#wow this was so good to write tbh

[twinklecupcake]

Begging people to not mix up Japanese and Chinese wedding traditions/clothing.  I just saw an LMK fic mention a character wearing “a traditional wedding dress, a red shiromuku.”

Which first of all isn’t even red, it’s white, it’s right there in the name, and second of all holy hell no, that’s Japanese.

Not to mention the actual wedding was a Western Christian one.

[desceros]

Mr. LEON (think late 30's/early 40's) reuniting with his spouse after a long time away. It's sweet, it's silly, it's followed by absolutely nasty half-clothed, sweaty sex.

me, asks for rise leo prompts, instantly regrets it also i'm not saying this is a tactical!leo fic, but i'm also... not NOT saying it leonardo/reader, EXPLICIT, female reader, 2.6k; leo comes back and wants to smell like home again. filthy nasty smut, soft doki dokis, lame married people jokes, one (1) defiled couch

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, you don’t think twice when you see the rustle of your curtains. Not when you’ve finally, finally trained your stupid heart into not thundering out of your chest when you see it, thinking he’s back when it’s just the breeze. Today, you hardly even glance at them as you continue watering your plants, unbothered, humming, unsuspecting.

It’s so, so typical of him to wait until now to come home.

“Boo!” 

Your scream fills the apartment as you flail, pulse rocketing to the atmosphere in panic when you’re very suddenly not alone. Hands catch you mid-flinch, and it takes you a second to realize that your assailant is, in fact, perfectly safe and didn’t deserve the mighty swing of your watering can. 

Except actually, yes he did, this little asshole—!

“Leo!” you wail, letting him gather you close and press him to his plastron. Your hands clutch at the edge of his keratin, face burrowing in his throat. “You fucking asshole, you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t resist,” he says, his laughter still rolling at the crown of your head as one hand spreads into your lower back to press you close and the other cups your nape. “You just looked so cute, y’know? My adorable little wifey, wearing my shirt and humming in our living room.”

“Stop talking,” you mutter sulkily, wrapping your arms around his neck and swallowing the tears you feel burning at your eyes as happiness swells in your chest like a mighty wave. He always makes fun of you for crying when he comes home, and you’re already a little miffed. 

Your ire dies as you feel him nuzzling behind your ear with his beak, his lungs expanding as he inhales your scent. He’d confessed to you once, a few years into your marriage, that this was his favorite part of coming home; more than the sex, more than the home-cooked meals, more than sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row. He caresses the line of your throat with his beak, stitching your natural perfume back into place in his mind, sinking into you because it’s not the walls around you that he calls home.

“…Missed you,” he murmurs, making you sigh as he brushes lovesick kisses to your shoulder. 

“You were gone too long this time,” you tell him, lowering one arm to press a palm to his plastron when you feel his lips seeking more skin, letting him pull the neckline of his shirt away from your clavicle. “Thought you were the breeze, coming in.” 

His mouth curves into something filthy at the dip of your throat, his hands finding your hips and giving them a squeeze. “Yeah? Funny. I plan on coming in something, all right.”

You laugh way too hard, a little mortified that after all these years you still find this clown funny at the lamest lines. Worse still is how he watches you do it, his face going stupid with naked fondness like making you laugh is the best thing he’s done all day.

“You are such an unfunny loser, oh my god,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. 

“And yet you’re still laughing,” he says, his smile widening when you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve been stockholmed,” you tell him, reaching up your hands to cup his beak and pull him into a kiss. 

Leo has always been good with his mouth, in every way, all the years you’ve known him. His kisses are no exception; seconds into it you’re purring, the sweet friction of his mouth against yours warming you from the inside, parting on a soft sigh when a hand grips your nape and tilts you just so. 

“I wanna fucking eat you alive,” he mumbles against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours once, twice, three times before he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and tugs. You tremble, and you know he feels it as his hands go a little tighter. “Missed you.” 

