literally 0, not figuratively.

Most people feel a compulsory urge to breed with their preferred variety of people. Sex isn't supposed to be some kind of trial you endure to prove you love someone, and it's ok if you don't want any.

Polyamory doesn't have to be [people A-N in a relationship with each other at the same time] it can be (and is much more logistically feasible as [person A in a relationship with every person B-N individually]

If you think something is wrong with your body, follow that hunch as far as it will go. Your body doesn't just hand out warning signs for fun, those serve a purpose. Sometimes your body spamming you with warning signs for no reason is the problem in and of itself, and you should see a neurologist.

The golden rule is usually pretty good, but it can get you in hot water if you're autistic and trying to help someone. (I don't have a fix for this, just try to make sure people know your intentions before you speak to them.)

You don't need a "type"

You don't need a label.

You deserve accommodations for any disability you have, even if "it's minor" and you can live without them.

People tend to want to help each other out. Often you do not need to make it worth someone's time to ask for help, and they would prefer spending time to help you over spending time watching you flounder around without help.

It's ok to stop talking to people you don't vibe with, just be nice about it.

If you know someone who has a condition triggered by someone doing something they can't control such as Misophonia (when certain sounds send them into a panicky rage) triggered by a family member's eating noises: Neither of them are at fault, and it's ok to for either to ask the other to leave.

Equality is great in an ideal world but we live in a horrible bastard world where equity (certain marginalized groups receiving the aid they need before and in larger volume than advantaged groups) makes more sense.

Capitalism will always be at odds with general prosperity.

People give each other gifts because they like them. You should not feel obligated to give someone a thank you gift or feel guilty or indebted in any way. They would not like that.

Visualizing things from other people's perspective if you have low or no empathy is made easier by picturing it's you in their situation. A reminder that the world is complex and all those other people living in it are like you sort of.

Sorry this turned more into life advice! Hope it helps at all!

[pricegouge]

cw: fat femme reader. shitty tinder dates. alcohol mentioned but not consumed. that's it. written on my lunch break and unedited so mind the mess

divider by @/cafekitsune | taglist @pricegouged

You're on your second drink when you swear off dating apps altogether. 

Dylan - fine, normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dylan - had exposed himself fairly early as too fine and normal, and therefore boring, which wouldn't have been too big a problem if he hadn't also been leaning further and further into the asshole category with each passing minute.

The snide little comment about your weight would be enough to send you packing early under any normal circumstances, except you'd been an idiot who'd let him pick you up so you needed a ride home, and why pay for an Uber when you can be mean right back?

It takes you a moment to arrive at that conclusion, though, stopping mid sip of your water to arch your eyebrows at this pathetic little thing before you with enough force to have him backpedaling. You watch him flounder for a moment, considering your options, not listening at all as he tries to clarify that he's 'into it, though - big girls, that is'.

You roll your eyes away from him, pretend to watch the highlight reel of last night's match from where it plays on the outdated CRT in the corner. It's not even a good place for a date, really, a self-serve popcorn machine in the corner offering pre-fingered snacks and a low liquor shelf behind the bar suggesting you'd best be thirsty for something with no more than three ingredients. You're not exactly the snooty type, but you suddenly realize you should maybe learn to know your worth better because you cannot ever sit across the table from someone who's read The Game ever again. One more time might kill you, funeral expenses legally billable to Neil Strauss and everything. 

Except your new standards will have to be enacted in the morning because you suddenly refuse to spend a fucking dime on this terrible outing.

Dylan still looks slightly panicked when you turn back to him with a shy little affected smile and a demure batting of your eyelashes. You watch in real time as his expression shifts from pure panic at a gamble ventured and lost, to surprised delight when he thinks it's paying off. You let him keep thinking that, draw quiet and reserved the more dinner draws on though jokes on you there, because that just means you have to hear him talk more and it's a struggle to pretend you don't find the damn coasters more interesting than him at this point. 

(They're cardboard and growing waterlogged from condensation, the local brewery's logo becoming easily peelable. It's become your mission to get a clean pull by the end of his long winded ramble, though he's so invested in hearing himself talk that you surpass your goal twice, peeling both the front and back off the coaster and sticking the limp paper to your glass, pressing out air bubbles with your fingers like you're carefully applying proper labeling. He doesn't stop talking until your glass is labeled front and back, real professional.)

When he asks if you're ready to go you perk up like a dog hearing its favorite word. You wanna go for a ride? Hm? You ready to go home, girl? Your nod is bobble-headed, eager. You let him misread it because you're an asshole and because you did say in your profile that you weren't looking for hookups so really it's his own fault if he blue balls himself. 

The ride back is short, easy. You don't know if it's better or worse that he doesn't bother flirting with you here or test your expectations with a cheeky little hand on your thigh. Instead, his grip remains carefully at ten and two and you're grateful he's not touching you, really, but you know what he expects from you in a matter of mere moments, hours, whatever, and it pisses you off that he doesn't even bother warming you up to the idea by grabbing a feel of those 'big thighs' he's 'into.' So you let yourself stew, fuel for the fire, and you fiddle with his heat controls just because you can. 

If he was so dead set on ending this night all hot and wet, you could help him with that at least.

Sweat beads at Dylan's temple when he pulls into the intricate webbing of drives which make up your apartment complex. It's a nice enough place, one you can only afford with the help of one too many roommates. The steep rent is worth it though for nights like tonight, when apprehension begins to pool in your belly as you try to steel yourself for the small confrontation you're about to initiate. Dylan may have been a little weasel but he wasn't exactly contentious so you're not expecting anything too major to come of this, but it's reassuring to see so many people still out and about enjoying the cool fall evening. It's still fairly early, mothers only just heading back from the park with their double wide buggies taking up half the drive. They shoot Dylan ugly looks as he passes, just a hair too fast for their unofficial neighborhood watch. At least you know they'll be on your side if he really starts to act up.

Dylan does not need reminding which specific branches lead to your building, rolling to a stop next to your own car which you try not to look at with any familiarity. You may have already made the mistake of giving him your address, but every morsel of information he might glean about you now feels like a theft, and even what you had for breakfast is suddenly a dark secret you'd like to keep from him for no real reason. 

It's hard looking at Dylan now too, the shyness you'd been playing up before all of a sudden a very real obstacle as your eyes wander your building's facade, as if even you aren't certain which bay window is yours. Your lights are all off, you note with some annoyance, your roommates not home despite the fact they said they would be. 

'Up all night waiting for you,' Carren had winked, her big cheeky smile something you've never had cause to mistrust before. You gotta work on your naivete. 

Your eyes keep moving, resolved not to give away even your apartment number by being too obvious. They catch on the patio next door, however, when you spot your neighbor Kyle sitting on his Adirondack chair, smoking a cigarette as he watches this new car pointedly, doing nothing to hide his curiosity. 

If you had been smart you would've told Dylan to pick you up a few buildings down so he wouldn't even have the proper section, but the relief you feel at seeing your sweet, hot, extremely fit neighbor outside playing guard dog more than makes up for your mistake. So much so that your fingers don't falter when they find the handle, emergency release ready to be disengaged. You turn back to Dylan with a too-sweet smile and thank him for dinner again, already leaning out the door when he stutters something about having a good time.

