#there were so many critiques i had seen

[ladyrijus]

what i absolutely love about the tears of the kingdom trailers is that they do not give us too much to figure out the whole plot of the game, but enough to assure us that our doubts are unfounded and enough to get us thoroughly excited!

[sunnasweet]

Lina and The Landlord 1 & 2

this has been on literotica for a bit now and i forgot to post it here

literotica summary: Lina’s rent is late and her landlord makes her pay.

critiques are very much appreciated

5.4k , alien x female reader

The creaky floorboards of Lina’s sector 3 apartment creaked under her anxious footsteps.

Pacing back and forth while checking her comm for the umpteenth time, Lina’s eyes glazed over as she scanned through her late rent notice. The summary? Pay or get out.

Lina glanced at the holographic clock on her wall nervously, soon enough her landlord would be here to either get his credits or tell her she had a couple of weeks to pack up and leave. Lina didn’t have the credits to pay rent and she definitely didn’t have the credits to move. She was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Her only option was to try to appeal to his hearts and beg him for an extension on her rent.

The trouble was, her landlord was a slumlord asshole.

Sol Sender was a cold two-hearted alien freak who nickeled and dimed her at every expense of her unit. He put the heat on a minimum during the artificial colder months and complained when her water bill was too high. This all-amenities-paid-for bullshit was exactly that considering her rent was so damn high at 400 credits per week on a Sector 3 apartment.

One unexpected system malfunction with her credit transfer later and now she was in danger of being flat on her ass in Sector 1 where the homeless lived.

Still. All of this was better than living on the radioactive hellscape that Earth was these days.

Snapped out of her thoughts, Lina heard the familiar 3 bang-knock pattern that her landlord always used and groaned.

“Coming!” she called, her voice cracking.

Lina shuffled over to the door. She looked through the peephole, taking a deep breath. There he was. Sol Sender.

She opened the door with a painful smile on her face, regarding the alien male with the tilt of her chin. “Sol, hey…” she started awkwardly.

Sol looked at Lina with a raised bushy brow, his lips were in a hard thin line making his strong chin appear more prominent. Lina tried to act unintimidated but it was hard when she was a 5’6 to his approximately 6’4. It wasn’t easy to stare at a man with confidence when you had to bend your neck to look up at him. Even without the stern look on his face, his sheer bulk made her feel like a petulant child.

He looked much like a lion and she wouldn’t be surprised to learn if he had descended from them considering the thin fur-tipped tail that was flicking back and forth behind him, the mane of black fluffy hair, and a flat wide nose. 

Luckily his teeth were as blunt as Lina’s. She nearly shivered. She’d seen one too many aliens with sharp knife-like fangs.

“Rent’s due,” he said. Strict and straight. His voice had a slight growling undertone to it and she was sure he must descend from some sort of beast.

Lina winced, “Yeah…that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, why don’t you come inside?” bruskly he nodded and stepped forward. Lina opened the door wider to him and took a deep breath as he stepped inside. He seemed to be in a good mood today. She closed the door and leaned against it with an awkward smile.

“So?” He stared, looking at her expectantly. “Where’s your rent?”

She laughed nervously, “See the thing is…I don’t have the money right now.”

Sol did not look amused.

Lina’s eyes flitted to his tail, whipping back and forth quicker now. She cleared her throat, “But I can get it to you of course. I just need a bit more time, things have been kind of screwy with my paycheck recently and I was wondering if you could just give me till the end of the month?”

Sol’s slit pupiled gaze was locked onto Lina, he stared at her for a long quiet while. Before letting out a grunt and shaking his head.

“No,”  he said simply.

“Uhm,” she cleared her throat, “what?” 

Was he being serious? She’d been a model tenant up until now. Never made any noise, barely asked for him to come around if there was a problem, and sure he complained about the heating or water or electricity but she knew he got on everyone’s ass about that.

“I said no,” he shrugged. “If I let this go then there’s another problem next month and the month after that then I have other tenants hearing about letting this slide and they’ll think they can do it too.”

Lina rapidly blinked. She actually felt herself beginning to tear up because of this asshole. What the hell was his problem? Had he never been through an unforeseen event in his life?

“Listen, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.” she explains, “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she tried to appeal to whatever soul he had deep, deep, deeep down inside. “My parents don’t live on this Station.”

Sol shook his head, “That’s not my problem. Book a hotel, go stay with a friend. If you don’t have rent for me then you’re out.” her mouth dropped open.

“How…how soon would I have to leave?” she asked nervously. He shifted on his feet shrugging, scratching his jaw.

“A week, maybe two.”

“You’re kidding.”

“This is Sector 3. I’m giving you a break, the law says I could kick you out today if I wanted to.” Lina swallowed. What kind of fucked up shit was this? Was she really about to be flat on her ass? Where would she go? She wasn’t lying, her parents don’t live in this station, and as embarrassing as it was to admit she doesn’t have any friends who would be willing to let her crash on their couch.

There was no way Lina could just accept this.

“Can’t we work something out?” she pleaded, “maybe a payment plan or…or I could owe you a favor or something.” Sol’s head tilted at that, his lip quirking up and Lina immediately wanted to back-pedal because nothing about that look on his face seemed good. It had alarm bells blaring in her head to just accept defeat and start packing.

“A favor?” he asked, his lip quirking up. His eyes gleamed as if he had been expecting this.

Her eyebrows furrowed, she nodded but her heart was beginning to pick up speed. “Y-yeah, like I could house-sit or something if you’re ever out of port or…I don’t know run you an errand.”

“No,” he smirked, looking her up and down. “I have a favor in mind.”

Lina bit her lip. What was he getting at? He couldn’t be… No. That was insane. She could take this asshole straight to court if he was implying what she thought he was. Not that she could afford it…

“Uhm. What is it?”

His smirk turned into a straight-up grin, Sol prowled towards her and she regretted putting herself up against the door. He got close enough to put both his arms on either side of her head. Caging her in, he leaned forward.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

He chuckled, “Turn around Lina.”

She shivered. No way. She shook her head.

“No.” she said weakly, “I’m not doing that. Ask for something else.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want anything else. What I want is for you to turn around and let me take off those pants that hug your tight ass.” Lina’s lips parted as air fled from her lungs. She shook her head again and he seemed undeterred. “No? Well then, maybe you should start packing.”

Lina weighed her options. Getting booted to Sector 2, maybe even 1 or a few sweaty minutes?

The answer seemed clear.

Well, fuck it. Literally.

Tentatively Lina turned around so that she was facing the door and her palms were flat on the cold metallic surface. Sol’s hands came up to cover hers, keeping her pinned there as he gently kicked at her ankles to spread her feet apart.

“Stay like this,” he grumbled.

No way was she about to have sex with her landlord right now. No way. That thought kept repeating over and over even as Lina’s yoga pants slid down her body. She lifted a foot then the other and he kicked them away.

His hand traced over her lower back then the globe of her ass and she took an inhaled breath when his fingers hooked the edge of her panties.

“Nice,” he murmured, rubbing the simple cotton, laced underwear with his thumb and forefinger. They were nothing special. Just plain black cotton, the lace made her feel more girlish but she certainly hadn’t felt sexy until about five seconds ago. Not that she should be feeling sexy, she should be feeling…humiliated, ashamed–whorish.

Instead, she was nervous, excited, and slightly aroused.

Though she would never admit it to anyone, she found Sol to be quite attractive. His mane was something she’d always wanted to run her fingers through and she was fascinated by his tail. With his physique, it looked pretty small but in comparison to herself, she could probably just barely wrap her whole hand around it. The length matched up to her leg and she often wondered what its evolutionary purpose was.

Sol grasped her hips and tugged her back so she was half bent over while her hands were placed flat on the wall. Her arousal seemed to increase. She’d never been with an alien before despite their majority population on Omega Station.

He palmed her ass with a grunt before unceremoniously pulling down her underwear. She was officially bare now, the cold air of the room kissing at her already slightly wet slit. She glanced back as he looked down between her legs.

Sol’s expression was unreadable to Lina, she had no idea what a surly man like him would be thinking looking at a human woman’s pussy. Had he been with a human before? Was he disgusted by her anatomy?

Maybe it was the hair. Lina wondered what the grooming habits of his species were. Did the women go completely hairless like most human women did? Lina didn’t do any of that. She gave herself a trim whenever things got out of hand but for the most part, she just left the hair alone down there. The one time she tried to shave, it grew back so coarse it took weeks of conditioner treatments to get herself settled back to the soft bush she was familiar with. She’d sworn off hair removal there ever since.

His hands gently petted her mound before he gruffly spoke, “Spread your legs wider.”

With a flushed face, she did.

He knelt and she exclaimed, “O-oh!” when he pressed his face directly into her pussy. 

One hand held onto her thigh while the other continued to stroke through the soft tufts of her bush. She nearly lost her balance when his tongue went probing between her thighs.

His nose bumped her clit and she was having a hard time keeping herself upright in this weird semi-squatting position. His hands smoothed her down and then spread her apart. She whimpered as he teased his tongue inside her.

When Sol told Lina to turn around the last thing she expected was for him to go down on her. She had logically assumed he was going to just use her body without giving anything in return but she was absolutely bewildered by the fact that he was kneeling in front of her, sucking her clit while he groaned with desire.

Everything came to a halt in her brain when he licked a strip from her clit to her ass, she gasped in shock when he started to prod at the puckered hole.

“Ohh...no, no-” she whined, “wait! I’m not, I didn’t–” she squealed as he tongued her asshole.

Lina had never properly received oral in her life. She had one too many unenthused boyfriends that ruined the entire experience for her so when asked she usually declined but the way he was handling her like this had her going crazy. He didn’t ask, he just set to work and while that might be a problem for some people it certainly wasn’t a problem for her. 

She squirmed as he held her by the thighs practically forcing her to sit on him while standing, her hands were no longer flat against the wall, she was bent over, her hands anxiously hovering over him as she was assaulted by the unfamiliar pleasure.

“Sol!” she whimpered, he groaned in response, switching back to sucking her vulva and clit. Her back arched, hips craning to angle herself just right against his tongue. Everything sounded so lewd, the wet and sloppy sounds going on between her thighs were too much for her. She squeezed her eyes closed and she mewled above him.

Soon enough she was rocking back and forth against his mouth, her mouth thinning into a strained line as she breathed hard through her nose. Her brows furrowed and her toes curled.

“Oh god.” she sobbed suddenly and that was it. The dam had exploded. She was ruthlessly riding his face until she was trying to get away from him to which he followed her while holding her in place to overstimulate her. “Sol!” she cried out once again. She practically keeled over as she squawked above him.

When he was finally done with her, he wasn’t done for long. The moment he stumbled back onto his feet he turned her around and pushed her back against the wall.

His pupils were completely dilated and her eyes widened to see that he did have fangs. Retractable ones. Aliens. Go figure. She stared at the four big canines, two on top, two on bottom. 

Maybe she was scared of him having fangs so much because now that he had them she wanted to know what it would feel like if he bit her. If he broke her skin and drew blood.

She shivered, Sol pulled up her top and stared at her tits before bending over and sloppily laving against her nipples. The back of Lina’s head gently knocked against the wall as she moaned, holding her shirt up for him and pushing her chest out like she was giving an offering to him. 

As he sucked on her breasts, his hands came around to grope her ass. Squeezing and massaging her.

She wanted to do something for him but she was so overwhelmed by his tending of her that she could do little more but just stand there and let her eyes roll back as she squirmed against him. She wasn’t usually a terrible lover. Perhaps he just brought out the worst in her.

Dazedly, Lina reached for the zipper of his pants and he grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. She huffed and he bared his fangs at her which made her quiver in desire. Apparently, he didn’t want her help.

“Stay,” he growled, commanding her like a newborn puppy. She did. Happily. When he realized she wasn’t going anywhere and would keep her arms above her head without his guidance, he shoved his lips against hers and she moaned outright.

Lina felt something twist around her thigh and she was surprised to see when she pulled back that it was his tail. She looked at him panting.

“Can you control that?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged, equally out of breath. “Sometimes,” he responded bruskly. 

Hot.

Finally, he took her shirt off. She breathed a sigh of contentment as her still-wet nipples hardened under the cold hair of the room.

Maybe because she was half high off her orgasm she asked, “Are you going to take your clothes off now?”

It took little begging on her part. He grabbed his shirt from the back and pulled it over his head with a grunt. Lina’s eyes greedily took in his muscular body, Sol had broad shoulders she could hang on to and a tapered waist that drew her eyes to the nice v of his pelvis peeking through his pants.

She licked her dry lips, waiting for him to remove his pants, she could already see the obvious bulge straining underneath and at this point, she had thrown caution to the wind about the implications of screwing her landlord for free rent.

Lina’s eyes went wide when Sol’s cock was freed. He was hard, curved, and most importantly to her thick. 

She could already imagine his girth stretching her open, it had been a while since Lina had been fucked. At least 5 months, maybe longer.