Your fingers find the tails of his mask, tangling in them and using them to pull his face away, just a little. He growls, but you ignore him easily. “Don’t you want to take a shower, baby? Get comfy while I cook you something to eat? You smell like work.”

“I know,” he says, his other hand sliding down to the cloth shorts that are barely visible beneath the hem of his shirt, his fingers gliding up the back to cup the curve of your ass. “And I wanna smell like you, now.”

…He gets like this, sometimes, when he comes home. Touchy. Possessive. You’ve always wondered if it has to do with how he doesn’t smell himself on you when he’s been gone, or if it’s because you start wearing his clothes like he’ll feel it wherever he is. The longer the separation, the worse he gets. 

The worse he gets, the better it is.

“Yeah? You wanna smell like me?” you echo as you trail your touch along the red crescents prettying his face, playing into his turtle-brain, feeling your eyelids close as his fingers flutter on your skin. Oh, he wants it bad. “What do I smell like, handsome? I smell good?” 

“So fucking good,” he groans, his huge hand releasing your nape to grip your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that’s wet and deep. It feels good, claws a mangled moan from your chest that has him mirroring the sound himself. He pulls his head back, pressing his thumb to the corner of your mouth and sliding it under your lower lip where you feel the slick mess of his kiss. “…Open,” he says, making your lip pucker under his touch. 

You obey, watching his pupils dilate as they lock onto your mouth, then your tongue when you let it press against the pad of his thumb where he’s holding you open.

“Shit. You’re so hot,” he says, a wounded rumble that makes your lips curl into a coquettish smile before you wrap them around his thumb, sucking and lathing it with your tongue, pressing your teeth in and closing your eyes when you hear him moan. 

“Not gonna smell much like me by staring at my mouth,” you tell him when you let him go, your hooded eyes meeting his as you smile.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he wheezes, and with three steps he’s got you splayed on your couch, the weight of him pinning you to the cushions while his mouth fucking devours you. All you can do is hold on, one hand tangling in his mask tails and the other clutching as his carapace, crushed and absolutely thrilled about it.

When he breaks the kiss to grip his hands in your shorts, pulling them down, you laugh, drawing his hungry gaze even as he doesn’t stop disrobing you. 

“What?” he asks, mouth going just a little crooked in a smile of his own as you shake your head, staring at him adoringly. 

“Just love you,” you tell him, shifting your legs to help him out a bit and biting down on a grin when you can finally spread them and slink your knees to either side of his hips. You slip one of your arms over your head to grip one of the throw pillows, your other trailing down your throat to entice.  “C’mon, pretty boy. Let me see you drop.”

Leo maintains the stare as he straightens his spine, his hands going to his belt buckle to slide it out of place with a metal clink. The button is quick to follow, and when he unzips and slides his pants down just enough for his cloaca to glisten in the afternoon sunlight, you press your fingers to your mouth, tongue instinctively seeking contact. 

“God, look at you,” you whine, your thighs rising to cup his hips and squeeze. “I wanna lick you. Come up here?”

He shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into your open mouth and pressing on your tongue. “Later, baby. If you want a show, you’ve got, like, thirty seconds for it.” 

Moaning, you soak his fingers with your spit, watching with hazy eyes as he brings them to his cloaca and slides in to the knuckle. He’s always rougher with himself than you are with him, even though he’s told you again and again he prefers it when you’re the one fingering him. 

He makes pretty little gasping moans as he fingers himself hard, his arm flexing and drawing your hungry gaze. He’s gotten so god damned big over the years, making you feel small every time he does something that highlights the difference. It feels good, makes you feel kept, protected. So long as Leonardo Hamato draws breath, no harm will ever come to you, a promise he has the strength to keep.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut as the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of himself get wetter. It’s a familiar sound that makes you ache, craving the thick cock you know is about to slide out like it’s air. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, Leo,” you babble in praise, knowing he likes to hear it, that you like telling him. “Handsome as fuck. God, I can’t believe you’re mine, that you let me see you like this—”

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you and pressing his cloaca to your cunt, his wet fingers gripping at your hips as he rubs your slick against his. “You can’t talk like that, baby, I’m gonna—”

He cuts himself off on a low groan, his hips rolling against yours and his tail pressing hard between your thighs to garner the friction. It feels so good, so fucking good, your skin burning hot with each messy glide of him against you. Your head rolls, fingers gripping in the pillow behind your head and back arching to try and writhe closer. 