"Yeah, me too," you call over your shoulder, beelining it for Kyle's patio because you've had enough drinks in that vacant chair across from him to know you're always welcome, especially in a situation like this. Sure enough, Kyle perks up when he sees it's you climbing out of the strange car, and then furrows his brow over your shoulder when you hear Dylan climbing out after you. Some snivelly little creature you've been trying to kill since you turned eighteen holds the reins when you turn back to him despite your better instincts, your need to avoid a scene outweighing everything else in that moment.

Your date's facade is visibly crumbling now, his frustration obvious in the set of his jaw and the sweat at his temples. You wonder if perhaps the thermostat had been a bit much and then immediately decide you don't care when he stammers something about maybe coming in for a glass of something nicer than what the restaurant had to offer. 

Presumptuous. "I don't," you blurt, only continuing when he blinks at you in confusion, "drink anything nice, that is." Across the lawn, you think you hear Kyle snort.

"Uh… coffee?" Dylan asks, just as stubborn as you.

"Gave up caffeine," you lie, trying not to think about the lovely mocha creation Kyle will likely offer you momentarily when you tell him you've got a splitting headache.

To his credit, Dylan doesn't quite pout. "Right. Well. Do this again sometime?"

And you're already on a roll with the lies so you just carry right on with them, chirping out a high, "Sure!" before trying to turn on your heel.

But you're out of niceties when a firm grip on your shoulder keeps you in place, Dylan's scraggly mustache looming into your space as you watch his lips pucker in horror. 

"Oh I'm good, thanks!" you squeak, yanking yourself out of his grip. A laugh bubbles out of you afterward, uncomfortable but still amused by your own reaction. Your satisfaction only grows when Dylan begins to look genuinely pissy. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid but you're past the point of caring.

"Is that it, then?" Dylan huffs, taking a daring step forward. 

You slide back, lock step. "'Fraid so."

"Even after I bought you dinner?"

"And made me feel bad about eating it?" You scoff. "Yeah."

"I drove all the way out from -."

"What's all this?"

You're not sure who jumps more at Kyle's sudden appearance. He hovers by your shoulder, a silent type of fury pulling at his pretty face. You forget sometimes he's military, his general geniality always setting you at ease. It makes this new version of him all the more frightening, a lethal force sitting pretty at your side. 

This is what makes the rent worth it, honestly.

"Kyle, this is Dylan. My date for the night."

Kyle hums, clearly unconcerned with the specifics. "Well, night's over."

You smirk up at where the sun still lingers over the horizon, pale behind its cloudy cover but present all the same. "Indeed."

"Piss off, mate," Dylan tries, his voice sterner than you'd originally given him credit for. 

You raise your brow at him but Kyle doesn't even bother. He turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners, much too tight to be natural. "Luvie, will you go get us some drinks? Sliding door's unlocked."

Part of you rankles at the dismissal, but a bigger part of you does indeed want to be done with this horrible man so you nod, wave a sarcastic two finger salute at Dylan and finally make your way back across the lawn, slipping into Kyle's warm and cozy apartment with a sigh of relief. 

For all the friendly patio drinks you've had with him since moving in, you've never actually stepped foot in Kyle's place. You take a moment to admire it, noting the cleanliness and a tidiness which undeniably spoke of a military career. Still, small concessions to his personality dotted the walls and surfaces. A fresh laundry scented candle, a stack of blu-rays, framed pictures of people you've never met all grinning happily. You spot Kyle's same smile reflected back at you from all these different faces, his entire family evidently blessed with that thousand watt grin and you wonder how one camera could sustain all those lumens being beamed at it.

The layout matches yours, simply reflected. You find the kitchen easily, again noting the cleanliness with a nod of approval. Someday he'd retire and settle down, make someone extremely happy. You could only hope you would be long gone by then because the jealousy might truly drive you to desperate measures. Like taking Tinder back up again, for example. The notion draws you to the kitchen window, quest for beverages all but forgotten when you see Kyle leaning over Dylan's shoulder as the latter man flips through his phone. You frown in confusion, drawing closer to the window as Kyle reaches out and starts poking around your date's phone on his own. It's cracked open, crisp fall breeze whistling through. It drowns out the noise of the conversation but you try anyway, ears straining for any word whispered between the two. A moment passes, another. Dylan becomes increasingly agitated while Kyle stays the picture of controlled severity. You don't hear either of them at all until Kyle's eyes dart to the apartment, finding yours instantly. You gulp, feeling as if you've been caught despite not actually doing anything wrong anyway, and suddenly Kyle's veneer breaks like a thunder cloud. He claps Dylan on the shoulder heavily, turning his beaming smile on the smaller man and calling him a good lad.

Dylan mutters something indiscernible and turns back towards his car, resolutely ignoring as Kyle calls out overly friendly farewells. The engine rips to life, a low growl which suggests it's in dire need of an oil change. Still, it bravely fires up and carries Dylan away, Kyle turning back to you with a roll of his eyes which seemed to say 'this fuckin' guy.'

You grin at him, rolling your eyes right back before ducking your head, suddenly bashful under your neighbor's full attention. Drinks forgotten, you meet him at the door and thank him profusely, ignoring the way he tries to wave it off as if it was nothing,

"No, seriously, Kyle, that was very much appreciated. Probably not necessary but appreciated anyway. Please let me know if there's ever a way I can make it up to you."

And now Kyle's smirk is salacious. Great. "Well, you can join me for that drink I requested to start," he laughs, waving you back into his apartment. "Then you can tell me what you were doing on a date with a guy like that."

"Hm," you hum, already given in but thinking of how you can get what you want out of him first. Your scheming has already worked out so well for you tonight, after all. "Sure, but first you gotta tell me what you were doing on his phone."

He doesn't even miss a beat. "No can do. Top secret stuff."

"Oh," you scoff, allowing yourself to be corralled toward the couch. It's surprisingly soft, instantly cocooning you the moment you slump into it. A woven blanket hangs over the back of it which you wonder if Kyle would mind you using, if he'd get a kick out of returning from the kitchen to find you curled up like you owned the place. Probably, he wouldn't because he's much too nice to you always. "Potential terrorist threat was he?"

"He did fit the profile," Kyle calls back from the kitchen. 

You laugh, decide if he's allowed to call your date a terrorist then you're definitely allowed to use his blanket. His fault for leaving the window open on such a cold day. As expected, Kyle seems completely unbothered when he returns moments later, your favorite mocha monstrosity in one hand and his standard plain, sweetened coffee in the other. He holds your drink out of your reach teasingly however until you admit you'd met Dylan on a dating app and he tuts, relenting your drink to you almost as an apology for what you've had to go through.

"Why are you even on those things?" he asks, slurping at his coffee noisily. It's a funny habit of his, one he somehow manages to make endearing. 

Though, looking like that, you imagine he could probably make booger picking endearing.

"Well, Kyle, some of us aren't quite as naturally charming as you."

He smirks, doesn't bother to deny it. Cocky asshole. "Don't sell yourself short, I'm sure plenty of men would love to have their blankets stolen by you." He winks, hand reaching out to pluck at the weave which drapes over your shoulder. His hand lingers there, warm even through the layers, and your laugh dies in your throat, comes out as a strangled scoff.