“Where do you want me?”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes going from top to bottom before he directed her towards the bedroom. “Come,” he coaxed, grabbing her forearm while he dragged her inside her bedroom. She let out a slight ‘oompf’ sound when he pushed her face forward onto the mattress. She crawled on top, spreading herself open for him with a pant.

She laid there on all fours, waiting for him. Wanton and ready. Maybe Lina really was a whore, but she didn’t care. At least, not right now. Not when she could feel his knuckles briefly traveling over the backs of her thighs before taking a handful of her ass.

“Mm..” he grumbled, “Already presenting for me.” her brows furrowed, she didn’t know what that meant but she didn’t think on it too long as he knelt behind her, his knees on the bed. His hands now gripping her waist. “You have a birth control implant?” he asked.

Lina nodded, arching her hips further upwards, practically begging him to stick his dick in her pussy. She was on full display for him. Too horny to think of anything but his fat cock.

“Good.” he reached forward, stroking Lina’s clit in circles and her eyes rolled back, “I want you raw,” he said lowly into her ear, it made her twitch. No one had ever talked to Lina in this way. Ever.

Slowly, he sunk into her, causing a whine to escape her throat. Lina slumped forward, head down–ass up. Inch by inch he pushed inside, deliciously stretching her just the way she had been hoping for. Her pussy sucked him in eagerly, fluttering around him already.

She looked over her shoulder to see Sol with a perfectly stoic expression, the only evidence that he was feeling something was the slight crease between his two brows as he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuuck yeah.” he groaned, rocking forward once. He pressed as deeply as he could go before slowly backing out halfway then rocked forward again. He repeated this pattern at a slow and steady pace.

Lina was done for. She was gasping and clawing at the sheets as his cock kissed her insides exactly where she needed him to. He pressed his palms on top of Lina’s hands, sinking deeper inside as he bent himself against her. Chest to back. Lina’s breasts swayed from underneath her and she could already feel an impending pressure in her abdomen.

“Sol..” she whined, rocking back against him.

He was right next to her ear, she could feel his hot breath on her neck. “Hmmm?”

“Harder.” she whimpered pathetically, “please.” she tacked on.

He groaned once more, burying his nose into her neck. Inhaling her deeply as his hips began to pump faster behind her. His hips slapped against her ass and to her delight, the fur-tipped tail began to prod at her clit, bumping against it before falling into a back-and-forth rhythm. His forearm, wrapped around her neck and pulled her further in against his chest.

They were both in a slightly awkward semi-squat/semi-kneel position but it didn’t matter because it felt amazing. Lina’s breaths were tinged with a whimpered sob every time his cock would hit a specific spot inside her and he made an effort to target it once he realized the pattern. She couldn’t take much more of this. How long until she worked off a month’s worth of rent? Would it take all night? Lina didn’t know if she could handle that.

“Ahh..” she cried out, something snapping inside her, she backed 

into him furiously and he growled in hopefully delight. His face went back to her neck and she could feel his canines scraping against her delicate skin. “Mmm…yeah..” she whimpered, “Do it, fucking bite me.” she baited.

He throbbed inside her, his pace increasing and she realized she must’ve set him off in some way because as his movements had become sloppier and more unpredictable, his canines were burying deep inside her neck. She gasped, the sting of pain welling inside her but distracted by everything else going on.

Her eyes rolled back, pussy pulsating around him. Squeezing him for everything he had as her impending orgasm came closer.

Lina’s hips were rocking, and she was arching her back as far as it would go. Craning her head back, revealing more of her neck to the tongue that was currently swiping at her throat.

“Cum.” he grunted, with a growl, “milk my cock.” he ordered.

Maybe Lina had learned a new kink of hers but being ordered around like this set her over the edge, having her toes curling and eyes clenching shut as a wail escaped her throat. Her orgasm seized her, making her go completely still while she painfully clenched on the cock inside of her. 

She was pinned against the bed as a roar sounded from behind her, two clawed hands digging into her hips as she was moved to fuck up and down, prolonging her orgasm.

Sol’s canines dug into Lina’s neck, causing a scream from Lina.

He began to swell inside her, and moments later she was filled with thick warm heat. She moaned weakly, collapsing against the bed as cum was pumped into her.

To her surprise, Sol did not get up, grab his things, and go once they were finished. Instead, he unmounted Lina, watching the cum drip from her twitching hole. He let out a satisfied grunt and laid down on the bed next to her. Unexpectedly taking her into his arms.

Lina was too tired to ask what he was doing and the way he was running his fingers through her hair and rubbing his cheek against hers had Lina feeling drowsy. His tail wrapped around her upper right thigh. She was sure there was still blood running down her neck. 

“I’ve been waiting months to conquer you.” he gruffly spoke, Lina’s eyes momentarily fluttered open but she couldn’t speak–too tired to talk. “Now you’re all mine,” he said sternly, staring down at her as if expecting a challenge. Lina had no response to that. She had no idea what he meant but “conquer” as he rambled on, crooning into her ear how well he would take care of her while he functionally groomed her.

A rumble in his chest vibrated between them as he spoke lowly–soothing her to sleep.

Uncharacteristically he said, “Thank you for presenting me opportunity to show my worth as a mate.” he spoke softly, and nuzzled against her ear but all that was buzzing around her head was the word he had used. 

Mate.

Lina’s sleepy ears perked at a particular word.

Mate.

What the hell did that mean?

“What are you talking about?” she rasped. Her eyes were opening and closing, he had really zapped–or fucked the energy out of her. “I’m not…this is just…”

Business. A mutually beneficial exchange.

Sol eyed her intensely. “Just what?” his large paw stroked up and down her back and he pulled her closer into his grasp. “I’ve conquered you. That makes you mine.”

What the fuck?

Lina squirmed in his grasp, sitting up with a huff. “That’s not what this is at all,” she remarked calmly. The drowsiness kept her cool but she was starting to become more alert as this misinformed alien kept speaking. “What are you even talking about?” 

Despite her rejection of his… proclamation? He looked calm as ever and continued to lay languidly on her bed as he kept grabbing at her.

“I’m providing for you now,” he says, then adds, “This apartment is yours because I’m giving it to you in exchange for your obedience.” 

Obedience. The words rang through Lina’s head. Just what the hell had she agreed to? Yes, she couldn’t pay her rent. But that didn’t mean that she was going to be his toy or housewife or just whatever he had in mind for her.

“Wait a minute.” she shook her head, “That’s not…I didn’t agree to that. This is just sex. I’m not going to let you control me!” She was starting to panic now. Was he nuts? What sort of mental gymnastics had he been performing to come to this conclusion?

“Settle,” he murmured, squeezing her gently. “I’m not going to be a demanding mate.”

There was that word again.

“We’re not mates!” she said, half irate and a low growl escaped from beside her. “I don’t even know what that means!”

“We are,” he said sternly. Then he rubbed his thumb over her neck–which caused her to wince when he pressed down on a tender spot. The bite mark. “This makes it so.” She slapped his paw away and touched the spot herself and her mouth gaped wide open. Her brain was going a mile a minute. She hadn’t consented to this!

“I didn’t agree to this!” she repeated, trying to escape from his grasp.

Sol huffed. Humans, he thought. Always going back on their word. Well. Sol wouldn’t let her. He had been trying to find the right way to conquer her for months. In this new environment–away from his home planet, it wasn’t easy to dominate a female. At least, not if he had wanted to do it the honorable way.

He hadn’t honestly been going to throw Lina out to the streets of the megaship, but he needed a way to seize the opportunity that had landed at his feet even if it wasn’t ethical by human means.

“You did, you asked me to bite you.” He grumbled.”

“I–!” well. She had, hadn’t she?

Do it, fucking bite me. That’s what she had said to him.

“That was just in the heat of the moment!” she argued, “It didn’t mean anything, I didn't agree to all this!”

“You agreed when you presented to me.” he rumbled. By all means, he had won. Now he just needed her to understand that. Of course, he was prepared to take on an aggressive female. He had thought her submission had come a little too easily.

Lina stared at him bewildered. “I don’t know what that means,” she said exasperated. “You can’t just tell me I’ve–oh!” she was toppled over, “what are you doing?!” she shouted.

He grabbed her by the waist, putting her on her hands and knees. “This is presenting,” he said lowly–sultry. “You put your back to me and–” Lina whimpered when he cupped between her legs. “Showed me your cunt.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Lina didn’t know what to do. She was held there on her hands and knees with her landlord pawing at her pussy. 

“Stop that.” she hissed, she was still sensitive from earlier. 

He purred, “Why? You like it…” his hand rubbed back and forth then circled her clit with the pads of three fingers and she bit her lip hard to stop the moan that wanted to escape her mouth. “Don’t fight this…or do…” he murmured, “I’ll just prove myself to you again if I must.”

“All you’ve proved is that you’re a perverted slumlord!” she gasped, hips arching when he dipped two fingers inside her. They slid in easily with a squelch–she was still sloppy with his cum. “Angh! I said stop!” Lina squealed.

He nuzzled against the crook of her neck and she shivered, it felt strangely intimate. The way he was positioned against her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her as he kissed and laved at the bite mark he thought meant some sort of ownership over her.

“You’re..ahh..an asshole!” she moaned out, “stop this,” she begged. Lina was weak. Everything he was doing to her body made her want to give in. To go along with this whole ‘mate’ thing if it meant that he’d keep touching her like this.

“Listen to me…” he purred into her ear, “Your place is here. Your home…that I’m paying for now because you can’t. I’m housing you…taking care of you.” he curled his fingers inside her and her mouth dropped open, “And I’ll do much more for you now that we’re mates.”

“No.” she whimpered, “I just…” she just needed to work out her credit situation then they were done. That was all. This … this was all temporary. “Ohhh!” her eyes squeezed shut when he began to finger her harder. 

“Don’t reject this.” he coaxed, “I can make you feel so good.” he continued to cajole into her ear just like before, talking about all the ways he would spoil and take care of her and it was so confusing for her mind, she was whining now. 

Tears pooled in her eyes, she felt so full from his two thick fingers and the twinge in her core made her feel crazy. She needed more. She needed his cock.

“Fuck…” she hissed, angling her hips higher, showing her dripping slit. “Fuck me…please…please.”

He sucked harshly on her bite mark and she spasmed.

“OH!”

“Lina…tell me, tell me what I want to hear.” he asked, “And I’ll give you everything you want.”

“N-no…” she whimpered. 

She didn’t want to be controlled. Didn’t want to be obedient to Sol. She barely knew him, and from what she had seen so far there wasn’t much more worth knowing. But the way he cooed in her ear. Talked about caring for her, it made her feel warm inside. Made her want to look deeper. He was using her for sure. 

But maybe he would use her kindly…

“Please…” she begged, “Please fuck me Sol.”

He growled against her ear, “You can beg all you want, but I’m patient…now, tell me you’ll be mine.”

“N-no-oohh!” she cried out, his fingers moving faster, twisting and curling.

“You want my cock Lina?” he asked, positioning behind her, “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you and fill you up with my seed?” God. Yes. That is exactly what she wanted.

“Please!” she begged again, thinking she was about to get her way.

He pulled his fingers out of her gaping pussy, then thrust. Only it wasn’t inside of her cunt, but between her pussy lips. The tip teasing her throbbing clit.

“Sol!” She sobbed, “I can’t take it anymore, please!”

“You know what I want Lina…give it to me.” he growled. Pistoning his hips. His tip grazed her entrance one too many times and she was keening now.

“Oh gods!” she screamed, “Yess…yes–” Lina bawled, “I’ll be your mate, just please, please fuck me!”

There it was. The words he had wanted to hear. He smiled in victory, then took her hips between his hands. He slid inside her in one fell push. They both groaned in pleasure and Sol pumped into Lina furiously. He wanted to fill her up with cubs but her damned breeding implant prevented that. He was getting worked up into a frenzy. Instinct overriding logic.

Saliva filled his mouth and his fangs were coming down, he was going to take a bite out of her. Again.

And he did, sinking his teeth into her neck for the second time of the night, Lina howled and jerked underneath him and Sol held her to him as he continued to fuck her. 

She was pulsing around him, her pussy clenching tightly as she came with a cry. The pressure was too much for him to bear and he roared out his orgasm. He swelled, filling her up with his cum. He continued to fuck her as she sobbed against the mattress until he was sure he had given her every bit of his seed. He held onto her tightly. Purring in her ear as she shook.

Sol suckled at her skin, tasting the coppery blood of his mate. 

His.

“Mine.” he rumbled quietly.

She nodded, beat. “Yours.”

