#if there's no lesbians in a classic book then there will be by the time i'm through with it

[redalienbugguy]

Does anyone know any classic stories that are sapphic?

[pizzacade]

Part 1 of First Doctor interactions from the Twice Upon a Time novelization (With one hinting at the Twelfth Doctor’s search history. )

[tinytimism]

nonbinary butch lesbian victor frankenstein vs trans femme lesbian creature

[skrunksthatwunk]

was supposed to go to pride today and now i have a portable rice cooker

[cloudweinbergii]

My mom might be coming to Tumblr. She likes sports, I don't. If you have any suggestions for tags or blogs for her let me know. She also likes books, and actively complains about sex scenes.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

*guy who hated sequels and was racist towards japanese people and also doesn't know what video games are. however if he behaves i'll show him epic mickey next

[quokkaholic]

Otaku Hot Boys minsung

Warnings/tags: MDNI, smut w/plot, friends to ?poly?, picking on reader, cussing, light degradation, some mxm but like its not the focus, giggly, sweet, threesome with some body worship, oral both, protected👏 p in v, subby!Han bc i can’t stop myself, dom!Lee know the dynamics only extend to the reader, shy/embarrassed reader, weeb slander. This is biased towards Han bc I too am biased towards Han. Lightly edited

Synopsis: At your weekly "otaku club" to discuss all things manga/anime with your two close friends, they seem to be a bit too interested in your recent spike in bl media enjoyment. 

Terms for you non-losers: bl/yaoi- boys love or media centered on gay relationships, gl/yuri- girls love or media centered on lesbian relationships, otaku- person consumed by their interests (typically anime, manga, video games, etc.), fujoshi-means rotten girl, it's typically a girl who is really into bl media

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Tonight is the night. The night you look forward to every week. It's your friends’ otaku club, the night where you and your two fellow weebs get together to talk about any new media you’ve consumed usually centered around anime and manga. You've been steeped in this type of media since the moment you were introduced to it years ago. So much so that, you even became a part time worker at your local manga cafe/bookstore. Beyond supplying some extra income, the employee discount is unbeatable. At work is actually where you met the guys.

Minho wandered in one day, drawn in by the cheerful anime themes bumping through the speakers and the promise of cute, themed drinks. After ordering a pudding latte, he browsed the isles for what seemed like an eternity, long enough that you actually went to offer assistance, which you never do. Generally speaking, anime lovers aren’t the most comfortable in social situations, and you were no exception. Plus, the type of person that comes to a manga cafe tends to know what they like, or came in for a specific title. 

He had done a few laps around the place before you decided it was enough, you had to say something. Begrudgingly, you placed down the volume you were enjoying, being careful to keep your spot but not damage the book, as you weren’t intending on buying it. If you bought every volume of every manga you read, you’d be hugely indebted to this place, more than you already are; the owner, luckily, is cool enough to allow you to take some books home and just deduct the total from your next paycheck. After cautiously approaching the seemingly lost Minho, you greeted him,

“Hi, is there something I can help you find?” your ears heated at simply having to speak to him. 

“Oh no!” he responded quickly, surprised as you had pulled him out of his mind and back to reality, 

“I’ve never been here and was just looking around; you guys have a great selection, good mix of the new, classic, and obscure,” he complimented between sips. The nerves had you briefly spacing out on the chunks of pudding rising up the straw, snapping out of it when you noticed the silence. It was your turn to talk, 

“Yes, thank you, I’ll be sure to tell the owner. She’ll really appreciate that. Well—let me know if you need anything,” you rushed away, retreating back to the stool behind the counter to pick up reading where you left off. Minho continued to look around for a while, occasionally picking up a book to read the back cover or sample the art style. He remained until he finally checked his phone, eyes bugging at the time displayed. He practically ran out the door, but not before apologizing for not buying anything and promising he would return with his roommate, and he did later that week. 