"Well. Keep it a little warmer in here and your guests wouldn't have to make themselves at home uninvited."

Kyle's smile is softer this time, dangerously handsome. "You're always invited, pet."

And try as you might to be witty, you can't quite come up with a response to that. Kyle doesn't seem to need one, though, slurping at his coffee as he settles in, far too close. The hand which had been at your shoulder settles lower, palm warm where he kneads at your thick thigh experimentally. You'd laugh at the irony if your brain wasn't too busy turning somersaults trying to make sense of what's happening. Surely your neighbor Kyle - sexy, sharp, nice Kyle - isn't coming onto you.

Right?

But then he's leaning forward and placing his mug on the table, his thick fingers guiding your own mug to your mouth for a quick, stunned sip before pulling it away again and placing it next to his own. He's facing you now, full on, his big dark eyes gleaming with mischief. 

"I was making him delete all your contact info. Earlier. And then I made him deactivate his account," Kyle laughs, an infectious thing which gets you giggling too.

"Not willing to subject other girls to him?"

"I don't take chances," Kyle confirms, voice solemn as a vow. "But what about you, pet? What do I gotta do to convince you to delete yours?"

Given you'd already planned on deleting it, you should really just tell him you've already learned your lesson and there's no need to do anything at all. But your scheming has only yielded a fifty percent success rate tonight and you'd rather go for broke than break even so you just smile, wondering if Kyle saw your no-hookups stipulation on your profile before making Dylan unmatch earlier. 

You hope not.

"I don't know, it might take a lot of convincing."

[whorekneecentral]

Cocoa

Pierre Gasly x Fem!Reader

Warnings: soft boyfriend!pierre, reader is insistent on this one thing, the couch is getting some action, thigh riding, penetrative sex (P in V), choking.

Word Count: 1,638

Author's Note: don't get upset, pierre lowkey gives me the ick so this is my public serve act of the month - writing him :)

merry smutmas series

--

You have your boyfriend drive all around the city until you find the one thing you were looking for. When you finally find it, you decide you want something else.

The noise pulls him away from the simulator, Pierre could hear your grumbling as he made his way to the kitchen. "Mon amour, que se passe-t-il ? Qu'est-ce que tu cherches?" (My love, what's going on? What are you looking for?) He asked as he leant on the wall, arms folded over his chest.

Your back was to the man, "I'm fine." You tell him, sitting on the counter as you dug through the cupboards.

"Is something missing?" He walks over, standing by the counter as he watches you shuffle things around.

"I had this cocoa powder," you shut the door, shifting on the cold marble to face him. "It was in a red tin, I can't remember the name of it but I swear I left it in there."

Pierre's brows furrow, head tilted to the side. "You're sure you left it in there? And you didn't use it all?"

"No, I know I left it in there." You tell him, hopping off of the counter. Your boyfriend shrugs, "I could take you to the store to look some more, if you wanted."

"Okay," you nodded, "let's go."

He looks over at you, watching as you grab your coat. "Oh, now?" He points to the door and you nod, "yeah, come on."

Pierre smiles, shaking his head as he grabs his own coat and his car keys. Only you'd have him running around to look for cocoa powder. Knowing you, it had to be the specific brand you were looking for otherwise you wouldn't buy it.

You were particular like that - part of why Pierre loved you so much.

There you were, walking up and down every single aisle in the store, Pierre following behind you with the shopping cart. You had yet to find what you were looking for but your boyfriend managed to fill the cart up halfway with some bits and pieces he needed.

You were in the aisle with coffee, tea and other things like that. "What was it called again?" He asked, looking up and down the shelves.

"I have no idea," you admit, scanning the shelves for a red tin. Pierre hums, picking up something red. "Was it this?" He shows you, leaning on the handle of the shopping cart.

Looking over, you reach for the tin to get a better look at it. You read the label, looking at the picture. "No," you shook your head, "but I remember it had a picture of a reindeer on it, with some trees or something like that."

Pierre nods, "okay." He takes the tin from you, putting it back on the shelf. You look around some more and Pierre follows you into another aisle before you eventually call it quits and cash out.

Despite not finding the cocoa powder, you still ended up with a trunk full of stuff.

You two checked a few other stores, making your way from one end of the city to the other and you still did not find the thing you were looking for. You had gone as far as googling 'hot cocoa powder with reindeer and trees on packaging', scouring amazon, asking the workers in the store and no one had any idea what you meant or what you were looking for.

After coming out of the last store, you get back into the car - exhausted and you have given up. "Do you want to check anywhere else?" He asked you, looking over to you and you shook your head.

"I give up, Pierre." You sigh, making him chuckle. "But can you stop at the corner shop? I want a Red Bull.. oh and a Kit Kat."

Pierre smiles, "sure, love."

The man drives you towards the corner store, parking right outside before running into the store to pick up what you wanted. He returns a few minutes later, putting the bag into the back with the rest of the stuff before you head home.

Pierre brings the stuff into the house and you unpack it; that had been your deal since you moved in.

You find yourself putting away the stuff from the store, putting whatever had to go into the fridge, into the fridge before putting the rest of the stuff where it needed to go. There's one bag left, the one from the corner store.

Opening it, you take out the Kit Kat and then the Red Bull, but there's something else in the bag. A red tin with a picture of a reindeer in front of some trees.

It was the hot cocoa powder you were looking for.

You set the tin on the counter, running into the living room towards your boyfriend who sat on the couch. Pierre's caught off guard when you jump on him, sending him back on the couch. The man laughs, his arms around you as you sit on top of him.

"You found it!" You smile at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Figured I'd surprise you." He smiles, rubbing your hip. "I take it, it's the right one?"

"Yeah," you nod, leaning down to kiss him. Your hand rests on his jaw, Pierre's other hand finds your lower back, pulling you flat against him. His head tilts to the side when he feels your lips moving down to his neck.

"Wait," he says, pulling you back a bit. "Don't you want the hot-"

"I'm loving on you and you're stopping me to ask about hot chocolate?" You laughed, looking at your boyfriend like he was crazy.

He nods, "yeah you're right, that's wrong of me. Sorry." The man laughs, pulling you back in for a kiss.

His hands find your hips and you shift onto his thigh. He lifts his leg, the sudden change causes you to slide forward, rubbing against the fabric under you. 

You rocked back and forth on his thigh as he kissed you, the two of you only separating for a moment to take your shirt off. Your hands made quick work on undoing the zipper on his hoodie, giving up halfway and pulling on it until he managed to take it off.

The sound that left your mouth was like heaven on earth to him.

Pierre smiles, looking up at you sitting on his thigh. “What was that?” He teased and you shrug, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your cheeks are red as you look away. 

His eyes fixed on you, his hands guide you back and forth, slowly moving you faster with each push and pull. “So pretty,” he coos, pushing your hair back off your shoulders.

You nod, pushing down on his thigh a little harder. Your hands on his shoulder, nails digging into the back of them. That was gonna leave a mark.

Pierre flips you two over so you're laying on your back, under him. You look up at him, confused. “Wha- why’d you stop?” 