If you'd like to support me! Patreon / Subscribestar / Ko-fi

[genderkoolaid]

sorry for the celebrity drama but i just do not care about jojo siwas rebrand. i didn't even know she had (supposedly) stolen a song until my friend explained it to me because all i saw were people going like "omg look at her CRINGE makeup!!!!!!!!!!!!"

like man. how many times does a child star have to go through this before we just learn to let them be cringe for a while. i do not care if this young queer girl, who has been screamed at by adults on television since she was like 7, then was the target of so much public mockery throughout her teens specifically focused on her being seen as annoying and stupid, is being cringe in public. becoming an adult is already hellish & having to do that when your entire identity has been a child friendly brand for your whole life? the only criticisms of her ive found at all interesting are like, how she is seemingly disconnected to past and present queer culture, how she and her mother treated their girl group dancers. but god if she wants to wear sparkly pseudogoth outfits and hump girls in a music video fucking Who Cares. "cringe culture is dead" was a fucking joke literally nothing has changed wrt how we as a society treat weirdness esp of queers, kids, and girls. "cringe" is not and will never be a good critique of anyone's behavior!!!!!!

[nicosraf]

Wait what did Freydis Moon do? :( I've read their books and really liked them, but I don't follow them anywhere online, so that last ask you got worried me

Freydis Moon has been exposed to be Taylor Barton, a white person from the state of Oregon, someone who had a history of faking their race, being racist, and general abusive behavior. You can read more here about this Taylor person here, and you can find an incredibly long thread here.

Freydis was a colleague of mine, and they took me under their wing when I entered the indie book scene. They presented themselves as a Latine, mystic, queer trans author — who was older than me, I should add — so I deeply admired them and confided in them. I don't think ABM would have ever gotten much attention if I hadn't received their guidance.

There had been some whispers that Freydis was really Taylor, but I'd seen Frey's seemingly darker-skinned hands and heard their real name, which was supposedly Daniela.

Two things I should say before the big reveal: Freydis briefly hired a publicist named Cordi, who was also an agent with their own agency, named The Lynne Agency. Cordi, very randomly, decided to leave the industry and left their clients, and Freydis, hanging. Someone else to mention is Saint Harlow, an author of gay, cannibal erotica. On twitter, Saint was known for peddling a lot of drama — sometimes, he was on the good side of things and sometimes the bad, but he tended to be a massive bully. Freydis allegedly comforted some of Saint's victims.

And the reveal:

Freydis is the race faker Taylor Barton. The evidence is substantial, but most notably, some of the files they shared with other authors, including me, had metadata with the names of Taylor Barton's other identities. I was able to check the files myself to confirm.

They were also Saint Harlow. Meaning Freydis was bullying people secretly on one account and comforting them on another. And the bullying was a lot more disgusting than you might think, but for the sake of the victim, I won't share details.

They were also the publicist/agent Cordi. Why did they pretend to be an agent at all? I'm not sure but they wasted a lot of authors' times, that's for sure. Were they just looking to plagiarize off manuscripts sent to them? Who knows. (A friend of mine who sent their manuscript to them fears so).

There were a lot of interactions between Taylor and I that are much much weirder in retrospect. They critiqued the industry use of #ownvoices, which I agreed about, but blew the issue out of proportion, like thinking #ownvoices gay-trans author book lists shouldn't exist because of potential outing, mlm books by mlm authors lists shouldn't exist because of potential outing, and that lists of books by people of color about people of color also shouldn't exist because... potential outing? Taylor was, to me, oddly sympathetic toward certain authors accused of racism and shot down my concerns of a certain book with what I felt to be pro-colonizer themes inconsistently — their response to racism seemed to depend on whether they already disliked a person or not.

I could say a lot more but as someone who spoke to Taylor in private at times, there were a lot of things I was unsure about even when I was on their side of things. To some people, apparently, Freydis had said they were part Mexican, but only ever told me they were Peruvian (they might've known I'd clock them as a faker). Regardless, when this all came to light, their response was shockingly dismissive.

This may be more info than you asked for but TLDR:

Freydis Moon faked their race and ethnicity, bullied and manipulated many readers and authors using various fake identities, took advantage of latine author resources, and so on.

[amyrahrose]

Content warning: Sukunaxreader smut, penetration, multiple positions, dominant Sukuna! , unprotected sex (Wrap it up!), pet names, Sexual theme, Adult theme, talking her through it, although it is sometimes not mentioned <READER IS BLACK FEMALE CODED>, BUT ALL ARE WELCOME TO ENJOY! ❤️

Authur's Note→ 18 and Under, GET TA STEPPIN! I know for sure this will be broken into parts, however I'm not sure how many parts will be to this. I just decided to get back into writing little dabbles here and there so I'm honestly just testing the waters with this. Slightly proofread (English is my first language, but even the baddest of Bitches still make mistakes! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) ) I do hope you guys enjoy! 🤎

Synopsis: You’ve decided that you would begin your fitness journey. Accompanying your best friend, today’s the day where you’ll being taking working out and going to the gym seriously (well kind of). Lacking motivation and ready to go back home to lounge around to watch some TV and pig out, that all changes when suddenly you meet this drop dead gorgeous as hell man. Will he be the inspiration you need to continue your new lifestyle?

Part 1 found here →→ GYM RAT: PART 1

w.c» 2.1 K

It was Tuesday night, and you found yourself pacing back and forth in your apartment bedroom, forgetting that you had Jade on Facetime to help you pick an workout outfit to wear to the gym with Sukuna tomorrow. 

“Girl I don’t know why you’re stressing over an outfit, ya’ll going to the gym not Ruth’s Chris.” Jade rolled her eyes at you jokingly. She thought it was cute how you were trying to make sure you were prepared for your gym date with Sukuna, but she also knew how bad you can overthink things, causing you to freak-out and panic. 

“I know, I know but I still want to look like I’ve been to the gym before.” You stated back desperately. You know it sounds silly, but you wanted to make a good impression, even if it was just a workout session. 

“Honestly Y/n, I swear you set unrealistic goals. You could show up in a trash bag and that man would still be into you.” Jade tried convincing you but to no avail. You were dead set on having the perfect workout attire to flaunt in for Sukuna. 

“Well what about this, oh no wait what about this one?” You had two different sets in both of your hands, shoving one after the other in-front of the screen for Jade to critique. 

Realizing that nothing she was saying was going to help the situation she caved in and took a good look at both outfits. The first was a high-waisted leggings and sport bra set in a rich, deep brown color and the other was an all into one, low cut design with a low scoop back and cross-body straps in all black. Remembering how Sukuna was looking at you as if he was going to devour you, she figured the later would surely set him over the edge. 

“Let’s go with the all black, give my man something to work with.” Jade cackled out while wiggling her eyebrows up and down at you. You laughed nervously because you knew she was going to pick that one. To be honest, you wasn’t sure why you grabbed that one in the first place when you set out to go to your local department store shopping for gym attire. When you seen it you knew it was something that was going to turn heads and demand attention, more importantly Sukuna’s attention, prompting you to hurry up and toss it inside your shopping cart before deciding against it. But now you wish you did change your mind. You knew you could pull it off, but you couldn’t help but wonder if you would be coming off too strong, or desperate, by wearing it. 

“You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. You’re going to look amazing in it Y/n. You’ll definitely get worked out- uh I mean get a good work out in it.” Jade said quickly before you caught her statement. Noticing you were still too wrapped up in choosing between the two outfits, she blew out a breathe of relief at you not catching what she said. That most definitely would’ve sent you in a frenzy and make you not want to go to the gym at all. 

“I know, but are you sure? Like really, really sure.” You asked again. You knew you were too much inside of your head about the matter, but you needed reassurance. Looking back up to Jade you caught the look she was giving you and knew she was about to give you a piece of her mind when all of a sudden you squealed in shock from the incoming call flashing on your screen. 

“Y/n what the hell is wrong with you?” Jade asked bewildered. She watched as you hurried and ran to your vanity looking over your appearance before rushing back to her wide eyed. 

“It’s him, he’s Face timing me!” You stated, looking back at Jade in shock. It took her a moment to figure out who it was you were talking about before she smiled devilishly and wiggled her eyebrows once more. 

“Well what are you doing still on the phone with me? Answer him! Oh and show him your choices for tomorrow and see what he thinks.” She proclaimed. Before you could argue, she hung up the call leaving you to fend for yourself. 

Shaking your head and exhaling out a deep breath, you answered Sukuna’s face time call with a small smile. 

“Heyyy you.” You answered shyly. You mentally slapped yourself for how you answered the call. 

“What am I, 12?” You thought to yourself. 

Sukuna’s deep laugh pulled you out of your head, making you look at him and his surroundings. He was obviously at the gym, you heard the clanking of weights and the gym’s music in the background. He was staring back at you, looking like sex himself. His hair pushed back with sweat, making you just now notice how it was dyed pink, and a hue of pink across his cheeks signaling that he must have just wrapped up his workout session. 

“What’s up ma?” His raspy, deep voice sounded off into your phone’s speaker. The sound stirring up a feeling deep inside your stomach, making you want to record his voice to be played over and over. 

“Uh nothing much, I was just on the phone with Jade. You know, nothing too crazy.” You replied with a small smile. You kept your gaze transfixed on Sukuna, taking in his handsome features. 

“God this man is so fine.” 

“Mh, what was that mama?” He asked while he placed his phone down. He was now in the guy’s locker room, checking himself out in the mirror. 

“Shit”, you whispered to yourself, “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” You answered, half stuck on the fact he heard you and also the new nickname he’d given you. Your brain was short fusing at the sight of him now peeling off his sweat drench compression shirt, revealing his abs to you once again. Your mouth watered at the sight while you unconsciously clenched your thighs together. If he pulled the stunt in-front of you tomorrow there was no way in hell you were going to make it through the workouts. 

“Oh yeah, what ya’ll were talking about?” Sukuna asked, trying to hold in his smirk. He most definitely heard your remarks and he knew exactly what he was doing by taking off his shirt, soaking up your reaction. He felt he dick come to life by the sight of you clenching your thighs together. How he wished he was over your place right now, seating comfortably in between them. 

“Well.. she was uh-she was helping me pick a outfit for tomorrow.” You answered quietly. You’re not sure why you gave out the information, thinking he might think you’re crazy for discussing something as ridiculous as that. 

“Oh yeah? Let me see what you came up with.” He replied while shuffling through his gym bag. 

Caught off-guard by his response, you were certain he would have just questioned why you would go to great lengths as that. You watched him for a little bit as he looked around in his gym back, thinking he must’ve have been joking until he turns around to look at you with his brows shot up in curiosity. 

“Well ma, you ‘gon show me what you got?” He asked with a chuckle. He found you cute with your shy girl expression. He turned back to his bag, finally finding his towel so he could prepare for his shower. 

You blew out a breath you didn’t even realizing you were holding and thought the hell with it, he was going to see you in it regardless, what’s the harm of you showing it to him now?

“Well okay, if you insist.” You said while holding up the gym set Jade picked out. You waited anxiously until Sukuna turned back around to gauge for his reaction. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine mam-” Sukuna stopped, sucking in a breathe. He took in the black set you had selected and fought with himself to keep in the low growl threatening to come out. Taking it in, he found it hard to keep out the thoughts of how your body would look in it. The way the front would hug your tits, or the way your sweat would be cascading down into the dips of your back, or how the way it would mold around your plump ass. He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself while he was ahead, but it didn’t stop the rush of blood going to his dick, making his gym shorts uncomfortably tight. 

“So- what do you think?” You asked timidly, you were still too wrapped up in overthinking your outfit choice you didn’t catch the internal battle Sukuna was having with himself over it. 

Trying to be nonchalant about it, he shook his head slightly while offering a small smile. 

“I think it’s good Y/n, whatever you’re comfortable in, that’s all that matters.” He said in a low tone. You looked at him curiously, wondering why the sudden formal change. Not trying to let it get to you, you offered a small smile back at his input. 

“Okay, if you say so.” You replied back. There was a beat of silence between you to before you let out a giggle at how intense he was staring at you. 

“So you called just for me to look at you flex?” You asked, lightening the mood again. He blinked wide eyed before chuckling.

“Nah ma, just making sure you don’t flake on me tomorrow is all.” You sighed in relief at him going back to his nickname for you, helping quiet your nerves a little bit. 

You smiled at him while shaking your head no. 

“Nah, I’m locked in. I wouldn’t bail on you.” You respond back. That causes him to smirk before replying back. 

“Good, wouldn’t want a good outfit like that to go to waste.” He joked back, causing you to put your head down shyly. 

“Ha, nah we wouldn’t want that.” You giggled out. You looked up, catching him watching you with the same smirk etched on his face. 

“What?” You asked, having him watch you the way he was, was doing something to you. 

“Nothing ma, Ima see you tomorrow, alright?” He stated while throwing his towel over his shoulder. 

Shaking your head yes, you both said your goodbyes before hanging up the phone. Placing your outfit back across your vanity, you plopped on-top of your bed still smiling like a fool at your phone. 

Sukuana’s POV

He groaned lowly as he placed his hands around his dick, slowly stroking it up and down. He tried desperately to get the thought of you out of his head as he took his shower, but nothing he did was working. Every time he tried to think of something else, his thoughts always came back to you. 