You three were not fast friends. They, like your typical customer, kept to themselves. Similar to Minho, Han’s first time in the store was spent in awe, walking up and down the same isles trying to take in the entire stock while sucking down the chocolatiest drink on the menu. After that, they were regulars. Visiting at least once a week, buying a few volumes or anime merch each but sometimes just visiting for a sweet treat of tea or coffee.

Though you never talked to them outside of your scripted retail speech, you were always happy to see them in the store. They were admittedly pleasant to look at, but beyond that they were always kind and friendly to you, and it was cute to see the best friends interact.

You longed for a relationship like that. You had a few good friends, but none of them shared your interest in this form of media. You could talk about it with customers, but you could never share your unadulterated opinions or gossip about characters with the strangers. On top of being a joy to look at and interact with, the guys actually had good and diverse tastes, not just solely interested in shonen, action, and fanservice. You had actually picked up a few of the stories they had bought from you. Some you had heard of and some were definitely outside of your typical genres, but they were all shockingly good, one of them even making it into your top tier. After finishing their unknowing recommendations, you’d toy with the idea of complementing their choices, practicing what you’d say if you saw them at work. 

Of course, they would never come in on the days where you had built up the courage to say something, and you’d tell yourself you were disappointed, but it was secretly a relief. Then, when they would be there, you’d find some other reason not to say anything, maybe they looked like they were in a hurry, or were too deep in their own conversation, or you’d simply psyched yourself out of it by convincing yourself that they would be weirded out by how much attention you pay to their purchases.

This went on for weeks until finally Jisung crossed that customer/employee line for you. He eagerly strode up to the counter, Minho following leisurely in toe, with the first volume of the manga you were currently enjoying at your post by the register, 

“I’ve seen you reading this series the last few times we’ve come in, is it any good?” he’d asked cooly, placing it along with a few others in front of you to ring up. His impassioned energy and deviation from your usual interaction, made your heart race and stomach flip. You didn’t or maybe couldn’t respond, just stared as he minorly fumbled around checking all his pockets for his wallet. You stayed like that for a few moments until Minho finally arrived at the counter, casually reaching into his jacket and pulling out the man's wallet and handing it to him only after bumping him with his elbow in a silent scold for misplacing the wallet for the umpteenth time. 

“Oh— yeah. It’s definitely worth a read; I have my issues with the plot, but stunning art makes up for it,” you’ve probably already said too much. You’re paid to make sales, not to be a manga critic, but Jisung doesn’t make any moves to put the book back. He just hands you his card like always, before asking,

“Really, like what?” That’s where the friendship started. That day, they stayed leaned up against the counter until the end of your shift discussing their recent reads and watches and asking your opinions on the classics to gauge how similar your tastes were, of which they were shockingly similar.

Although you were nervous at first, you had built at least a little rapport with them through the months of being their cashier, and talking about a major interest of yours made it that much easier to overcome any sort of social anxiety on both yours and their parts. Even after it was time for you to head home, Minho bought you a drink from the cafe, and you all found a quiet corner to continue your discussion. This became a regular occurrence. If you were there when they came in, and they didn’t have somewhere else to be, they’d spend time nerding out with you. Eventually, they learned your schedule, and made sure to come in on your shifts to hangout. It was never an issue beyond the occasional shush from reading customers when your “friendly” debates got a bit too rowdy.

You never liked the shift manager; they were unsympathetic and rude, doing things like denying time off requests for no good reason and timing breaks just to excerpt any semblance of power they had over the other workers. They even tried to get you in trouble for reading on the job, when you first started, but luckily the owner was able to pick up on the blatant absurdity of the complaint. Since then you didn’t have any more problems with them, but at the staff meeting when they made a “completely general” and “unpointed” comment about ensuring we weren’t neglecting job duties to “flirt with hot boys”, you knew they were talking straight at you. Despite always getting all you work done and then some, you knew you had to put an end to the on-the-clock book club, or it would become an actual problem, warranted or not. 