Your boyfriend pulls your leggings off, tossing it behind him somewhere and you giggle. "Oh," you look at him, watching him as he pushes his own pants down.

Your legs are up on his shoulders when the man leans down to kiss you, pushing into you. Your hips jut towards him, body betraying you. His arm wrapped around your legs, holding them in place when he pushes in a little more, letting you take all of him. 

Pierre can already feel you clench around him, “relax,” he tells you, a hand rubbing your thigh.  

You nod, chest rising and falling with each passing second, your boyfriend's hips dug into the back of your thighs. He watches as your face twists in pleasure, your own hand wrapped around his bicep and your nails dig into him.

"God-" you cut yourself off with a moan, the tip of his cock brushing against the one spot you really wanted it too. "That, do that again." You looked up at him and Pierre was certain he wasn't going to last much longer.

Hair framing your face, the light reflecting off of your skin, the way your back arched and your chest pressed to his.

Pierre thought he had died and gone to heaven; you were an angel on earth.

He leans down to kiss you again, muffling your moans in the process. His lips against yours when he speaks; "just like that baby, c'mon."

“Gonna cum-” you barely get out between strangled moans. Pierre moves one of his hands, letting it wrap around your throat. 

You were so close, on the edge of cumming. His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing your clit, rubbing on it and his thrusts were the same as before

Your hand wraps around his wrist, he squeezes at your neck a little harder, your legs dropping from his shoulders to back around his waist. Between him fucking you and his fingers on your clit; you were seeing stars right now, vision blurry and your head tossed back, his name fell from your lips like a prayer. 

Pierre laid flat against you now, his face buried in your neck. Your hand rubbing along his bare, skin sticky and warm. "Babe," you whispered, the man moving around a bit.

"Hm?"

"Can you go warm up some milk for me?" You asked and Pierre laughs, his chest vibrating against yours. "Yeah, baby. Sure." He gets up, putting his boxers on before walking to the kitchen.

You watch from the couch, smiling to yourself as he fills a pot with some milk and sets it on the stove. Wrapping the throw blanket around yourself, you walk to the kitchen and hug your boyfriend from the side. He leans, his arm wrapped around you when he kisses your head.

"You're the best," you tell him, smiling at him. "I know," he says and you laugh, smacking him on the side.

--

taglist:  @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @forza55 @norrisleclercf1 @allalngthewtchtower @therealcap @burningcupcakefire @stargirl36 @brettlorenzi3 @guiseppetsunoda @magnummagnussen @flippingmyshit @savrose129 @lovelytsunoda @irda12-blog @dhhdhsiavdhaj @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @f1lovers22 @toomuchdelusion @eviethetheatrefreak @faye2029 @lillians-world-is-f1 @chalando1604 @lenaxwbr @im-obsessed @potashiuhm @lcxlerc16 @enjoythebutterflies3 @lillyfootballsworld @micksmidnights @mashtonbunny @chrlsleclerc @logischeroktopus

[uncivilliberties]

>unfairly banned

>checks internet archive of her blog

>99% of the posts are completely unlabeled pornographic text and fantasies, not even a tag

>checks tumblr guidelines:

"Nudity and other kinds of adult material are generally welcome. We’re not here to judge your art, we just ask that you add a Community Label to your mature content so that people can choose to filter it out of their Dashboard if they prefer. You have the option to add a community label when making a new post, reblogging a post, or editing an existing post. Depending on your content, you can label it as generally mature or choose a specific category such as “Sexual Themes” if your post contains sexually suggestive subject matter."

if you actually give a shit about transfems who are getting harassed left and right then stop martyring people who are getting banned for not labeling NSFW content they post.

and god before anyone tries to have a fit and accuse me of some bullshit, i do not have anything against NSFW, i'm not a puritan asshole, what i DO have an issue with is people posting sexual content without any content labels (yet alone tags) meaning people who don't want to see that content can end up getting exposed to it anyway, even if they've taken the time to filter tags.

What are you fucking talking about? 99%? She posted about music and chatted with friends and made shitposts. It would take an extremely bad faith reading of her blog to find out uniquely objectionable UNLESS you were already inclined to find trans women's existence inherently sexual.

In your reply to this post you accuse her of constantly posting about her kinks and fetishes, helpfully including a link to the Internet archive. Let's take a look, hmmm? Wow, that's a lot of posts about music. In the limited snapshot available at that link I see one (1) masturbation joke that wouldn't even be a blip on the radar if this were anyone else's blog, a goofy ask about breasts that she answered in kind, and a couple of references to being a deergirl. Oh, I see what you mean. The crazy thing about this is that it took one single word to turn it horny. She could have said deer and not deergirl. You absolute dipshit.

"I'm not a puritan asshole, I just wear puritan asshole pants and a big puritan asshole hat and shout puritan asshole bullshit." Even if there was NSFW material somewhere in her history it would still be the thinnest possible excuse for banning her. It would still be blatant selective application of the terms of service weaponized against trans existence. Do we really need a community label on every single dick joke on this site to keep the children safe from harm? Cis people get to make dick jokes with impunity!

"People who don't want to see that content can end up getting exposed to it anyway" This is not the foundation for any sort of moral imperative! This cannot serve as the basis for any sort of course of action! The idea that we need to tag and police and bubble wrap any potentially objectionable thing online is exactly the excuse they are using for KOSA. It's no kink at Pride discourse. It's this post about Pete Buttigieg.

Straight people don't get policed like this. Cis people don't get held to these standards. Are you Staff in a wig and fake nose pretending to be a user supporting their rationale?

[charnelhouse]

press the gas and ride

gif by @riley-keoughs pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader (nicknamed Dolly) word count: 2.4k+ summary: comfort in a car warnings: hurt/comfort. smut. angst. A/N: this takes place a month after teacups, but no need to read. tlou ep 3 spoilers. this is really just trash smut. Joel Miller Masterlist

She watched Joel's expression buckle as he read the letter. His brow furrowed, the muscle in his jaw tensing. She looked away, suddenly feeling intrusive. She'd never come here with Joel. His trips to Bill were semi-frequent, but this was the first time he’d brought her. Of course, he hadn't expected this. He hadn't thought they'd be walking into a dead house. 

The fresh air through the open front door bullied the stench of rotten meat and vegetables. The dinner on the table buzzed with flies. There were starched, ironed napkins folded in triangles with lovely patterns of woodland creatures. She traced the tiny squirrel sewed into the fabric before studying the label on the wine bottle. She was intent on busying herself. She wanted to give Joel space, but he'd been more paranoid than usual since the attack a month ago. 

I don't want you out of my sight.

She hadn't stopped aching. Brutal. Horrible. She'd slaughtered two people, and her mind continued to spin with the memories of it. She was unable to remove the taste of blood from her tongue. She could not unhear the shuddering death rattle or unfeel the way the man beneath her had wriggled and then spasmed like an electrocuted rodent.  

Joel had also seemingly lost his cool that night. After he'd tucked her into bed, she'd heard him smashing up the first floor. In the morning, he'd refused to let her see what he had done and when she fell apart again (in the safety of their QZ apartment), Joel wouldn't have it.

He'd crouched so they could be eye-level, large hand cupping the back of her skull. "They got what they deserved. Nothin' more than that."