Drawing in a breath, he threw his head back as the water from the shower head caressed his skin and helped lubricate his motions as he picked up pace. Flashes of you entered his mind. Seeing how you would look in the gym outfit you flashed in-front him not to long ago or the way he imaged how you plush, thick lips would feel wrapped around his dick, or how well your pussy would mold around his dick as he thrusted relentlessly into your velvety walls. His thoughts ran wild with all the things he would do to you and with a flick of his wrist over his swollen tip it was all that it took to send him over the edge. 

“Y/n.” He moaned out, forgetting his surroundings but ultimately not caring if anyone heard. He continued with his lights strokes, watching as ropes of cum shot down the shower drain. 

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath as he tried to regulate his breathing back to normal. He could only hope he doesn’t act this way around you tomorrow or he wasn’t sure how things would end. 

Before he could stop himself, thoughts of you came rushing at him again and he silently cursed at himself as he felt his dick harden again. Knowing it wouldn’t go away on it’s own, he began to slowly stroke himself again to ease the relief. 

You were going to be the death of him. 

© 2024 Amyrahrose. Please do not translate, copy, plagiarize, or repost (sharing links is fine 🤎) without my permission. You will only find my entries/content on tumblr!

[thegirlfromgonewiththewind]

I am so so so so so TIRED to see people fatshaming two perfectly healthy girls because they have round faces. It’s disgusting.

The actresses of Mai and Azula are on point for their roles. Hell, if they were chosen there must be a reason, it’s not like there’s no Asian actresses out there they could choose from.

People can’t accept that Azula can have a characterization beyond “crazy and sadist sicko”. She’s a perfectionist. She’s an asset to her father. She’s jealous of Zuko’s birthright and of how it might take what she has away. Those are things that OG Azula too had. The only difference is that we actually see it in season one and have a background on her, rather than writing it in a rant. And what has been added only makes her a more complex character, given the change in the family dynamic as well.

And Mai? The actress is talented, she delivers a good Mai, and does justice to the character. She’s 17 and at the beginning of her career, of course it won’t be perfect. She gets to grow. Thing is, you guys won’t let her, because a square jaw scares you so flipping bad that you feel the need to shame her for it.

Everyone is a body positivity advocate until a girl with a rounder face shape is cast as a character in a live action you are NOT forced to watch? Seriously?

I’ve seen so many people on the internet calling them all sort of names, fatshaming them, insulting their work without even focusing on the acting. And I’m like, what’s to fatshame there? Let me tell you: nothing.

If I have to put it through your thick head like this, so be it. Even though I hate talking about and comparing bodies.

This below is a picture of Azula’s actress.

She has the face card, she has the jawline, and she has a fit, enviable body. And you still have the audacity to “fat-shame” her?

These two pictures are in costume. Again, face card and an enviable body. She even has the expression for Azula. You see a girl with a rounder shape of face and will automatically go “no she’s too cute to be Azula!!” Dude. No. When she will actually deliver as the crazy girl we know, she will devour. She will, and you all will switch back because that’s what you are, slimy switchers.

And now, onto Mai’s actress, a very beautiful girl with talent and looks. She is literally so pretty, and you dare hate on her? You dare shame her for how she looks? From what I’ve heard she’s a minor, too, so this makes you 100000% more slimy and undeserving of any sympathy in my book.

This is her, this is the girl.

She’s literally so pretty. Maybe she hasn’t got the same facial structure of Mai, but she delivered all her lines she had in the little screen time and with the discutibile scenes she was given. She was good. But you see a square jaw, a rounder shape of face, and are immediately triggered.

And you can’t even use the stupid argument of “she’s fat”, because this is literally her.

A very normal, very healthy young woman. Not as skinny as OG Mai? So what? She’s still a fricking thin girl. Nowhere as “fat” as you haters make her to be.

I shouldn’t have to explain common sense and basic decency to grown adults, and yet here we are.

This is honestly so frustrating. In the year of 2024 you can’t possibly justify insulting girls like this, with no shame. It’s absolutely idiotic and shows very a big lack of brain cells. I see you, haters, behind your device, with your insecurities and shame for yourself, laughing at two girls who made it farther than you ever will. You can critique the acting once you’ve seen it in full potential. Until then, shut your tramp up. This is very small dick energy of you.

I don’t see why I should treat you with kindness when you are so eager to make this kind of jokes about pretty and in shape girls you are very obviously jealous of. Go touch some grass, incels.

[shawnxstyles]

the only one

DATE: JANUARY 2, 2024

summary: you go on your first date with peter, and it ends even better than you could have ever expected. ;)

request: yes!

words: 6.3k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [oral, fingering, multiple orgasms], protected sex, dirty talk), language, and the most gentlemanly man.

note: i cannot believe i’m finally writing another gyno!peter after all this time… anyway, this is NOT an actual series, simply just more situations/scenes of these two together!

gynecologist!peter x patient!y/n

–

Every date that you’ve been on in the past never made you this nervous. You didn’t spend two hours just deciding on what to wear and taking an extra hour to prepare yourself. You worked for a fashion magazine, editing and reviewing comments and critiques. You were surrounded by clothes and creativity all day, but struggled to pick a “first-date look” from your closet. You swore you read something about that before…

You never thought first dates were anything more than a simple introduction, a first impression of another human being. It was one of the foundations of the question, “Could I get along well enough with this person to go on a second date?”.

You had only been on two first dates: one with your ex, who you were with for four months, and recently with that guy from your work. The second one was mainly just a hook-up, and the first one obviously led to some type of relationship that didn’t work out in the end. Maybe you didn’t have enough experience in the dating world to be wondering if the amount of nerves you had right now was healthy.

Your hands were clammy as you strapped on your black heels. You noticed you were swallowing more frequently than normal, and you didn’t understand why. When you looked in the mirror, your hands flattened out your black dress more times than you could count, ridding wrinkles that aren’t even there.

After your appointment a few weeks ago, you had texted Peter. More specifically, you texted him the next day. Immediately after simply saying hello and your name, you thought of how many other people he may have given his phone number to. Or worse, how many people he had fingered in his office… You started worrying if you shouldn’t have texted him at all because he was a doctor. He was probably too busy for anything. It was just a nice gesture, maybe?

But an hour later, in the evening, he had texted you back with a short apology. He was working a little past the clock in order to get more doctor stuff done. Even his texts were sweet with a dab of charm. How do women control themselves around him?

Or maybe it was just you, and you were a fucking weirdo.

Yeah it could be that.

Peter and you went on to texting every now and then to texting daily. Texting him was something to look forward to after a long day at work. It also became pretty clear that he wasn’t texting anyone else because well, he was working throughout the day doing doctor stuff while you were doing editor stuff. He would even text you during his lunch break and that always made your heart skip to see his message in the middle of the day.

One night in particular, you were complaining to Peter (yes, you had gotten to the point where you could complain about little inconveniences) about your sink malfunctioning. Instead of asking you to send pictures of the pipes under the sink, he had you FaceTime him. It was the first time you guys have ever called and the second time you’ve ever seen his face, so your heart was a little race-y. But when that charming, wide grin flashed on your screen, he easily slipped into conversation. Peter helped you fix your sink with a little wrench movement along with replacing a broken screw through the phone.

It wasn’t awkward. It was relieving.

You didn’t have to force a certain personality in order to engage in a conversation with him. You felt more yourself than you ever have when talking to him, flowing easily like two streams into one. You hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you guys ended the call until he was gone. The serenity of your place felt a little more emptier than usual without the sound of his beautiful accent from your speaker. It was nearly midnight by the time you went to bed, wondering how things would be if you and Peter took your friendship a bit further.

Would talking always be this simple? Would he always be this charming?

After that night, you would make excuses to call him. He never denied you, even after he told you he had a long day at the hospital. You guys were not only texting now, but calling daily. You would get excited for his texts and calls, looking forward to talking to him. That’s when you realized you wanted more with him. It felt like you knew each other forever, but it had merely been a few weeks. You wanted to go on a date with him, wanted to be with him in person again. And of course, your mind wandered to the thought of how he is in bed.

If he was that good with just his quick fingers, then how good was he with more space and time? You began to dream about it.

Then he finally asked you. It was so sudden, you honestly didn’t expect it.

You were debriefing your plans for the week and what you had to do at work.

“Sometimes, I feel like my life is on repeat,” You chuckle, but it sounds tired.

“You’re always doing the same thing every week?” Peter questions. He found that he loves just listening to you talk for hours about whatever. He prompts you with questions, and you always answer thoroughly. It’s like an unspoken routine for you two.

“I mean, it feels like that. I never have time to go out and do anything. And when I do, I don’t go out,” You half-smile to yourself as you look down at your lap. You sounded kind of lame, so you were trying not to cringe at yourself.

“You told me your agenda for this week, but what about Saturday and Sunday?”

“Oh, well, you know I don’t work on the weekends. Sometimes, I get extra stuff done at home, but only because I’m bored. I watch TV…” You squint your eyes, trying to think of things you do on the weekend when you’re not busy. “You know, I’m listening to what I’m saying, and I am so lame. God, I need a life outside of work.”

“You’re not lame. Just busy. Give yourself some credit,” he waves off your dig at yourself, and you don’t stop yourself from smiling. He’s just too nice. You can’t take your eyes off him through the small screen as he watches you back.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. What are your weekend plans?” You definitely talk too much, so you always attempt to ask him questions back.

“Well, I was thinking of taking you out,” he very casually says, nonchalantly staring at you through the camera. “Unless you’re busy watching TV.”

“W-What?” Heat crawled up your neck and ears, skin flaming off of his quick words. He’s always charming and always confident with you, so why are you surprised he’s this smooth? You wonder if he’s been thinking about it for a while or if he just got the idea randomly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want to. In that case, I am joking…”

“I want to, Peter,” You smile with the words. It feels impossible to lower your cheek muscles because of the giddiness coursing through you. “If I’m honest, I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me.”

“I was a little slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, both the turtle and the hare beat you to the finish line,” His wonderful laugh echoes through the speaker of your phone, and it fills you with warmth.

While other people have belittled you and forced you to be one way, Peter naturally allows you to be yourself. Your wit flourishes, and your insecurities fade into unique parts of you. Whether you two are friends or more, you need more people like Peter in your life.

After you two had confirmed the plans for Saturday, you two both went to bed when the call ended. When your head hits the pillow, it’s instantly filled with scenarios of you and Peter. Mostly how your first date might go. Is he the type to pull out a chair for you? Definitely. Would he pay without a second glance? Probably, knowing he has that doctor paycheck. Would he kiss you after walking you back to your door? Maybe, maybe not.

But he did finger-fuck you in his office, so nothing is really that impossible.

So, you let your mind wander for the rest of the night while you sleep peacefully. Yes, you had some great dreams.

–

Instead of texting you that he’s here, Peter knocks on your door. The sound itself made your heart accelerate instantly as you stride quickly to answer it. You’ve been overthinking all the ways that this day could go bad, seriously hoping that it doesn’t.

“Hey,” Peter says, clearly eyeing you up and down. He sounds slightly breathless, but not as if he just ran to your door. No, more like he’s speechless. But you could just be overanalyzing every little detail.

“Hey,” As you repeat the word back, you’re both silent for a second. It’s not awkward as it is tense. You’re both just observing and taking in the appearance of the other, appreciating the time and effort in the looks. Peter’s wearing a navy button-up with black slacks. The first two buttons are undone, giving you a peek at his seemingly smooth chest. He’s not wearing a jacket, so you get a view of his arms. From the way the rich fabric stretches around his muscles, it’s obvious that he works out. He just keeps getting better. He continues to check more of your boxes. “Let me just go grab my purse really quick.”

You snatch your bag off of the coffee table after checking you have everything. What if his one flaw is that he won’t pay for at least half the dinner? You must prepare for all the possible outcomes.

“You look brilliant,” You can see him swallow before his compliment, and you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He never makes it a point to look even the slightest bit unsure, which you admire. He’s very charming, which takes a lot of confidence, and he’s very good at it. When he asked you out in his office, you saw that persona slip just a tad, enough for you to see that he is human and that he gets nervous too. You found him adorable. You still do.

“You as well,” You blush as you shut the door behind you. The two of you walk to his car, and of course, he opens the door for you. You can’t stop blushing. “Seriously, how do you make such a simple outfit look so good?”

“Unbutton it,” he answers before gently shutting your door closed. Your mind instantly went to places that it shouldn’t have, making your skin burn. You thought about unbuttoning his shirt slowly and sensually until it fell down his bulky arms. You thought about unbuttoning his slacks and palming his cock. He would be so hard for you, and you didn’t hesitate to get on your knees. God, you wished it was real because you truly would not hesitate for this man.

You shake your head, attempting to rid yourself of those dirty thoughts, so you can have a peaceful date. A first date with Peter.

–

When you guys get to the restaurant, that small voice in the back of your head expects it to be awkward the second you sit down. But once again, you were proven incorrect.