The thought of not getting to hang out with Jisung and Minho circulated your mind non-stop after the initial embarrassment and anger over getting indirectly called out at work. Not only were you anxious to have a weird friend breakup, you were sad that you could be back to having no one to talk to about your more niche interests. They’d never seemed interested in seeing you outside of work; would this be the end?

You endlessly mulled over how to deal with it until the very second they walked through the door on your next shift, their cheery faces dropped upon laying eyes on your obviously stressed demeanor. They’d whisper something back and forth before speed walking straight over to cautiously greet you.

“Hey guys,” you say, cringing at the thought of what you’re gonna say next, “so I may have gotten in some pseudo trouble and was told I can’t hangout at work any more,” you quickly spat out, trying to get it over with as soon as possible, and they just stared back expectedly, waiting for whatever has you so visibly upset, as if you didn’t just say it.

“That’s it?” Jisung asks as almost simultaneously Minho snarkily remarked,

“It's about time. You don’t get anything done when we’re here.” sending you a mocking disappointed glare. 

“I will not stand for the slander. Maybe from the manager, but not from you. I always get my tasks done while providing satisfactory customer service. It’s usually a race against the clock after you guys leave, but it always gets done,” you drone on, finding yourself getting a little defensive at his jest causing his smirk to widen to a full smile. You’ve grown to learn that Minho enjoys playful arguments maybe a little too much, but you attempt put an end to it before it can spiral,

“Whatever, I don’t need to defend myself to you,” 

“Not me, but maybe this manager of yours,” mocking you for not standing up for yourself. He’s poked fun at you before, so you know its a sign of his friendship, but as if on cue, sensing that you are taking the bait, Jisung butts back in,

“Really though is that it? Is that what has you worried?” You were the one staring back in anticipating and stunned,

“Of course I’m upset; I just said we can’t hangout anymore,” you tried to explain calmly, but you were feeling frantic due to their apparent lack of care at the idea of not talking anymore. Ji’s eyebrows knit together in utter confusion before looking over to his best friend who was looking once again disappointed in you with a slow shaking of his head.

“We can’t hang out here while you’re working,” he slows down his speech emphasizing the key parts of your mandate, hoping you can gather why they aren’t worried about the future of your relationship. While you remained confused, Jisung’s forehead relaxes as his face turns to one of realization, mouth forming a perfect O before returning to his just-entered-my-favorite-bookstore smile and shrugs his shoulders to brush off your concern before he offered the most obvious solution,

 “You’ll just start coming over to our place,” he stated, as if it were nothing. He didn’t ask, it was plain to them. You weren’t exiting their life, you were entering their apartment. Minho’s lazy shaking turned to nobbing as if he had been just waiting for you two to finally catch up. That was the end of that. They quickly grabbed what they came for but did stay and chat for a little, but only to make plans for you to come to their place that weekend. 

Such was the inception of your weekly otaku club, meeting at their place once a week or having a group call when schedules got too hectic. With weekly meetings, they quickly climbed the ranks, and have become some of your best friends.

This week was the first in person session you had in weeks, and you were beyond ecstatic, stopping at the store to grab drinks and desserts as they were providing the meal and snacks. Upon entering the familiar flat, you remove your shoes and head to the source of the delicious smell and friendly voices. You find the guys setting out the snack and plates for the food Minho must’ve cooked, it looks too good for Jisung to be responsible. 

After the meal, you all follow the cute book club ritual of pulling out the books you have been enjoying, and have a show and tell, even though you all already know what eachother are reading. Jisung is working through a sports drama you had recommended, and Minho explained the convoluted plot of the isekai he just got into. When it was your turn you lifted the brightly colored, second to last, volume of the series, you’ve absolutely flown through over the past week,

“I’m almost done with this romance. It’s kind of short, but I have really enjoyed it, and I feel like they took the story in a new and interesting direction,” you continue to give a brief synopsis of the story, leaving out any spoilers, in case they want to read it after you. They had a few questions about the plot and your feelings on it, but there was one blaring question they really wanted to know the answer to,

“What kind of romance?” Ji asked with an inquisitive expression, but it wasn’t pure, there was just a twinge of mischief in his eyes,

“It's an office romance,” you explain hesitantly, trying not to sound condescending as you just gave the summary. 