He was right, but teaching her head to stop was easier said than done. 

She scanned the dining room before settling on the mahogany cabinet full of delicate china. When she noticed the powder blue and white teacups, she winced. She couldn't escape it. Everything triggered her. She needed to learn to grow up and out of her pain because it wouldn't serve her and certainly not Joel. He bulldozed through everything, and she had to follow suit. 

Joel cleared his throat. He had stopped reading and was staring out the window, far away. She intended to bring him back to shore. 

"They have a car?" she asked, and Joel's eyes swept toward her. Inscrutable. 

"Yeah." He scraped a hand over his mouth. "Yeah."

***

Joel guided her to a guest room, instructing her to clean up and be ready in an hour.

He'd found her a box of women's clothes that she happily dug through. The very idea of new outfits felt celebratory- even if they smelled a bit stale.

The musty fabric reminded her of her grandmother's closets. She'd used to hide behind the wool coats and leather shoes, toes snug in the sea-green carpet. She'd get light-headed on mothballs. 

Her family was gone. A long time gone.

She supposed Joel was the only person who really gave a shit about her well-being. If she died, he’d have the memory of her, at least. She wouldn’t be dust.

After she showered, she yanked on a sundress and sneakers. Joel would undoubtedly say something, but she was past caring. She stared at herself in the mirror, petting the floral-print bodice. She twisted side to side, the breeze from the open window licking between her legs and under her arms. 

She thought of Bill and Frank in the next room and abruptly stopped. Morbid. Strange to be so fine rummaging through a house when two dead men were feet away. Their window was open, too, and she wondered if the sweet brush of cool air had cradled them into the next life. She stepped forward, pressing her ear against the wood. She listened, tapping her fingertips over the wallpaper. 

Silence. She tapped again. Waiting.

"What are you doing?"

She whirled around to find Joel standing in the doorway with a towel around his waist. He'd combed his wet hair back, but a single strand boyishly drifted over his forehead. The scars across his torso gleamed white under the naked afternoon sun.

"Nothing." She shifted her weight, the dress swishing with her. 

He frowned as he scrutinized her outfit. "You can't wear that."

"Because?"

"Because you can't do shit in a dress that short," he replied flatly. 

She put her hands on her hips. "Can I just wear this today? It's-fuck-it's the prettiest thing I've worn since-since I don't know." She averted her eyes, feeling childish at her reasoning.

Because I want to be beautiful for once. I want to look beautiful for you and not covered in grime, blood, and jeans, two sizes too big. 

The expression on Joel's face flickered between irritated and puzzled. She thought he might stride across the room and tear it off her. 

Once in a while, he'd give her shit about things like this-pecking at her for enjoying luxuries that didn't exist anymore. He'd call her a spoiled brat when he really wanted to tick her off. Instinctively, she knew he was doing it, so she'd snap at him, deal him back with a rough hand. 

He always won and she assumed he’d win here, as well.

She expected him to say no, but he took a breath instead. Running his hand across his chest, he massaged an old bullet wound hidden in the sparse hair before turning back into the hall. White flag. 

Then, his voice pitched so low it grazed the floor. "Fine."

***

The letter must have softened him. Repeatedly punched him until he was a tender, pliant piece of meat. He hadn't even twitched when she snatched two guns too massive for her off the basement wall or smuggled a box of wine into the car.

His hands scraped over the steering wheel when he slid into the front seat. He stared blankly at the dash and then the manicured driveway. The grass was just beginning to creep away from the lawn, encroaching onto the asphalt. 

She wasn't sure how to deal with this. He usually seemed to take death in stride. His grief was like a chalky, oversized pill, but he swallowed it nonetheless. He'd made it clear that he didn't even like Bill yet...

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"Take your feet off the dash," he ordered stiffly.

She scowled but did as she was told, figuring she didn't need to push Joel Miller’s buttons again today. She settled into her seat, hands prim in her lap as she waited for him to begin driving.

He didn't. 

He continued to sit silently, seemingly unable to turn the car on. The hand around the steering wheel tightened, his scabbed knuckles flexing and paling beneath the windshield. His nostrils flared, and she suddenly knew:

He was going to crack. He was going to burst down the middle, and he needed her. 

Abruptly, she crawled over the console, gripping him by the lapels of his button-up to balance her weight. The fresh clothes looked good on him-the plaid green shirt fit his broad frame like a glove. She nearly toppled into the door before he grasped her wrist roughly. “What are you-"

"Shh," she murmured, straddling his lap. He stared at her. 

Joel wore his grief in the creases of his face. His pain. His anger. He was beautiful to her. Sexy in a way that couldn't be understood. Older, too. Older than any man she'd ever had before, but it wasn't like she'd had that many men, to begin with. 

"I'm here," she whispered, her thighs squeezing around his own. His mouth parted, exhaling. 

She wondered what undercurrents ran beneath his skin-his armor. What did he think about? How did he see her? 

She lifted herself onto her knees, and Joel's hands automatically seized her hips. Unbuttoning his jeans, she tugged the zipper down, and his eyes found hers. Good. Coyly, she licked her palm before gripping his half-hard cock. She stroked him slow, glancing down to watch the blush-red head disappear in the circle of her fist. He shuddered, hips lifting a few inches off the leather seat. 

She intended to be fast about this. Pleasurable consolation was a language she knew Joel understood. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said and he shivered under her touch. He remained silent as the grave though his eyes never left hers. Perhaps, he was struck dumb by her forwardness.

She clutched his shoulder as she braced herself before sinking down and guiding him into the heat of her cunt. She'd worn the sun dress for a reason. 

Joel made a gritty, strangled noise as she took him to the hilt, lowering herself until his thighs were flush with her ass. The band of his jeans grazed her skin, the metal of the zipper catching flesh. His nostrils flared as she tightened, walls spasming because he was always a little too big. 

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing his face against her chest. He sighed deeply as she rocked forward, his fingers biting into her waist. It could hardly be called a fuck, just her grinding down and him pushing his cock upward until he couldn't claim another centimeter. 

She cradled the back of his skull, rooting her nose around his damp hair that smelled like clover and a scent she recalled from before - something generic and artificial like Irish Spring. 

Finding leverage was proving difficult, but she did her best. She rose up, keeping him halfway inside her before sliding down. Repeat. In her defense, she’d never fucked anyone in a car before.

One of her hands snuck out the open window to grasp the top of the car. It was dusty, and she had this ridiculous worry that maybe someone would crawl into the garage and bite her hand. She ripped it back to cup the side of Joel's face instead. His mouth twitched, his lids heavy like he was drunk and dazed. He didn't even care she had smeared old car dust into his beard. He'd have to shower again. She would, too, and she wanted to laugh at the strange coincidence of paving new roads in their relationship through hot showers. After all, he'd wrenched her away from a panic attack in that house outside Boston. He'd held her in the shower, mouth brushing her ear.

"You did a hell of a job."

"You did so fuckin' well, sweetheart."

She swelled from the memory of Joel's praise. She wanted to pay him back.

"I've got you," she murmured against his temple, nails tracing a line across his scalp through his thick damp grays. "I've got you, Joel."