“Leo,” you keen, breath heaving when he releases his death grip on the back of the couch to plant his hand by your head, his back arching over you and blocking everything else out. 

“Don’t come, don’t you dare come,” he hisses, lips curled into a bit of a snarl. “Not until I’m inside, understand?” 

Eyes wet, you nod, choking back the shimmer on your skin that builds as he keeps rubbing cruelly. With one particularly good roll of his hip, you snatch a hand to his bicep, trembling. “Stop, stop—!”

He pauses, letting you claw away from the brink to obey. Sucking in a long breath, you open your eyes and see that he’s staring at you like he’s gone mad. 

“Okay?” he asks, voice fucked out, and you nod, whining when he resumes rubbing his cloaca against you, your eyes falling shut and head lolling to the side as you start the burning process all over again. 

“Feels so good, Leo,” you breathe, skin glowing when you feel him duck in close and glide his tongue up the side of your neck. You’re soaked all over with sweat and slick, every muscle in your body trembling from taut desire that’s just shy of too-much, leaving you delirious and stupid.

With a hitched breath, Leo reaches between you, fingers preparing you for the familiar penetration you want more than anything else. With a hiss, his body goes taut, his cock dropping and sliding inside like his katana into its sheath; like you were made for him, perfectly molded, expertly designed. 

“God, fuck,” he wheezes, his forearms framing your face as he leans down and captures your mouth in a kiss that breaks on a low moan. He pumps his hips against yours slowly, shaking with each breath that has him bottoming out where he belongs. “You feel so—I missed you.” 

Floating with pleasure, you cup his nape, wrapping your legs around him as best as you can to pull him deeper, needing to feel him in your throat. Your hands find the back of his head, sliding easily on his rough, sweat-slick skin, seeking his kiss and finding it. “Oh, Leo, love you, love you so much.”

He marries his mouth to yours as he fucks in in in, feeling a bit like he never pulls out for how full he leaves you. Every neuron in your body stands at attention, taking note of his weight crushing you, the smell of his salty skin, the taste of his tongue as it curls against your own. 

“Look at me, look at me when you come, pretty girl,” he chokes, because he knows your body better than you do and can tell you’re close before you feel it. You open your eyes and meet his, untying his blue mask and letting it slide to your chest right as you feel your orgasm rising. 

“Leo, gonna come,” you whimper, watching as he nods, one hand finding your cheek, his thumb tracing under your eyes where they’re wet. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel it.” 

Like you do with everything else, you obey and come. It’s a long, wrenching thing, the pleasure washing over you like waves of a mighty ocean as he keeps moving, prolonging it, intensifying it. On and on it goes, your body awash with ecstasy and Leo, always Leo, there to hold you and let you fall. 

“Please,” you gasp, clenching at his carapace, begging him to meet you here in the glow. “Leo, please—” 

His hand drops down to your throat, fingers ever so slightly curling around as his hips thrust a little harder, the wet sounds of your hips meeting loud in your ears now that you’re listening for it. It’s filthy, his mouth hanging open and eyes going wild as they gaze at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. 

With a wounded sound he comes, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and hand going a little too-tight on your throat as he fills you over and over again, each hot thread coating and claiming in equal measure. You let one hand grip the back of his wrist where he’s choking you, crushing him in harder as he groans and presses into you even further as he finishes, watching as the edges of your vision go a little hazy before he releases you and lets you suck in a gasp of air. 

After a few moments of catching your breath, he picks up his head, his beak wrinkling a bit as he stretches his leg out with a hiss. “Gah, fuck, we’re getting too old for couch fucking. Made a fucking mess.”