Peter instantly engages in a smooth conversation, asking how your week was overall. You told him all about work and the papers you’re reviewing, and he told you about some of his patients. Every time he mentions anything doctor related, it just makes you swoon. It’s impressive how intelligent he is, and even more so how hard he works. It’s obvious he loves what he does, and you never realized that loving one’s passion was a must-have in your partner checklist.

You also just love the way he talks. His accent makes your skin hot and your spine tingle. Your mind wanders to places it shouldn’t more often than not. And his gaze never leaves yours, only when talking to the waiter when ordering.

There is never a dull moment. Even as you were patiently waiting for your food, you still found things to talk about.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” he asks, observing two people in the back corner with smiles on their faces.

“They’re dressed nicely, and they’re holding hands too much to be together for that long. I’m going to guess the three or four month anniversary.”

“What about them?” he nudges his head in the direction of the people not too far from you two, sitting with straight faces.

“Oh, they’re not celebrating. Probably breaking up.”

“Who goes to such a nice restaurant for a break-up?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like rich people problems to me,” You joke, and you both share a chuckle. It feels nice to casually chat and people watch with somebody else. When your food arrives, you both eat with more adding silence, slipping in words slowly.

“Did I tell you you look really good tonight?” Peter changes the topic, eyes fixating back onto you.

“Yes… Thank you,” You feel yourself blushing all over your body. You use your napkin to wipe your lips, but you’re really using it to protect your face. It was so obvious what his words did to you, that’s probably why he said them. Suddenly, the room feels a little too hot, even just in your dress. “Took me a while to find out what to wear.”

“You could have worn a garbage bag and still looked great,” Peter says, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, stop it. You’re such a charmer. What’s your game? What do you want?” Your words are playful, but the look in Peter’s eye seems more serious. More powerful and heated. Eyes you haven’t seen for a long time in another person, and it freezes you still. The only thing that’s countering the lust circling his irises is the uprising smirk on his lips.

“To take you home.”

Boy, was he a charmer.

“Don’t ask if I’m kidding because I’m not,” he adds, setting down his napkin on the table. He leans over, a curl falling onto his forehead. A hand reaches halfway across the white cloth and rests delicately on your hand. Even his touch was warm and soft, not forceful in any way. “If you want, I’d like to.”

“I…” You were speechless. You knew what your answer would be, but you were just starstruck. How can one person be so gentlemanly yet hot? Cocky yet so sweet? God really didn’t give anyone a chance when making Peter. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

Your thumb rubs reassuring circles on his thumb while you smile like a fool. Peter’s smirk only got bigger as the night went on.

–

You talked. You laughed. You smiled.

But as he drove you to his house, you got nervous again. Maybe you guys would do something as normal as watch a movie. Maybe even cuddle a bit. But you really, really hoped it was more. Especially after your first meeting, you knew Peter wasn’t too shy about sexual matters. However, maybe he didn’t want to do that with you yet and just wanted to take things slow.

But his office…

When his hand was on yours on the table, your memory was brought back right to the moment of his fingers inside of you in the chair. You remembered the feeling of him pushing his digit in and out repeatedly and how good it felt when he removed his latex gloves. Your core rumbled with lust, getting off on the mere fantasy of it all.

When you arrive at his house, you both silently get out of the car. Besides the sound of nature, you could only hear your racing heart and how it was racking against your ribcage in intense beats. He unlocks his door, keying jingling while the breeze flows past. You’re hyper-aware of every noise as if Peter could hear your choppy breath. When he finally opens the door, he lets you in first and you smile, trying to not let your obvious nerves surface.

But you clearly fail when he points it out.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Your eyes lock on his hands as he rests his key on his door side table and feet as he casually slips off his dress shoes. Everything about him was mesmerizing. You swear you could just watch a documentary of a regular day in his life and you could be starry-eyed.

“Bunch of things.” But it was really just one thing.

“Care to share?” Peter shifts to the kitchen and you follow him like a helpless dog, clutching your bag for dear life.

“I keep thinking about…the last time we were together,” the words fall from your mouth as you round the counter. You felt like you needed to create some distance between you two if you were going to admit something like that.

“What about it?” Peter’s knack to ask questions right now is making your face burn from embarrassment under his bright kitchen lights. He grabs two glasses and fills them up with fridge water without even asking if you wanted some.

“You know, the fun part,” You round the counter to reach the water, slowly taking a sip. When you set the glass down, your eyes don’t leave his chest. You’re too afraid to look into his eyes.

“I thought it was all pretty fun,” he says, placing down his own glass and taking one large step towards you “Especially the part where you came all over my hand.”

Your skin flames, eyes peering at him for a moment before dashing away. His finger slides beneath your chin to turn your face back to him. He could feel your radiating heat and could see the widening of your pupils under the luminous lights.

“Were you thinking of that?” His finger directs your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His voice was low and husky, only for you to hear. “Because I haven’t stopped since the day I walked out of that room.”

“Peter…”

“Just say the word, honey, and I’ll kiss you right now.”

You could just melt into a puddle on the floor of his kitchen. His words are so sensual, there is no way you could ever say no to this man. He’s irresistible without trying too hard.

“Please,” You mustered out seemingly breathless while your eyes were locked into his surely.

He doesn’t miss the beat. His head turns as his lips crash against yours. Your lower back hits the island of the counter of marble, but you don’t flinch. His lips electrocute yours, sending jolts of energy coursing through your body like a shock. Your hands naturally find his neat yet messy styled hair on his nape, fingers rummaging through the curly ends. One of his hands holds your waist down from moving as if he already knows you’re antsy to grind on him. His other caresses your jaw in a stable position, the type of dominance you’ve been craving since that day in his office.

His hand goes underneath your thigh, leading you to wrapping your legs around his waist. You thought he was going to sit you on the counter, but he walked all the way to a bedroom without breaking the kiss.

Peter gently lays you on the bed, causing you to depart from the kiss. He wordlessly goes to unbutton his shirt, but you quickly sit up to do it. You’ve been thinking about doing it since he picked you up, so it only seems right that your fantasy comes true, right?

Just like you imagined, you slowly flicked off the buttons and delicately removed the fabric until it was a bundle of cloth on the floor. On the edge of the bed on your knees, you stare up at Peter with a lustful glint in your eye. That glowy look caused Peter to kiss you again, hungrier than before. His force makes you fall onto the mattress again, making you gasp. He trails down your neck in sloppy kisses, touching every inch of your neck and chest with his lips.

“Where did you get this dress?” You didn’t expect him to ask you that while he was groping your breasts through the material. You moan at the feeling of his rough thumbs on your nipples. It’s very distracting while you try to remember where you got the dress that is currently in the way.

“Um Zara? I-I don’t remember,” You moan loudly, not having time to conceal it as he suckles a mark on your neck.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The dress.”

“S-Sure, yeah. It’s-It’s not my favorite, though,” His tousled hair tickles your face as he gets closer to your boobs.

“Maybe you should have worn a garbage bag.”

“Why?” You pull back a little, moving his head up so you can see his face. You thought maybe you would see some expression of disgust, but he only has pure enjoyment. His soft smile turns into a smirk that you’re growing really fond of. It means he’s about to do something hot.

“Because then I wouldn’t feel so bad about ripping it off of you.”

Just like that, the thin straps are easily snapped from his large hands while he yanks the long dress down your body and onto the floor. His mouth instantly went onto your nipple, sucking until he was satisfied with the raw peak of it. He repeated the same movement the opposite one until you were a panting mess, huffing and puffing from just his mouth on your chest.

You can tell he knows how to do this. Yes, he works in gynecology so it’s a benefit that he knows the female body inside and out. But he’s actually skilled in his technique. Although he is hungry and nearly primal, he takes his time with certain areas, making your body want him more and more each time. It’s incredibly smart, and you’re wondering why every man doesn’t know how to properly treat a woman.

You don’t even know your body the way he seems to know it.

His mouth is at your panties before you could even process it. Right when you think he’s about to widen your legs like you so desperately want him to, he stops when his hands rest on your knees gently. He had been going at a fast pace, but now, he’s slow and controlled. Taunting in a way. Torturing.

“I’m going to remove these now, yeah?” He knows you want it now because he has you in his bed right where you want to be. His tone is not as shy as it had been in the office. It’s more controlling yet still soft. “Words, Y/N.”

That demand was all too similar to his words back in the chair with his hands on your waist. He was about to pull off your underwear then for professional reasons, and now, he’s going to yank them off for selfish ones.

“Please take them off,” Just like you had then, you clenched around nothing. Just his sensual words that make you spiral into horny oblivion. Your wavering tone makes him smile as he tugs down the thin material from your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room.

Then he finally widens your legs, facing your aching pussy that hasn’t forgotten about him since all those weeks ago. You were throbbing and leaking to the damn bed sheets, but you couldn’t give a fuck less. You wanted his fingers, his mouth, his cock–anything that he was willing to give you.

“That day,” he starts, “I really wanted to taste you. You were dripping all over my fingers. It was so hard to stay professional.”

He leans down and gets really close to your cunt, inches away from doing what he really wants to do.

“You’ll let me taste you, right?” he asks in an innocent kind of way, but there’s hints of taunt in there. It makes your core burn, and you almost moan at the way his breath hits your center.

“Yes, please. Do whatever you want,” You say that because it’s true–he can do whatever he wants to you, and you would be grateful.

“So polite. So eager,” he kisses your thigh, dangerously close to you now, “And so, so wet.”

“Peter, please,” You were begging now, but you didn’t care. You would beg all night for Peter to touch you the way he did in his office. You’ve tried to replicate it, but it’s no use. You’ve been craving that feeling for weeks now, and he seems to be the only one who can get you there.

“So polite. Good girl.”

To your luck, he doesn’t say another word. He finally puts his mouth on your pussy by slurping up all of your juices. You immediately moan, just by the mere knowledge that his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through your folds all the way up to your clit. Peter suckles on it, feeling it throb in his mouth.

“Taste even better than I imagined,” You don’t know if his whispered words were meant to be heard by you, but you heard them. They caused you to clench right as his tongue slotted inside of you, desperate to taste more of you.

His large hands are pressed against the insides of your thighs, forcing you to stay spread for him. You can feel them ache, but nothing feels as prominent as his tongue inside of you. And then, just when it starts to feel good, he makes it feel even better. One of his digits finds your clit, circling pressure until you’re a moaning mess.

“Fuck, Peter. That’s… so good.”

His mouth pops off of you for a second to catch a breath. But he could honestly drown in the taste of you. He smoothly slides a finger to replace where his mouth was, filling you up just like in his office. Now, his mouth is sucking on your clit, needing to make it throb. You feel that feeling you’ve been chasing for the past few weeks building up in your stomach, and you know it’s not going to be long at all until you achieve it.

“Come. Show me what only I can make you do,” Peter grumbles, his words cascading over your body. The deep rumble of his voice tips you over the edge, causing you to come all over his fingers again. After cleaning up some of your orgasm, he lifts his mouth, but doesn’t remove his fingers. He continues to pump them in and out, even though you’re sensitive.

“So fuckin’ tight, and I haven’t even given you a second finger,” one of his fingers taps of your clit, causing you to gasp at how sensitive you are. “Can you give me another?”

“A-Another one?” You’re panting and sweating from just one, but he wants to give you another? Who is this man, and where has he been all your life? “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. The body is an amazing thing,” he inserts another finger into your cunt and increases his intensity on your nerves. You gasp again, moaning without caring how loud you are. “See, your clit makes you do that. And I love that.”

“Oh, Peter,” You helplessly whimpered. As he thrusts his fingers inside of you with that charming smile and a hint of a smirk, you already feel your high approaching you again. The sight and the feel of him was just too overwhelming. With each thrust of his fingers, his arms bulged, forearm veins popping deliciously. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“C’mon, baby. Give me another. Want to feel you clench around my fingers. Imagine it’s my cock. Imagine how big my cock is going to feel in your little, tight cunt.”

His words oozed sex. So it only made sense that you came not long after. Your release coated his skilled hand once again, and this time, he seemed satisfied with your two orgasms.

When you could finally catch your breath, you didn’t see him reaching for his belt like most men do. But you really, really wanted him to reach for his belt.

“Are you tired? How do you feel?” The tone in his voice was soft. He was easily able to change from sex Peter to caring Peter. Your heart melted at his concern.

“Tired, but good tired. I’ve only ever had three orgasms, and you just gave me two of them,” You laughed breathlessly while he chuckled. “Would I be selfish to ask for more?”

That made him laugh. It was wholehearted and deep, echoing throughout the room. “Not at all.”

And then he reaches for his belt. You feel your organs twist in that lustful, horny way that they do when he does anything. When all his clothes are discarded and you’re faced with his raging cock, you’re practically drooling. He was right when he said he was big; thick and veiny all along the sides. It seemed unfair, really.