He nodded-or she thought he did. His gestures were always so vague. Sometimes he'd hold her down and fuck her brains out while telling her how much he wanted to kill her for being stupid and acting recklessly. It would then always end with him possessively clutching her body to his.

You send mixed signals, Joel. 

What?

You said you wanted to kill me, and now you won't let me go.

I never said that. 

She felt him twitch inside her, his mouth dragging across her clavicle before he abruptly shoved the top of her dress down and latched to her nipple. He sucked it, tongue darting over the nub and causing her pussy to clench around his length.

"Sweetheart," he mumbled. 

"I know," she said. 

Their grief sat between them - a weight strung about their ankles, dragging them down to the deepest parts of whatever was left. She knew blips of his pain as he knew hers. He comforted her in the ways he understood, not necessarily with words but with actions. She could do that for him now, remind him that he had her.

She rolled her hips, and he groaned, his breath puffing against her sternum. She snagged him tighter and dug her grip into his skin like she was holding fast to a rock in a riptide. The car was so small, the steering wheel bumping against her lower back, and you could hear everything.

The rustle of fabric. The squelch of her sex and slap of skin. 

Finally, Joel planted his feet and began to drive up into her. Short, fast strokes that hit just right. It almost hurt. It gave her a belly ache, but everything else fell away. The car filled with his low, subdued grunts and her whimpers. 

He secured his arms around her waist, one hand sneaking to the base of her scalp to embed his thumb into the muscle beneath her ear. They were tangled in such a way that it would have looked like anything - they could be devouring each other, feasting on the other's throats as they fucked fast and sad.

Somewhere along the way, Joel tilted his head and demanded her mouth.

He kissed her fiercely, tongue hot and aggressive as it wrestled with hers. Exploring. "Baby," he sighed against her slippery teeth. "Fuck."

Joel, her man of few words, but just the right ones. She still didn't call him anything but his name. Nothing else fit him.

"Shit," she gasped as he delivered a harsh thrust. Stay with me. Stay focused.

Her climax paraded around her belly, kicking up dirt and shouting out toward a faceless crowd. It was turning in circles, unable to find the finish line. He was screwing her tectonic plate deep, but the friction wasn't enough for her to get off. It didn't matter. This was about him. Not her. 

He gripped her hip and shoved her down before spearing up, grinding in slow, determined circles. He left her mouth to find her throat, sucking methodically at her pulse. 

It didn't take too long after that. He grumbled something into her jaw (maybe, Dolly) before his hips stuttered beneath her. She felt him fill her, warmth blooming outward. She'd have to deal with that, but for now, she worshiped him. He lifted his face, flushed from exertion - golden, bright, and devastating as his dark eyes searched hers.

“You’re good,” she praised, pressing her lips to his chin.

When she crawled off his lap, she was sticky between her legs. He huffed, tugging at the edge of her dress as if trying to hide her modesty. 

No one's around here, Joel.

No one. It's you, and it's me. It's us. 

She was sore as fuck, like she'd been smacked in the crotch. Her orgasm was lost somewhere, hanging by a few threads, but she didn't want it. Instead, she craved the longing-the lingering frustration of her missed pleasure. She brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed her dress.

"That was-"

She was hauled back over to him. Their brows bumped, noses jamming together before Joel kissed her hard. When he finally pulled away, he asked, "You feel safe with me?"

"What kind of question-

"You feel safe with me?" he urged, hands seizing her cheeks. She wondered if it had something to do with what had happened at that house a month ago. The teacup house. Or was this because of what had been written in that letter beyond Bill and Frank's goodbyes?

She felt that if she probed, he would splinter. It wasn't her business. She told him the truth. 

Smiling, she placed her hand over his. "Yes," she assured him. "I always feel safe with you."

Joel took a breath, nodding once, before pulling away. He stabbed the keys into the ignition, twisting them north, and the car rumbled to life.

When they left the garage, she watched the walls creep over him again. 

[icanseethefuture333]

Celestial alignment: Pick a pattern in the sky

Messages to realign you with your soul path

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Replay by Lady Gaga

JMK by Sango ft. Xavier Omar

Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine

Ten of Wands, Eight of Cups, The Magician, The World, & Three of Cups

There is a call for you to let go of thoughts that are holding you back. There is something about repetition here that is preventing you from progressing into the next chapter of your life. You could be taking on the burdens of other people as a way to help them. Your guides are urging you to please stop. You are constantly making sacrifices for others when they aren't doing this for you. Your lesson right now is to focus on making yourself the top priority. You are always putting yourself on the back burner. Some people here take care of their family members or work in the medical field. It's understandable to be worried and to care for your loved ones or other people, but who's be concerned about you? Who is making sure that you are alright or have what you need? If nobody is there for you, then you have to be there for yourself. Start making goals or a list of things you wish to accomplish. You need to realize you are worthy and deserving of what you desire, start dreaming again, pile 1. The universe is waiting and ready for your call and demand. Once you have faith in yourself, the universe will be ready to make your dreams come true. A journey of peace, abundance, and celebrations will be coming your way soon.

Summary:

Change your thoughts & way of thinking.

Practice mindfulness & work on releasing limiting beliefs.

Learn how to include self care in your daily routine

Set boundaries

Think about what your goals or dream are

Make a list or a vision board

Research information on manifestation or spirituality that aligns with your beliefs

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Bruises by Kelela

Brain by Mariah the Scientist

Omega by SAAY

Seven of Wands, King of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, The Aeon (Judgement), & Nine of Pentacles

This pile gave me goosebumps when shuffling - You have a very intense aura and strong presence, pile 2! Something about having to "fight" or the "brain" being significant. I'm reminded of this wounded emoji: 🤕. You could suffer from past trauma or have a mental disorder. I had to rewrite for this pile because it didn't save and I felt so frustrated having to write for this pile again, but it made me realize that this is possibly how you feel in life. You are constantly having to work with difficult circumstances without seeing any progress of the outcome. There were a lot of struggles that you had overcome and I am reminded of movie The Truman Show. His entire life was just programmed for him and he was forced to live a life he didn't want for the entertainment of others just so they could have a TV Show to watch. So I feel like people found joy in your misfortune and suffering, which I am terribly sorry for. The thing is though that was in the past and you don't have to deal with these people anymore. You don't have to pretend to be this character that obviously doesn't resonate with you. You can create an entirely new life, new self concept, new everything for yourself. Think of who you want to be as an individual, not what other people have labeled you as or want you to be. You have to start realizing that you are free to do as you please. Life can be like a simulation and we could all be considered avatars, but we don't realize is that we are able to customize our reality in anyway we wish. You have the inner strength and passion but you are just stuck in this survival mode that is not serving you anymore. It is time for you to move on and your spirit guides are being stern with me right now but they're saying "take this shit seriously". If you have a dream or goal you know you wanna do, take action and stop complaining. Stop with the excuses, the self pity, and the martyr complex. Once you start asking the universe for help is when you can start to achieve your dreams. "It's like clockwork". I am seeing that you feel that you're running out of time in life to accomplish your goals but I am reminded of Maddy from Euphoria when she said "Don't worry, this is only just the beginning". Your "shift" or soul purpose has only just begun and time is ticking for real now. I am getting a vision of someone holding a bright lantern in a dark cave and they are like making a come hither motion with their hands. So I believe this is the universe and your guides saying if you need guidance and you are unsure what to do or where to go or how to even begin the project you wish to work on - Ask them. Once you start asking the universe for help shit is going to change in your life dramatically because your purpose is very significant and it is going to be for the better of society but you have to stop being in your ego and acting stubborn because it is not helping you or anyone else for that matter. I'm not saying you have to be some sort of holy messiah or the rebirth of Jesus Christ himself, but you are going to be someone who will make a difference in this world. As you embark on this journey, it is crucial that you pay attention to the signs the universe or spirit gives you. It is okay if you make mistakes but you have to be careful and aware of people or vices that will sabotage you in the end. So listen to your intuition and notice those gut feelings. I feel like people will be giving you your flowers in the future, that could mean you will be someone who has a certain level of status, or this means people will show appreciation or gratitude for your benevolence and charity. You have this gift or tool that the universe has blessed you with and you have to utilize it for the good will of others.