“Never too old for couch fucking,” you rasp, causing his eyes to fall to where there’s a mark on your throat in the shape of his hand. He licks his lips, and you feel his cock give an interested twitch. “Oh? You gonna make good on that?”

“Too old for back-to-back marathon fucking,” he pouts, though he does arch his hips once in a good sport try that makes your skin light up a bit. “Gimme like, fifteen. I’ll eat you out while we wait, then we can do something about it.” 

You raise an imperious eyebrow. “Fifteen minutes of you eating me out? You? Leonardo Hamato? Only fifteen? I can’t believe an imposter of my husband is here when I was so sure it was him.”

He grins, a boyish thing that makes him look younger and captures your heart all over again. “…Yeah, okay. Let’s be ambitious and say half an hour.”

You settle into the couch, waiting for his cock to retreat back into his cloaca and spending the meantime trailing your fingers along the back of his nape, sighing out in delight. 

“…I missed you, too,” you tell him, watching as his face smooths out and every concern flies away like a butterfly startled by the breeze because he loves you so, so much and you know it. Then, realizing you hadn’t said it yet, “…Welcome home, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he echoes, bending down and nuzzling his beak against your temple, inhaling deeply with a smile. “I’m home.”

[scarawayfromfallingapart]

So Good Right Now and What a Time to Be Alive are sisters in the same way Tiffany Blews and WAMS are sisters. I will not elaborate on this what I speak is fact

[sexynetra]

If I had a nickel for every time a drag race stan account on Twitter screenshotted one of my fics and posted it publicly, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

[betweenlands]

i am so deeply emotional about sbk right now. how the hell does a server this good exist

[grongleboy]

every time i discover another queer woman character being fucked over by the writer(s) i start biting rocks and breaking things and making bombs to explode big time

[xlmibby]

a new chapter of my xiaolumi fic is now on ao3! this time it's a very summer-like beach date (with a bit of heated emotions that feel almost like roller coaster) so i hope the story will melt your heart away 🤭 please enjoy it!!! 🥰

[reinabeestudio]

Tryin to slowly organize my thoughts of these two, starting by making a basic timeline to work with. My original notes + a more cleaned up(?) version in case you can't understand my chicken scratch lol

Something I forgot to write down is that I like to think that, at some point (while she's down there), both her situation and the og game happen concurrently ☝

[hsmtmts-arrows]

okay correction, val didn't leave before prom, she left the morning of opening night... day(?). BUT we didn't see her at prom and definitely didn't see her interact with madison so my point still stands

BRUH WHERE WAS SHE <//3

[incorrectdeceptionquotes]

holy sh¡t a Deception fan in the year of our lord 2023?? how does it feel being in a fandom with 4 people in it bestie

Do not cite the deep magic to me, child... I was there when it was written!

[hideyseek]

9.09.2023

its so interesting as im writing narrative!fic the way that each subsequent draft / outline gets me closer and closer to a version of the fic that is ... true to the original conception? like i started gathering notes and ideas for this fic in earnest in ... 2021, like spring/summer 2021 and only today have finally put together an outline that FEELS like i am really, really close.

actually it's not even an outline it is a bunch of bulletpoint freewriting in a google doc that is roughly in the order of the series of events in the fic. i made a note to clean it into an outline later. but ohhh my god i finally!

like its been literally 4 drafts, i am slightly frightened to count how many words of draft material (probably about 60k give or take 15-20k), but THIS outline! i finally have the throughline of haiji's character arc through the fic, i've finally like .... idk. pared it down to the core parts and they magically (throug the power of thinking about this fic near-constantly since 2021) fit together now. THANK FUCK!

i told my old roommate i would send them a completed draft to beta like. two years ago.

i still don't know how this fucking fic ends but i have OPTIONS that probably will all require drafting out and revising before i pick sigh. but ohhhhhhhh my god this has NOT BEEN FUN but it is SO REWARDING to finally fucking hit (for like the third time) the feeling of "oh okay. i figured another thing out about how this story is going to work. it's going to come together now."