“Yeah?” Minho chimes in trying to draw the answer they really want out of you.

“Well the main guys are salarymen, so its an adult office romance,” your statement sound more like a question as the last words pitch up and die off. You go on, thinking there’s no way they are this dense, and they aren’t, but you might be. At the mention of the main characters being guys, they share a knowing look, silently communicating something to each other, leaving you out of their telepathic conversion. 

“Don’t make it weird! I read romance about all sorts of relationships,” they have matching stupid grins as they go back to munching on their food, letting you sit in your slight embarrassment at their implicative shared look. Minho gives that look that says, he’s trying to rile you up before askings nonchalantly, as if there are no intentions behind his words, 

“Wasn’t the last series you read yaoi as well?”

“I mean yeah, but Jisung recommended it! It was a good story,” Minho just gives a grunt of acknowledgement to say ‘sure whatever’. Jisung giggles at Minho’s antics, but doesn’t comment. He looks at you with a goofy smile and slight sympathy for the teasing as he searches your face for any signs that Minho is getting to you, but he of course is not. You’re used to banter from Minho, and honestly Jisung too. Maybe being away from you for so long had softened him up a bit, or maybe it was his favorite beer you had brought a case of. 

You thought it was the alcohol that buttered Jisung up, but instead the drinks just opened the razzing flood gates. The “bl lover” schtick continues through the evening. The poking fun is usually spread evenly among you three, and if one person becomes the butt of the joke for the night, it never continues to next week so as to not make anyone the punching bag. They love to tease, but are also very considerate about not crossing the line.

The hippocritic taunting continues no matter how many times you remind them of all the yuri, yaoi, and straight romances they themselves had brought to book club. Later, when you play a few rounds of video games, they add ‘fujoshi’ to the normal colorful language they use to curse your name the times you end up winning.

Sometimes you will pick a show to watch together, and although you guys decided to forgo that tonight in favor of catching up, you still pursue the streaming sites sharing insights to for next week, and they hover over every bl they come across and jokingly suggest it or ask you opinion as if you had already seen them all, or simply just stare in your direction with raised eyebrows. 

Around the time you usually excuse yourself and head home, you are all sitting around the coffee table finishing off the beer and munching on the snacks. You begin gathering your empty cans and miscellaneous trash, and the conversation abruptly halts as Min sternly questions your actions.

“Just wanted to clean up a bit before heading out,” you explain, rising to your knees to reach for some of their garbage since you’re already headed to the kitchen.

“You should stay here,” he says matter of factly shoving another chip into his mouth and gesturing to the empty beers in your arms, taking the rational approach. Jisung, with his sweet round eyes staring up at you, chimes in with the emotional persuasion. They make a great team.

“The couch is really comfy, I promise.”

“I’ve only had four of these beers over the past few hours, plus I took the bus here anyway,” attempting to politely decline. It would be nice not having to make the commute home at this hour, but you’d hate to burden them.

“The last bus is in 20 minutes, you’d have to run to the nearest stop,” Minho makes a good point, but the cringey thought of them having to kick you out the next morning allows you to remain stubborn, but before you can refuse again, Han’s words make your heart squeeze,

“We don’t want you to leave,” now you’re definitely staying. You still take the trash to the kitchen and sort out the recycling before grabbing one more round of beers from their stash upon the guys’ request. You resume chatting over some background music, occasionally singing along. While you are far from drunk, with the alcohol in your system, it's getting harder and harder to ignore how devastatingly good looking your two friends are. It doesn’t help that their frequent whispering back and forth gives you ample uninterrupted time to gawk. They are of course closer to each other than they are with you, but it does seem like they’ve been conspiring quite a bit more than usual. 