This is a powerful message I channeled from spirit: "Others who have begun early are merely the matches that were chosen out of indulgence, for candles & waxes, the faster they burn, the quicker their ashes will fall. The last one to be picked, is the match that is the resource for those in need of hope and warmth when faced with the darkness."

Summary:

Use your intuition

Release the version of yourself that is no longer serving you

Embrace change & endings

The end of a chapter means a new beginning

Rely on your inner strength & wisdom

Ask for guidance

Focus on what it is meant for you

"All that glitters isn't gold"

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Lemon by N.E.R.D ft. Rihanna

Starface* by Jean Dawson

Screen Time by Epik High ft. HOSHI

The Tower, Four of Pentacles (reversed), Three of Wands, The Sun, & Four of Wands

The pile's energy instantly chirped me up and made so happy! Its interesting how the piles are always so unique in their own way. You could have been or are currently in denial with your circumstances. It reminds me of Hey Ya! by Outkast. Go take a look at that music video or listen to the song if you're unfamiliar with it. It's a fun happy song, but the meaning of the lyrics are actually quite depressing. You could have this mindset of: "Y'all don't wanna hear me you just wanna dance!". You could be someone who is pessimistic and a downer, always wanting to look at things from a more "realistic" perspective. Although, your spirit guides are asking you to actually change this way of thinking. I actually see that you have a really bright and energizing aura! You could be really funny, pile 3! Your purpose could align with having a good sense of humor or being a source of hope and optimism for others. You could be interested in working in the entertainment field. Once you get past this, you will realize how much fun life can actually be! Your past challenges could also be viewed from a more positive standpoint. For example, the situation might have been unfortunate, but did you learn anything valuable? Or was there any positive outcomes because of that said situation. Reflect on your life experiences and lessons to see where the universe actually might have helped you dodge a bullet or blessed you with protection or love. You could also attract new people into your life who will make you feel a sense of joy and gratitude. This pile just reminds me of a fun summer day, where people eat watermelon or have fun at the pool. Another song I'm channeling is Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff & Will Smith. You will be celebrating and having a good time with your loved ones in the future soon. I believe honestly your path for now is to focus on happiness and sharing love and light with others!

Summary:

Have fun!

Make jokes that uplift people's energy

Focus on the good vs dwelling in negativity

Try to make someone laugh or smile!

Make plans for the summer

Hang out with your friends or spend time with family

Your past struggles are why you're still here. You overcame a great deal and should be proud of yourself!

[nelysius]

some notes i took + extra shit i added

I was watching a manifestation video and he brought up some really good things that I wanted to share here. If this doesn't align with your beliefs then it is what it is, you don't have to read this. I just wanted to share some things that I thought could help some other people.

link to video -> https://youtu.be/ocp0OtwYzvg?si=emMYO4GdMaHqn4aq

Manifestation is shifting internally to a degree to which you are no longer emotionally dependent on seeing reality change. If you are good with or without it, it will manifest. Reality is a product of your mind. You already manifest unconsciously on autopilot. Your desired reality is nothing more than a universe that already exists.

You need to be thinking from the position of the attainment of your desired reality. You are already there. I personally believe that if you can even think of it, it exists. In the video, he also mentions how there's nothing particularly crazy because crazy is nothing more than a label directly linked to the 3d realm.

If the belief doesn't serve you, then it does nothing more than control you. Make sure the beliefs you have are congruent with the particular desired reality you want to be in . When something happens here, the amount of attention you give it is an indication to your state of consciousness at a particular time. Whatever you are particularly convinced by more often than not is a basis of your frequency. Having confidence. Who you believe yourself to be.

Manifesting is simply taking what's on autopilot, making it conscious, and then setting it back on autopilot. The best technique/method is you. Your emotional conviction. Whatever you know/believe will work. More important than any technique that you could ever possibly do, is the belief that what you're doing is right. Focus on your emotional conviction.

There's insecurity in your knowledge, you don't think that you know enough. You don't think that you have enough of what it takes to materialize what you want. And because you are insecure about that, the degree of your emotional conviction that you have or can generate within yourself is not that high.

"How long are you going to be insecure in what you believe you can achieve from a point of manifestation, considering you already do it?"

You don't need to do anything first. You don't need to meditate, clean your room, drink a shit ton of water, or anything else. All you need is self-knowing. Stop studying/learning and start doing. Analyze your beliefs and make sure they're in alignment with your desired reality.

"You can't control your first thought but you can control your second and every thought that follows after that."

Be on whatever technique you believe is going to work and stick to it. Convince yourself it will work to the degree that you don't have to question it.

Normal = frequency = reality

"Whatever you find normal, will find you in reality."

Normalize your desired reality. Take it off of a pedestal. Take it for granted like you take breathing for granted. That's how normal it is. Nothing about manifesting or shifting is special. Billions of people do it all of the time without realizing it. The only difference is that you are consciously choosing to do it. The more importance you give your desired reality, the more space you create between you and your DR. The bigger the importance, the bigger the space. Take your desired reality for granted. See it as nothing.

Manifestation is instant. In the mental plane, everything has already happened. It's the instant from which you begin embodying your desired reality to the moment you stop. The moment that you feel (from a point of natural and normalness, and emotions from the particular vibrations you'd feel upon being in that DR), when you feel that, and you're thinking from that, and your beliefs revolve around that, and your attention and identity is aligned with that, you've manifested.

"You can only have what you already have. You need to be it before the world proves it to you." The 3d is nothing but a mirror.

Guys please watch the video (I linked it at the top), there's so much helpful information in there. Also, I don't claim anything in this post besides the couple sentences I added so no one come for me.

[restinslices]

If Bi-Han Was A Sub

Let it be known I'm a Virgin. I'm Bisexual and Bi-myself. I get no bitches. Absolutely zero play. So take everything I say with a grain of salt.  No pronouns used. Mentions of sex from behind but that could be a dick or a strap on. Whatever fits your fantasy. And obviously MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SCHOOL IS IN SESSION. READ A BOOK.

I know the chances of Bi-Han being a sub are pretty low. I get that. I understand why people write him as a Dom… but if he wasn't-

I don't think he would come out and say this is what he wanted. Most likely it just kinda happened? You guys just kept having sex and you noticed he let you take the reins, and you just kept seeing how much you could get away with. 