admittedly i said that to myself the last several times but THIS TIME I FIGURED OUT THE JOURNALING AND HAIJI'S WHOLE CHARACTER ARC and there is CAUSATION AND EVERYTHING which there sure was not before ahahaha. god this time i figured out the journaling!!!

and yes this is uhhhhhhhhhh an incredibly personal reading of haiji, i truly feel that my irl friends will kind of squint knowingly. but ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh A MILESTONE!

a milestone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[eddie-rifff]

uncommon opinion. ant phillips is the swaggiest member of genesis

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

Wrote 1.8k words today for the play whaaaaat

[cutemeat]

best sunny monologue? (I vote the waitress after banging frank)

THE WAITRESS MONOLOGUE IN THAT EP WAS SO GOODDDD damn that ones hard to beat tbh.... but probs.. Mac's "because of you i changed who i am at my core!" monologue. idk why but that bit just feels like. its so funny but also profound. like the way the scene really centers mac's dialogue is weirdly jarring every time i watch it even tho im expecting it. its like the "far be it from me line" like way more profound than i would expect it to be for Mac's character on this show. so i love that one a lot i love when mac just becomes totally sincere for a minute

[getoutofmytardis]

lads i’ve gotten a bit too obsessed with ghosts and caphavers again i fear

[giantkillerjack]

It is very true that this "kid-glove explaining" IS sometimes the only way to get any assistance at all, and that this is absolutely not the fault of the disabled people who have been put in so horrible a position by their ableist loved ones. You have to do what you must to survive.

But i just want to emphasize how it is also true that the labor of these kinds of repeated forced-calm explanations can be extremely harmful for the disabled person long-term.

I say this because I THOUGHT I had made progress with teaching my family, but in fact I had only gained a LOT of additional trauma and grief during a time when I desperately needed non-ableist support.

I was sick and in crisis for years, and during that time, I repeatedly spent the energy i could have used to ask friends for help on instead begging my family to learn how to stop hLeping me and start Helping me.

This genuinely endangered my life on multiple occasions. Imagine the difference between getting immediate help bailing water out of your sinking ship (ex. my friend Laura metaphorically jumping into my boat with buckets and pumps and no judgment), and having to instead stand in your increasingly-sinking ship explaining (so SO gently or else they will dismiss you entirely, even though the water is creeping up to your neck) to someone that "actually no, adding water to my boat doesn't help please PLEASE just bail it out; I cannot emphasize enough that I can't swim why do I have to keep saying that? no I don't think I could have avoided that hurricane and it hurts that you keep asking; no I am not faking it - why would I fake this?? What kind of person do you think I am??" - as they allow the water to creep up to your chin. That's the difference between help and hLep.

Also, a helper wants you to have all the help you could possibly need, and they recognize that they almost certainly can't provide you with everything you need on their own. (Ex. My partner can't help me with panic attacks most of the time due to her own mental illness. But she helps with all sorts of other stuff, communicates her limits, and actively encourages me to rely on my friends for support.)

Meanwhile, a hLeper might be offended that you would even want ANYONE'S assistance besides their own because it isn't about *your need,* it is about *their pride.*

If the people around me *get angry at me for being angry* when THEY are the ones who hurt ME, then I no longer want them around me. And I hope to have the skill and the privilege to be able to stay in control of that. I hope someday we all can have that.

And to every disabled person stuck waiting for better days: Please survive in the meantime because your survival is the key to a better future for us. It will be better with you there. I don't care if you disagree with me; you won't persuade me otherwise - I am a stubborn Jack. I want you there. Disabled survival is an act of radical resistance. You, along with the other contributiors to this post, are Punk As Fuck.

I go into these concepts some more in this version of the post.

[Also, if you have any trouble reading the opening paragraphs of this post, I edited the original post into a more dyslexic-friendly version, and I've tried to include that link in every version of the post that I refer to.]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hlep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you ask for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hlep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hlep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it helps reinforce the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hleper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!