He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom, ripping it and rolling it on easily. You continue to watch him in awe as he strokes himself a few times over the condom. Truth be told, he’s already incredibly hard. The second he slips inside of you he fears he will come on the spot because of how tight you are.

But he leans over your body, elbows holding himself up. You can smell his fresh scent, full of pine and wood.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” he whispers next to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, which gives you the shivers. Your hands trail up over his body until they’re resting on his broad shoulders. You can feel his tensed muscles working to hold him up right, even though it looks like an effortless task to him.

“Oh shush. But thank you,” His comment makes your face warm, like a candle right next to your cheek.

“You look especially pretty under me,” his cock brushes your cunt, sliding delicately through the folds. You’re not shy of gasping, trying to mentally prepare yourself for his impeccable size.

When he finally pushes the head in, you take a deep breath and release it in a small whimper. You know you’re tight because you haven’t been with anyone in a few weeks. The most you’ve taken are Peter’s fingers, which are nothing compared to his cock.

He waits a few moments before moving again, giving you time to adjust. But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to fully settle with his size. It seems like he’ll always be stretching you out, no matter how many times you take him.

“Breathe, baby,” his words are breathy and wavering, but so sweet. The small nickname gives you the butterflies you haven’t felt for a while. Not the nervous butterflies, but that tingling, excited feeling of fondness. It’s one of your favorite feelings, and you’re so glad Peter gives you them.

You listen to him, taking deep breaths. He takes the opportunity to push himself a bit further until he’s fully inside of you. He stays still, looking at your face as you grow more comfortable. He watches as your expression contorts into desperation, which is what he’s been waiting for.

“You’re so tight, honey. But you’re taking all of me. Knew you could,” Peter reassures you, even as you clench snuggly around him. It’s embarrassingly hard for him to stay still, given how warm you feel wrapping him.

“Please move. Fuck, I need to feel you.”

Slowly, Peter removes himself and then slots in again. You remember to breathe as his movements become less languid and more fluidly quick. Soon, his thrusts have a bit of speed, causing you to scratch his shoulders at the intensity.

“You’re so big… so deep,” Your moan bounces off the walls of the room, making Peter smirk as he continues to move. His cock pins your hips, shutting down your squirming.

“No one’s ever fucked you like this? Never been this good, baby?” A small huff of his breath hit your skin and you were awed. His words alone could get you off, and then he’s pumping himself perfecting inside of you too, just making you go insane. He knows where all the right spots are, lifting up one of your legs with ease to get a better angle. You love that you can just let him take over you without having to work for your orgasm like you’re used to. You’re used to being on top, but it’s evident that Peter just wants to take care of you. He wants you to be satisfied for once, and you’ve never felt so seen. You’ve never felt so… good.

“Y-You’re the only one,” You sigh as you bite your lip, loving the way he's speaking to you. He’s all sultry in tone and even sexier with his words. You believe he has no flaws that are worth noticing.

“S’right. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good. You can only take my cock like this, deep in your cunt,” All you can do is moan and shake as you feel your next orgasm approaching.

Just when you go to reach down to your clit to push yourself even further, he reads your mind and does it for you. His thick finger circles the throbbing bud until you’re arching your back. Your fingers play with the pebbled nipples on your chest as your insides grow more tight. You haven’t had an orgasm feel this intense yet, so it’s hard to anticipate the feeling.

“Gonna come, baby? Come all over my cock, I need to see it. Need to know I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

With one entire pump inside of you, you’re coming over Peter’s cock and showing him that he’s the only one. All you can see is his charming, fatigued smile surrounded by stars. His brown hair is tousled and a dash of sweat is above his eyebrows, but God, he’s never looked so fucking hot.

It’s not long after that he’s coming after you, his release filling the condom completely. Peter was trying his best to hold himself for as long as possible. But with you, he discovered it was very difficult. Like he thought, the second he was inside of you, he could’ve come. You’re so slick and warm, just so alluring.

He gets up from the bed to discard the condom in done trash while you lay there in naked awe. You already know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow like the day after the gym.

As Peter comes back, he has a wipe that he uses to clean you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask before he starts to wipe you.

“Cleaning you up. You know, like aftercare. You can go to the bathroom and even take a bath if you’d like,” Peter answers while you sit straight up dumbfounded. “May I?”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead,” You allow him to soothingly clean you while you just accept it. Your mind is still whirling with confusion. Are all guys supposed to do this? Or is he really just that great? “Thank you. I… No one’s ever done that before.”

“Really? God, you were really with some twats, Y/N,” he shakes his head and walks back to the bathroom while you chuckle. It’s funny that you had to go through those two guys in order to get to Peter. Third time’s the charm. “Want to take a bath?”

You ponder for a second. You were tired, but not like you would drown in the tub. Maybe if you had better stamina you would ask Peter to join you, but for now, maybe you just need to sit and think about what’s happening alone. Peter is too good to be true. He’s such a gentleman, he never misses a beat. You hope you’re not overstepping by accepting.

“Can I? Or is it too much—”

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable. Now, do you like the right or left side of the bed?” You stare at him in confusion. One, because that was a random question. And two, because when did he put on boxers?

“What?”

“Which side do you sleep on?” You felt your cheeks burn for some reason, and then you realize you’re still naked while he’s semi-dressed.

“Um right, I think. Why?”

“So you can sleep there. You are staying, aren’t you?” Peter’s cheeks tint rosy red, that peek of nervousness shining through. It made you smile because even if he seems too good to be true, there is a little human in there who’s just like you.

“Yes, of course,” You can visibly see his tenseness fade as a small smile grows on his lips.

“I’ll start the bath then get you some clothes then, or else you’ll keep me hard all night.”

Your skin burns, but you feel like that’s not the last time that will happen to you. Not with Peter. No, you know.

—

thank you all for being patient!! i also think this is the longest taglist i’ve ever had, so thank you again!! 💞

taglist:

-> @motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @httpscomexe @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @deathst9r @ellenita98 @ellabellabus07 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @eatshitanddiee @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach @winuvs

crossed out= not able to tag

[bunnwich]

It's Supposed to Be Fun

(a letter to my friends in the twst fandom)

I've been wanting to make this post for a while and these thoughts may seem scattered but I’m gonna try to express them. 

Lately, I have seen many friends and moots that either are leaving the fandom or feel guilty over not having posted in a while or losing interest in twst. On the other side, I also have friends being harassed.

This a reminder to remember why you joined this community to begin with. I know that keeping up with the fast-moving pace of fandom and comparing ourselves to others, can skew our perspective on these things.

It’s supposed to be fun. 

Why do we post art or write? Sure, partly for recognition, there's no denying that. But, why do we create, I mean really? For enjoyment. Not for others, not to be “popular” FOR JOY.

So, whether you’re dealing with people critiquing you or feeling guilty about not creating. My question is this: Why waste so much of your time on something that makes you miserable?

Did it stop being fun? Why? Haters? Loss of interest?

To my friends who feel guilty for not creating and not sure if they lost interest in twst: 

Don’t feel guilty. At one time, the creation of your twst content was natural. It's what you did for fun with friends or for yourself. Revisit that mindset and think - if creating twst content now will bring that same joy it did before.

If the answer is no, then maybe it’s time to pivot. It’s okay for interests to fade. It doesn’t mean that time, memories, or the friends you made are lost. Connect with your friends, we will understand! We still love you! It's not a race there's no time limit, just pick up were you want to. Draw fanart of old events or OCs.

To my friends who have been harassed: 

I say this with sincerity…. People who harass others over fictional characters are fucking losers.

Like… There’s no other eloquent way to encapsulate it. I’m starting to not care for the reason anymore - If you harass or be shady to others over a ship or fictional character. CONGRATS! YOU ARE A LOSER.

We all join fandoms as a hobby, for fun. We’re all just kids in the sandbox playing pretend again… and if you are the type of person to go up just to “kick the doll out of someone’s hand" or make commentary on how “their way of playing is wrong." You’re a loser. I have a life outside of twst, we all do. Someone saying my ship is wrong or cringe is just so laughable to me. We have to make fun of these people more for being so goddamn lame.

Imagine being so unhappy that when you see someone having fun you HAVE to comment on it. By all means, if it gets you through the day...talk shit to close friends or even post about it on your own blog. (THAT WAS ALWAYS ALLOWED.) Don't bother creators directly. Don't be a loser. I sure see tolerance leave people’s bodies when they see a fandom opinion they don't like. (And this is coming from someone who has lots of opinions on these things! But that's why I always put the disclaimers that, hey this is just MY opinion.)

Discussion is one thing, unhelpful comments are another. We shouldn’t give these people the time of day. Curate your online space. Yes, when you post things online you are subjecting yourself to scrutiny. But, we as creators need to stop letting these people have power over us. Period. We do this for free!! FOR FUN. The best thing you can do is create shamelessly.

Delete weird replies, block whoever you need to do to rid yourself of these people who have nothing better to do. Keep your peace. It’s supposed to be for fun. You don’t owe anyone a response.

The twst fandom is like a little family to me and I guess I feel protective over the people in it?  I have made many friends and memories because I joined it. And even dispite a handful of the negative experiences (AKA: A couple of “losers" that I’ve had to deal with.) I’ll always look fondly back on this time.

The key for me has always been to just…create for myself. I originally made bunnwich for me and one friend to make fun little arts about our Yuu’s and now I get to have lots of friends to share it with! I’ve transitioned from an OC blog to probably more of an Oc x Canon blog…but I don’t care tbh. I just…draw what I feel like. I know there are people who probably dislike me for that or feel strange about my content and that’s fine. I’m still gonna keep drawing it, loser.  

And I just want you guys to do the same, twst or not.

I can’t forget that all my followers and friends are a bonus, if I had never joined tumblr I’d still be drawing the silly shit I draw in peace. And while yes, I do want to grow as an artist and sell more merch and keep growing... I can’t forget my initial excitement for this silly little game. I like to talk about it. I like to write about it. It inspires me.

It’s supposed to be fun. Please remember that. I know it can be discouraging to have others being shitty to you. Or going through a creative drought. But, try not to let this stop you from creating what you love.

[makingqueerhistory]

One thing that is relevant to my work in Making Queer History is the fact that I never went to university. To be honest, I used to be really ashamed of that. Because of that shame, I often give alternative narratives around queer history a bit more grace, assuming that the person spouting them has more experience than I do. I have been working in queer history for eight years now, but I'm well aware that I haven't seen even a fraction of what is out there to find.

For a while I forced myself to watch James Somerton videos because he spoke about history in a way I had never heard before. I assumed that meant he knew something I didn't. Eventually, he crossed a line with sexist critiques that were borderline nonsensical, so I stopped watching. But there was still that persistent feeling of unease. Like maybe I just wasn't educated enough to understand him.

To be frank, James Somerton is a cisgender gay man with a degree, so I gave his words more leeway than I should have. That's a character flaw I need to work on. But the bigger picture is that there is an image a lot of people have around expertise. We are lucky that someone of similar standing in that regard spoke out. But let's not pretend that people hadn't already pulled the alarm. In the video that stripped away Somerton's reputation bit by bit (and outside of it), there were many moments of queer women and trans people pointing out problems with his work. I would go so far as to say that it's likely that even more queer women and trans people who felt something wrong but didn't say anything. Like I didn't. Because, at best, you start drama against someone who is well-respected. At worst, you lose your own credibility.

I have had cisgender people explain trans history to me, and I let them. I have had uneducated people tell me that Greece was the pinnacle of queer history, and I let them. I have had James Somerton spout nonsense at me, and I let him. I would hope that through this, I learn to be cognizant of when the image of expertise overwhelms the reality of it.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“The women leaders in our study were considered too young or too old. They were too short or too tall, too pretty or too unattractive or too heavy. They had too much education or not enough or their degrees were not from the “right” schools. They suffered from disrespect and misperceptions due to race, color, or ethnicity. Whether they had children or were childless, the women were expected to work harder than men to prove their worth. Women were held back from leadership opportunities due to being single, married, or divorced. There was no personality trait sweet spot, as introverted women were not seen as leaders and extraverted women were viewed as aggressive. The effect, then, means women leaders are “never quite right.””

Full text under cut

https://www.fastcompany.com/90889985/new-research-reveals-critiques-holding-women-back-from-leadership-that-most-men-will-never-hear

A recent study of the 33 biggest multilateral institutions found that of 382 leaders in their history only 47 have been women. And the percentage of women running Fortune 500 companies has only just recently crested a meager 10%.

As researchers we wondered why institutions consistently fail to promote women to top jobs. Our recent study of 913 women leaders from four female-dominated industries in the U.S. (higher education, faith-based nonprofits, law, and healthcare) sheds light on this pernicious problem. As we found, there’s always a reason why women are “never quite right” for leadership roles.

Women are criticized so often and on so many things that they are acculturated to receiving such disparagement, taking it seriously, and working to make improvements. And any individual woman may take it personally, believing the criticism directed at her to be warranted.