When you do eventually bring this up he's like "what are you talking about? I'm not a fucking sub". Sir- 

I feel like you'd keep the same position and role, but it wouldn't actually have a label. It'd take awhile for him to actually say he takes the submissive role. 

I also don't think he'd make initiating sex a big deal. Some people try really hard to seduce their partner and I can see him just coming up to you and saying "I want you". 

Having this big man under you and listening to everything you say though? Heavenly. 

That's a fucking lie. Why? He's stubborn and disobedient 

Kuai Liang gives ready to serve, this MF gives off ready to get on your nerves 

What's wild is that he does this shit on purpose. 

This the same guy who keeps reminding Tomas he's an orphan. Trust me, this bitch is petty. Unnecessarily so. 

I feel like he'd do shit to piss you off because A) he's petty. B) he likes seeing you pissed off. And C) he's into punishments. 

We can all tell this man is not fragile. So roughhousing is definitely encouraged and appreciated. Realistically, there's a good chance he's stronger than you and could just flip shit if he wanted, but he doesn't. Honestly though, in my head that would add to the fun for both of you. The fact he could physically stop all this, but chooses not to. 

This concept would especially get milked if he was being punished. 

He would start mouthing off and you'd be like "if you hate this so much, why not stop me? You're strong enough to". He'd have no real response because he had no legitimate reason. 

"You know what I think? I think the Grandmaster is just like every other man; a slut who needs to be put in his place". 

However, if there is something he doesn't like, he has no problem with telling you. You wouldn't have to worry about secretly hurting him or making him feel like shit because he'd let you know immediately if you were taking it too far. Obviously you'd apologize, and he'd just tell you to make sure it didn't happen again. 

Things I'd think he'd be into is impact play, rough sex, dirty talk, restraints, temp play, overstimulation, masochism, and probably some more shit I can't think of. I feel like his kink list is like when someone pulls out a small scroll, then it turns out that bitch is long and hits the floor. I feel like he'd also enjoy humiliation to an extent. He doesn't want to be embarrassed in public, but if you made him beat off in front of a mirror while you watched, he wouldn't be against it. 

Idk why but he really gives me "hit me harder vibes". You'll think you're hitting him hard but then he'd ask you to hit him harder. 

"Harder" probably explains his entire vibe. He pisses you off to make your life harder. He wants you to hit him harder. Be harder on him when he breaks a rule. Fuck him harder. Just be harder. He's not easily breakable. He can handle it. 

I just really feel like he enjoys rough sex from behind. Probably finds that shit relaxing. 

I feel like the punishment he'd absolutely hate would be orgasm denial. One night is already tough but when you won't let him cum for an extended amount of time? Torture. 

He gives off the vibes of someone who wants constant sex, so cutting him off would be hard. I feel like this is the only rule he for sure wouldn't break because he knows you'd just reset the amount of days he can't cum for. 

Aftercare with him would probably be difficult because he wouldn't say what he needed. He's good at telling you when he's uncomfortable with something, but isn't good at saying exactly what he wants when you're done. He's just not used to being pampered and thinks asking you to do things like cuddle with him is embarrassing. 

It's obviously not though, so you make sure to take care of him. 

He appreciates it, even if he won't say he does. 

He makes sure to care for you as well. He's an asshole but he's not that big of an asshole. If you're warm from all the moving, he'd cool you down. He'd probably try to get up to run you a bath and you're like "sit the fuck down". 

Probably enjoys silence afterwards. I don't mean he doesn't wanna hear you or he wants to pretend you don't exist. He just enjoys feeling your presence there and the sound of whatever is outside. 

An afterthought I just had. Bi-Han grunts, Kuai Liang moans loudly, Tomas probably whines. 

I know I should be writing Liar pt 2, and I am. Unfortunately the voices have taken over so this came out first. Might make another part, maybe a short Drabble. Idk. I do know that I will make one of these for Kuai Liang and Tomas.

[hobiebrownismygod]

Let's talk about Jessica Drew - Character Analyzation/Rant (People don't like powerful women)

LOOK AT HER.

This magnificent woman sports a luscious afro while wearing 80s style clothing. Afros and natural hair in general are symbols of African American pride and embracing your African heritage. Her clothing style is very similar to the clothing style and fashion that African American women wore in the 80s.

I couldn't find a better picture, but do you see my vision? Also they are serving 🤩

She oozes culture and black power. She's a pregnant, yet badass black woman who drives a motorcycle and is proud of her heritage. Yet people dislike her. Why?

Because she's an aggressive, no-nonsense, black female character

One of the reasons people dislike Jessica Drew is because we see her reprimanding Gwen for visiting Miles, and telling her that she can't see him again. However, controversially, I think Jess was right about this. Gwen disobeyed direct orders and let her heart get in front of her head. She ignored her mission and the result of that was Spot's escape and a possibility of interdimensional unraveling. Jess had all the right to reprimand Gwen for this, because in her perspective, Gwen messed up. But even though Gwen messed up, Jess was still willing to give her another chance. She agreed not to tell Miguel, because she knew Gwen would be sent home, proving that she still had Gwen's best interests at heart and didn't want Gwen to have to go back to deal with her dad and the possibility of being arrested.

The second reason people dislike her is because she allowed Gwen to be sent back to her universe. However, people are completely forgetting the fact that she wasn't the person sending Gwen back to Earth-65. Miguel was. Jess did her best to protect Gwen, and gave Gwen numerous chances, but in the end, Gwen failed her mission and disobeyed orders, causing her to be sent home. This is not Jess's fault. People are also ignoring the fact that Peter B. Parker, a man that knew Gwen way before Jess did absolutely nothing to save Gwen from Miguel's rage. What did he do instead? He stood there and made jokes. Instead of actually addressing the situation and a girl who considered him her friend, he decided to crack a joke. Not even a funny joke. But people are blaming Jess for this. Why?

Because people don't like seeing strong, aggressive female characters. Jessica oozes confidence. She's confident in her heritage, she's confident in her capabilities and she's confident in herself. Her tone is sharp, she doesn't mess around and she doesn't put up with people's bullshit. Ex. her telling Peter B to "stop talking" and her telling Hobie he's "not helping". People don't like seeing aggressive black female leads, because it makes them uncomfortable. People are quick to label a woman who's aggressive as "harsh" and "argumentative" but proceed to label Miguel, the person who sent a homeless teenager back to her dimension, as someone who's "doing what he has to". I'm not saying Miguel is a bad person. I'm saying Jessica isn't a bad person.

Jess is also most definitely going to get a character development arc considering how she was obviously doubting her loyalty to Miguel in the last 30ish minutes of the movie right after Gwen was sent-home and during Gwen's speech with Miles' parents when Jess was listening.

Jess Drew was slightly harsh on Gwen, and didn't object to her being sent back to her dimension. Was this wrong of her? Yes. But does that make her a bad person? No. People are misinterpreting her character. She is not a bad person and she does not deserve the hate people are spewing against her. She is a strong black female character and we need more people like her in the media to look up to.

BTW, I'm not black but I tried to be as accurate in my description of how Jess embraces her heritage as I could, so if you see any inaccuracies or have any comments, please correct me <3