But our research reveals that the problem lies elsewhere. Virtually any characteristic can be leveraged against a woman in a discriminatory fashion. Such criticisms often relate to facets of women’s identity in an overt or subtle way, such as race, age, parental status, attractiveness, and physical ability.

Effectively, the surface-level critique functions as a “red herring,” distracting from the inherent gender bias driving the encounter. This type of treatment is so common that we have called it “we want what you aren’t” discrimination.

More specifically, our research revealed 30 different characteristics and qualities of a woman’s identity that emerged as points of criticism creating barriers to women’s success. The clear message to women is that—whatever they are—they are “never quite right.”

Age was a consistent challenge for women leaders in our study. Some of our respondents reported being considered too young to lead, while others indicated being too old hindered them from advancing.

However, being middle-aged didn’t help women’s career prospects either. A physician shared: “I am middle-aged, and men my age are seen as mature leaders and women my age as old.”

Parental status—having children or being childless—emerged as another point of criticism. A higher-education leader described how people assume she “can’t take on a bigger role ‘because of the kids,’” which made her feel that she needed “to work extra hard” to show that she could be both a dedicated mother and a leader.

On the other hand, a childless physician was expected to “work harder/more, accomplish more” than other female colleagues. Mothers were also bypassed for career opportunities, as happened to a single divorced lawyer who was the mother of preschoolers, “due to a perception by my male bosses that I cannot or should not handle [larger matters].”

Likewise, pregnancy was problematic, particularly for lawyers in our study. There was doubt that women would come back to work after maternity leave. Some were no longer given good assignments, while others were forced to quit private practice or work part time. One lawyer described the loss of confidence from bosses:

“Once you are pregnant or trying to have kids, the way management views you deteriorates. The opposite thing happens for male coworkers. I’ve seen it in so many law firms it’s impossible to argue it was just coincidence or based on merit.”

Simply planning on having kids was enough to invoke bias. A woman in higher education reported being denied promotion because she would need maternity leave for hypothetical future children.

Women of color were targets of subtle bias. An African American faith-based leader described being “invisible” and regularly “talked over” by white men. A Native American higher-education executive described being misperceived as weak, “when in fact we are practicing ‘respect’ for ourselves and others.” And a Filipina physician described facing role incredulity, as people assumed that she was “a nurse, and not a doctor and a division chief at that.”

Even physical ability and health played into the women’s experiences. Physical disabilities led to assumptions of not being capable. One higher-education leader who uses a crutch was questioned by men about the way she walks and has been told “to hide my cane, especially for photographs,” as she said.

Regarding health, there were double standards around the way men and women with illnesses were treated. A physician developed ovarian cancer while serving as an officer in the public health service. She explained, “The plan was to discharge me . . . even though men with prostate cancer didn’t have to go through that.”

The women leaders in our study were considered too young or too old. They were too short or too tall, too pretty or too unattractive or too heavy. They had too much education or not enough or their degrees were not from the “right” schools. They suffered from disrespect and misperceptions due to race, color, or ethnicity. Whether they had children or were childless, the women were expected to work harder than men to prove their worth. Women were held back from leadership opportunities due to being single, married, or divorced. There was no personality trait sweet spot, as introverted women were not seen as leaders and extraverted women were viewed as aggressive. The effect, then, means women leaders are “never quite right.”

Organizations that fail to promote and support women in their top roles miss out on performance gains. Fortunately, there are concrete steps that organizational leaders, allies, and individual women can take to mitigate this “never quite right” bias, aiding women’s workplace advancement.

“Flip it to test it”

Leaders can be particularly effective in thwarting sexist criticisms toward women. It’s not about changing the behavior of women—who are the recipients of the unfair treatment—but it is about changing the behaviors of those who justify their actions as somehow merited. Many criticisms fail the “flip it to test it” method miserably. Ask yourself, would the following statements ever be said about a man?

He needs to smile more.

Men are going to have kids and not want to work.

Since Larry has prostate cancer, he can no longer fulfill his job duties.

The clear answer is no. Leaders can infuse awareness of this simple, yet effective, tool to reduce such bias-laden criticisms. And workplace allies can help stop unfair criticism of women by calling it out.

Constructive career-enhancing feedback

Women are almost one and a half times more likely to receive negative feedback that is subjective rather than constructive and objective feedback. Men are often given a clearer idea of where they excel and opportunities for improvement whereas women are given vague feedback that often focuses on qualities like communication style. Even when using formal performance evaluation rubrics, a disparity remains.

Developmental feedback to women focuses on operational tasks, coping with politics, developing resilience, being cooperative, and building confidence. Developmental feedback to men focuses on setting a vision, leveraging power and politics, being assertive, and displaying confidence. Leaders can reduce the gender-biased framing by encouraging all employees to develop both sets of skills.

Do not take it personally

For individual women, hear us when we say, “It’s not you.” We women are conditioned to accept feedback and internalize it as something to “fix” about ourselves. If you are criticized, consider whether it is objective, constructive, and warranted. Disregard identity-based criticisms that are part of a larger pattern of bias against women.

Our research demonstrates that practically any characteristic can be proclaimed problematic for a woman leader to question her competence and suitability for leadership. It takes deliberate effort, but we can turn the message to women from “We want what you aren’t” into “We want what you are.” Doing so will advance women in the workplace and profit the entire organization.

Amy Diehl, PhD, is chief information officer at Wilson College and a gender equity researcher, speaker, and consultant. She is coauthor of Glass Walls: Shattering the Six Gender Bias Barriers Still Holding Women Back at Work.

Leanne M. Dzubinski, PhD, is acting dean of the Cook School of Intercultural Studies and associate professor of intercultural education at Biola University, and a prominent researcher on women in leadership. She is coauthor of Glass Walls: Shattering the Six Gender Bias Barriers Still Holding Women Back at Work.

Amber L. Stephenson, PhD, is an associate professor of management and director of healthcare management programs in the David D. Reh School of Business at Clarkson University. Her research focuses on how professional identity influences attitudes and behaviors and how women leaders experience gender bias.

[zairene]

AS A BOYFRIEND osamu dazai

* ˚ ✦ synopsis: how osamu dazai would be as a significant other.

* ˚ ✦ genre: headcanons !

* ˚ ✦ warnings: not spoiler free + mentions character death in anime + mentions of suicide.

* ˚ ✦ author’s note: my first BSD post !! enjoy the new content! <333 ( also, i did try to take a more canon approach to this just so i could practice characterization ! feel free to critique anything or give some feedback in general ! )

the famous osamu dazai. a young man who’s enemies shouldn’t be exactly proud that they are his enemies. a man who has too many tricks up his sleeves, and always seems to manage to get himself out of the stickiest of situations. a man with convoluted emotions that no one could ever quite understand, except for his closest late friend sakunosuke oda.

but even in the darkest of moments, dazai still has a lighthearted side to him despite the enigmatic façade he keeps all the time. due to his past, i could find it very difficult for him to fully commit to anyone exclusively.

not saying he would sleep around a lot or have a significant amount of women on his roster, but due to his job and the way he views humanity and what it means to be alive. dazai finds little to no joy in living—so why would he even try a romantic relationship?

so, in these terms, you were not an exception.

at first, he viewed you as this beautiful girl he could finally do a double suicide with. after being the third woman to join the armed detective agency, he never really attempted to hide himself from you. so you saw all of his unwillingness to live very quickly and admittedly it made you a lot less attracted to him.

yes, he may have had the looks but his personality was an entire red flag for you. he never liked talking about himself or his past. he doesn’t open up. he’s serious, but not in the way you would want him to be with you. he’s serious about his job, he’s serious about the armed detective agency, and he’s serious about the relationships he has with the people around him.

but he was never serious about himself.

he knew this and never noticed how many people cared about him. but that’s not his fault, especially since being in the port mafia has extremely distorted his morality.

and over time, you learned to accept this side of him. you learned that you could never truly understand the mind of osamu dazai unless he decides to have that conversation with you.

after a plethora of missions alongside dazai, you did notice your growing feelings for him. the charming and overly dramatic side of him paralleled with an excessive amount of wisdom that grew on you. dazai knew his way with his words, and did he maybe try to woo you here and there? of course.

dazai was no fool, he knew about your feelings for him. he found himself also feeling the same but wasn’t sure how to express them. this feeling was somewhat unfamiliar. he knew how it felt to have feelings for someone but to also want to have a romantic relationship with them? he was stuck.

he was scared. he didn’t want to get you, someone he cared about, to get wrapped up in his business. for his enemies to become yours, and for you to fall victim to their wrath. causing dazai to lose someone else that gave him a reason to keep living.

so a lot of your interactions, before getting together, consisted of you blatantly flirting with each other during work or just in general.

but when you both finally decided to give things a shot, boy did that change things for both of you and the agency in general.

you both were a secret at first. it was obvious you both had something going on but no one had gotten a confirmation so no one assumed. this was all stopped when atsushi, of all people, walked into the office hallway at the wrong time.

there were you and dazai, having the most heated makeout session ever. atsushi was for one, a little traumatized, he’s never seen dazai in this way nor did he ever predict he would. he stood in silence while the both of you were frantically trying to fix yourself as if he didn’t stumble upon the whole scene. atsushi was at a loss for words. “i’m-i’m… just gon—gonna…” he bolted out of the office after he just came to the conclusion he was not gonna be able to talk to you after seeing that.

safe to say that he looked neither of you in the eye for about a week. but best believe he did blurt it out randomly on a quiet day in the office, and that’s how news spread. y/n and dazai are officially dating!

now, onto the actual relationship and not the buildup.

fresh into it, things didn’t change. besides the fact you both had exchanged numbers by then and you could see him outside of work and at your home as well. you both still had the same dumb arguments as you had before but with a heavy amount of tension this time.

once you both get comfortable, PDA is your fucking thing. sitting on his lap while he worked or him always having his arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist. you could say he was doing all of this just to spite kunikida! he was.

dazai is romantic when he puts the effort in. some of your dates are followed with a nice candlelit dinner in an extremely fancy restaurant, or just you or him going to one another’s place just to feel each other’s presence.

there was versatility, and you liked that.

you began to see more of a vulnerable side of dazai as time went on. he started to share more of his life piece by piece to you. you were patient with him, and he appreciated that. he never goes into explicit detail about every little thing about himself, but you can tell he’s trying to change for you as his love for you blossoms into something he never thought could be possible for him.

you both still have your disagreements here and there, and arguments with him are extremely painful. they aren’t rare but they aren’t common either. most of the time it is just petty arguments, just a few minutes of bickering, and dazai is already attached to your hip smothering you with kisses just to show how sorry he is.

painful arguments consist of the both of you not talking for days on end. having to see each other at work made it even more difficult, and when you both weren’t talking, yosano is always coming up to you because it is obvious something is wrong between you too. you reassure her things will be fine and you still love him all the same.

making up with dazai is surprisingly easy. the no communication stage isn’t, but once you both have had time to calm down and think about the situation, he is more than capable of having a mature conversation with you and mending things.

osamu dazai is not the perfect boyfriend, but he isn’t a bad one either. he is someone who would come with a lot of baggage and patience—learning that he’s not someone who easily communicates his feelings and would rather keep up the mysterious act to the grave. nonetheless, dazai is trying. he’s attempting to change and seems a lot healthier these days ever since he’s been with you. things are positive overall, but this also includes your cooperation and being able to handle him as a person and not just as a boyfriend.

(📦) — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS TAGLIST // n/a . . .

(📝) — TAGLIST FORM :: sign to be apart of the taglist!

[genericpuff]

So there's this account I follow on Tiktok that critiques some webtoons and LO was one of them. They're discussing the finale and my god the comments are glorious. Lots of the people commenting either fell off the comic or were once die hard fans who hated what happened. Some of them even were fans of the series who recently started hating it after the hiatus. From what I saw this was what their concerns were.

Apollo not being punished harshly enough

Last minute queer rep with Hera

Certain plots being thrown in and old ones being tossed out

The ending feeling rushed.

Some of them are blaming Webtoons for 'axing the series' so Rachel had no choice but to rush it. Others are questioning why was there a hiatus at all if this was the pay off?

So now even some of the fans are starting to feel like we former fans do.

Yeeah you know it's not good when even the fans were left going "... huh?" And frankly I do feel bad, as much as I've talked shit about the stans in the past, so many of them hung on with the genuine good faith that it was all "building up to something". There are also people who are still praising it as the best thing ever which, okay, that's them, and people who didn't love the finale but are leaving it be like reasonable non-obsessed people.

I'm not entirely convinced that Rachel ended it willingly, I've seen Webtoons cut series short during their midseason hiatuses by telling the creators "okay once you come back you have this many episodes to wrap it up", so while it is shocking to see it happen with WT's golden goose, maybe they saw the decline over the past several months and realized it was time to cut it loose. But ultimately I can't ever know if it was Rachel calling it quits or Webtoons, not unless one (or both) of them come forward and say anything regarding that. I can only wonder, and in reality, none of what I wonder really matters because it's over.

Again, I do feel bad. I remember when the trial arc was going on and the whole Eris reveal happened and I had that sinking feeling in my stomach that maybe the comic wasn't all it was cracked up to be, that maybe it wasn't going where I had been hoping and assuming it would go. I imagine there are a lot of people feeling that exact same thing right now. I do hope, at the very least, they find their closure through whatever future projects Rachel does or through other comics that fill the void left by LO. I'm definitely hoping the same for myself, tbh, now that the comic is actually over for good I feel like I can finally put my obsession with it to rest, even just a little. Although tbf I'm really just refocusing that obsession onto Rekindled, which I have a much more positive relationship with LMAO but I'm very thankful to have it and I owe that to LO, in all its perks and quirks and flaws.

[ap0llonian]

Park Follies

PERCY JACKSON x Apollo!READER

sypnosis: you don't like the rides percy's taking you for your “friendly” themepark date, until you head for the ferris wheel.

notes: reader is, again, a child of apollo, reader is gender neutral, reader is very judgemental, fluff, friends to lovers, ferris wheel trope

a/n: took the pic from a manhwa called operation: true love!

-----

The sun was already setting, beaming down on the theme park, and you couldn't contain your excitement as you navigated through the vibrant seas of people. Every corner of the park pulsed with energy, from the screaming rollercoasters to the colorful stalls lining the walkways.

But the rides Percy led you to were... not so thrilling. You were a child of the God of—many things! You were the embodiment of fun. He must've lacked the “humor literature.”

“This ride is seriously lacking,” you declared, shaking him with an insistent grip. “I thought you would show me something that could really make my adrenaline pumping, not just a slow spin on a plastic horse.”

Percy smirked, shaking his head. “It’s a carousel, not a roller coaster. Not everything can be an epic adventure.”

“My point still stands.” You shrugged with a grin.

The day continued with a mix of roller coasters, carnival games, and food stands. Every ride you encountered seemed to get an immediate and loud critique from you. You had a special way of making even the simplest attractions sound like the worst thing ever. Despite your constant complaints, Percy remained as patient as ever—only staring at you with an underlying tone of something you couldn't seem to shake.

As you approached another game stall, your attention was completely captured by a prize displayed on the table. It was a plushie that had the exact features of Percy—and with no problems, you got it.

“Wow, it’s got the same hair as him too...” You muttered, fiddling with the knitted clothes. It was removable too—who does that?

“Look, Jackson, it looks exactly like y—”

Turning around, you'd only seen a random kid staring up at you with the stink eye (what a bitch.)

Your heart dropped, and your eyes immediately started darting to her surroundings, trying to find the supposedly, very spottable son of Poseidon. He was nowhere to be found. Like, literally. Too many people to even find him.

“That guy!” You grumbled to yourself as you rammed through the seas of unfamiliar faces, muttering a few apologies to whom you had accidentally bumped into.

None. None. None!

He was nowhere to be found, making you even more agitated.

Minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Your eyes darted back and forth, scanning every black haired guy. The thrill of the games and rides seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by a gnawing worry.

“He’s—” There he finally was, standing in line for the ferris wheel. He seemed so nonchalant, with a pack of pretzels—he didn’t even think to tell you!

Relief (with a mixture of irritation) flooded through you, and you rushed over to him.

“Percy, where have you been?!” You demanded, grabbing a hold of his arm with a vice-like grip. “I was about to organize a search party! You can’t just leave me like that!”

He, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry! I was just saving a spot for us on the ferris wheel.”

“Next time, tell me where you’re going!” You scolded, reaching up to tug on his reddening ear.

He nodded, an apologetic smile on his face, and led you to the ferris wheel. As you climbed on one of the cabs, you noticed the slight shiver to his body, even under the weight of his jacket. His hands started to pale, a contrast to yours.

“You seem cold,” you muttered, trying to lighten up the wilting mood.

“Nah, I’m alright.” Percy assured with a shake of his head, and sat in the opposite direction as you.

You didn’t buy it—not when the blood on his palm was starting to go away. You unwrapped the scar around your neck and rose from your seat. Without hesitation, you wrapped it around his neck, hoping to provide some comfort.

His eyes slightly widened, and he instinctively grabbed your wrists. “No, I’m okay. You keep it—”

“Percy, just take the scarf. You look like you’re about to turn into an ice sculpture.” You deadpanned, your eyes staring directly at his. The once glowing aura of yours seemed to darken along with the sun setting, making the atmosphere more—intimate, ish.

With a resigned sigh, he gave in, accepting the scarf and wrapping it around his shoulders. The two of you settled into the cab as the ferris wheel began its slow ascent, the view of the park unfolding below you.

The sky transitioned from bright blue to soft oranges and pinks, creating a breathtaking backdrop that framed the scene perfectly. The fading light bathed the scene in a soft, romantic light, enhancing the atmosphere.

“Dad would’ve loved it here. The view is breathtaking!” You said as your eyes landed on the little people below you. “Even if—”

Before you could finish your dramatic musing, Percy’s gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. There was something in his expression, a mix of hesitation and longing, that made you pause.

“Percy, what’s wrong? You okay?” You asked and leaned in slightly with narrowed eyes, trying to find anything out of the ordinary on his face.

Well, none. He was perfect.

Your cheeks started to heat up—and not from the temperature, but from his gaze. You turned your head to fully face him, mouth opening to speak. But then—

His lips press against yours, for just a moment. A very long moment. It was gentle but filled with an unspoken deoth that made your heart race.

You then reeled back, staring at him wide-eyed and gaped. You couldn’t even notice the faint tint of pink spreading across his cheeks, embarrassed by the sudden intimacy.

“I’m sor... what?” Your words died on your tongue, which was unlikely of you. You were usually so talkative.

Not here, though. Your breath was utterly taken away.

“Y-yeah... sorry, I’m so sorry.” He stammered softly, his hand flying to his mouth.

You cleared your throat, not being able to hear the incoherent and muffled apologies and explanations coming out of his mouth. Your mind was trying to process this whole thing.

You weren’t mad; quite the opposite. You felt... giddy. The same feeling with your father when he was with his past lover—but you didn’t know that. The author just wanted to add that for references.

Albeit, your fingers slightly twitched, almost wanting to do something you might regret. But you only live once, right?

So, with no hesitation, you grabbed the ends of the scarf and pulled Percy in for another... well, kiss. Your lips meshed into each other perfectly, the softness of it making you melt. The kiss was longer, a little more passionate, and it conveyed everything you had been feeling throughout the day.

When you finally broke apart, the both of you were breathless, staring at one another with flushed cheeks and bewildered expressions. You kissed Percy Jackson.

A shy smile managed to dance across his lips, “So, how’s the view?”

You grinned and gently pushed his face away, averting your gaze to the ground.

“Definitely better now.”

[luunamoona]

the way community handled queerness is honestly so peak. like, there're 3 main moments i can think of in the show where queerness was apparent and mentioned: advanced gay, queer studies and advanced waxing and britta's pitch in emotional concequences of broadcast television.

in advanced gay, the cornelius hawthorne is seen as a villian for having traits like being abusive towards his son, pierce, him being really racist and him being homophobic. this acknowledgement of homophobia being a bad thing is definitely good for the early 2010s, as many shows treated being queer as a joke back then. also cornelius being fucking murdered at the end of the episode solidifies the fact his actions were deemed immoral and he therefore had his comeuppance.

community only ever uses queerness as a punchline in the context of troy and abed's relationship, the punchline usually being "look at how romantic these 2 friends are how silly", which could be seen as homophobia as the same context with a man and a woman would be treated differently by the showrunners as it'd be turned into a romantic subplot.

the next example i have is from queer studies and advanced waxing. having the dean tell richie and carl that he "isn't openly anything and gay doesn't begin to cover it" is much more progressive than many other media at that time, and even now, as they'd usually have the queer character just be gay for convenience. this need for convenience is commented on in the episode with richie and carl basically coercing the dean into adopting a label that is inaccurate but convenient for his straight peers. back to my previous point, presenting queerness as being more complex and having more nuance than just gay and straight is something that is very useful to queer viewers as it presents an option beyond these 2 ends of the spectrum. unlike what other shows may do with this concept, community treats it seriously, showing the dean's inner conflict with presenting with an identity that isn't his, with lines like "i feel sick". (also side point, the line "i make gayness look like mormonism" goes so hard)

finally, there's britta's pitch in emotional concequences of broadcast television. in this, the dean protests britta's decision to make him transgender and not "all this other stuff". something i love about that scene is the ability to critique queer represention without insulting it. as a trans person, i've seen a good amount of transphobia is television. this isn't one of these times. being able to have trans identity be a part of the punchline without it being insulted is something that is apparently very hard for screenwriters of sitcoms to do, so i commend them for being able to do that. as well as this, this scene acts as a criticism of how basic queer representation in media is, how they like having one distinct, easy to understand label to give their token character, ignoring "all this other stuff". it's telling us that, like in queer studies and advanced waxing, queer idenity isn't black and white, it's a wide spectrum of identities that comes in many, many different colors.

all in all, community's representation of queerness and how it treats insults to queerness is something a lot of other shows should try to strive for. in my opinion, it has some of the most nuanced takes of queer identity and representation out of any sitcom that doesn't have queer people as a target audience. it feels very fitting, since the show is literally called community and it about a group of misfits who bond over their shared messed up-ness. this show is all about finding your people and accepting everyone, as pierce says in for a few paintballs more, "flaws and all". i think the showrunners had an impression this show would speak to a lot of queer people and i love that they were able to make us feel welcome just as greendale does to the study group.

[alavestineneas]

and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

-

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

-

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

-

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

-

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

-

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

tag list:

@oh-you-mean-me @juliskopf @moonsoulk @mamawiggers1980 @ashy-kit

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I've been thinking a lot about expectations this week.

A number of years ago, when I was visiting my brother, he criticized me for not doing something that he expected me to do. It was a frustrating talk because he wasn't at all willing to hear my perspective. But what bothered me the most about it was when I said "you can just ask" and he said "I shouldn't have to".

I was doing everything culturally expected of a good guest, I didn't even know what his extra expectations were, and yet he felt entitled to be mad at me for not automatically knowing them, and not living up to them.

It can be so easy for us to let our expectations get ahead of us, to make assumptions based on our own perspectives, and to then feel let down.

And I feel like I'm seeing a lot of this kind of thing in people's experience with media these days. There seems to be a clash happening between expectations and reality. And people feeling genuinely upset when the reality is not what they wanted.

I'm seeing a lot of complaints and "critiques" that seem to fall in to the category of "this is not how I personally want this to go" or "this doesn't resonate with my personal experience".

To be clear, I'm not saying this in a pointing fingers kind of way, because I have 100% done it myself.

When the trailer for Cutie Pie first came out, I got so excited imagining Kuea as some bad boy living a double life. He was going to be so hard to tame, he was going to put Lian through the wringer, and it was going to be amazing.

What I got was something very different from what I expected, and I struggled with the show.

But it was a really valuable learning moment for me. Because everything in the trailer was in the series. It was my interpretation of it, of those few minutes out of hours of material, my assumptions about the moments not yet shown, that caused me frustration.

That was a turning point in my "let's see where the journey takes us" philosophy. And I have to say, engaging in QL has been a hell of a lot more fun since I learned to let go of what I thought should happen.

I still have critiques of shows, of course I do. Nothing is above criticism. But I don't get so personally affronted now when something doesn't do what I expect. I'm more willing to see where the destination takes us before I decide the journey isn't working.

Of course I am still human, and I still get caught off guard sometimes by expectations I didn't realize I had let slip in.

But I have found my experience immeasurably improved by considering a few things when I'm watching a series:

Am I leading with curiosity, or judgment?

What is happening here culturally? What assumptions am I making based on my own background and country of origin? What happens if I step back and look at the bigger picture of how this culture engages with media? Do I even know, or do I have more to learn?

Is this actually bad... or is it just not for me? Is this just not resonating with me? Is it making me uncomfortable? What can this discomfort tell me about myself? Is it a bad show, or just a show I need to walk away from?

Am I more focused on the story I want told, and not paying enough attention to the story that the creators of the series want to tell? What assumptions am I making about their intent?

Am I only focused on what the value is for me as an individual, and not considering how this may be making other people feel seen or be meeting their needs? Can I acknowledge that there can be inherent value in things that do not give value to me personally?

There is value in critique, but there is also importance in self-reflection and understanding why we are feeling the way that we are, and when our own setting of expectations may be playing a role.

It's funny that in some ways this seems to be a reflection of what a golden age of QL we are living in - there are so many options, and time is so scarce, that I can see why people are frustrated when they feel like a show is not living up to what they wanted.

But as someone who has lived multiple decades without this kind of media, and only relatively recently having been able to experience it...there is a lot more to be gained by reveling in what you are loving than over what you are hating.