A chaste glance from Jisung breaks your trance. He turns back to Minho and it is your turn to look anywhere but at them, studying the rug, reading the nutrition facts on your drink, admiring the wall decor, looking away until you can get your blushing under control. Your efforts were all in vain, as when you finally look back towards the men across the table, you lock eyes with them as if they were waiting for your gaze to fall on them before doing the very last thing you ever would’ve expected. They stare back at you with a look commanding your eyes to remain locked on them as they turn to each other, already closer to one another than the last time you looked their way. Minho looks down to Han’s plush lips just as his tongue peaks out to moisten them putting on a sultry show for you. Minho gives a miniscule nod before they lean closer impossibly slow to drag out your suspense. 

Are they really doing this? Talk about committed to the bit. The moment their lips meet, you can’t help the gasp that escapes you, causing the corners of their connected lips to quirk up. This is exactly what they wanted. The kiss wasn’t long, but to you watching, it felt like an eternity. You tried to look away, but you just couldn't, maybe due to your own curiosity or maybe as to not disobey their silent order to watch. When they pull away a thin string of saliva still connecting them, the slightly raised corners of their spread to full faced grins at the sight of your hands shooting up to cover your flushing face.

“I think she liked it,” Jisung remarks, running his hands through his hair, pushing back the stands that fell out of place during the kiss. His typical silly, awkward self melting away leaving behind his confident, charismatic side you had seen on a few occasions, emboldened by him and his best friends scheme going just as they had hoped.

“I knew it,” Minho adds, even though you haven’t built up the courage to look at them, he sounds closer to you than before.

“She’s a freak just like we thought,” he adds, definitely closer. Once you gather the strength to uncover your face, you find your friends have moved to join you on your side of the table, one on either side near enough to feel the heat radiating off their bodies. Though they haven’t explicitly stated it, their intentions are beyond clear, their eyes hungrily wandering over you,

“Do you want this?” Minho questioned in a low and calm tone, tamping down his eagerness until you give him an answer,

“If not, we can blame this on the liquor and just move past it, pretend nothing even happened,” Jisung assures you, unable to conceal his brimming desire as well as Minho, his eyes locked on your lips as he reaches for your hand for support. Staring down at your intertwined fingers, you contemplate for a moment,

“I do, but—” you start, Minho’s hand slipping into your field to rest on your mid thigh, softly moving his fingers side to side in reassurance,

“What about our friendship? What about otaku club?” your query makes them giggle, embuing you with the strength to look up to their eyes. They are quick to answer, as if they prepared for this exact question beforehand, Jisung talks first,

“Nothing has to change if we don’t want it to,” he speaks into your hair as he leans in to plant a sweet kiss to the side of your skull, when Minho picks up where he left off,

“We really like you y/n, and love spending time with you. Whether we go back to the way it was or forge something new, we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not sure of anything beyond that, and that we’ve wanted this for a long time,” his words make your heart lurch. God you’ve wanted them too, but didn’t want to jeopardize the amazing relationship you had built. You know them. You trust them. You can navigate this together. A small nod of your head has Minho smashing his lips to yours, passionately enough to suck the air from your lungs.

His kiss is powerful and demanding while still being highly cognisant of your response and adjusting his fire to keep you comfortable. Your mingling lips quickly find timing against each other, his tongue gently coaxing your lips to part for him to explore you. Tingles flooding your body when his warm tongue finally touches yours. 

Jisung continues to kiss along the side of your head and down to your ear. He places feathery kisses over the cartilage, playfully nipping at your earlobe, careful to avoid your piercing. He lets out a happy sound when you squeeze the hand he’s still loyally gripping. He trails his kisses down to the soft spot below your ear before peppering your cheek, inching to your lips ready for his turn with your mouth. He gets close enough to catch the corner of your mouth in his before he’s able to bully Minho off you. You’re barely able to take a breath before Jisung’s lips are on yours. His movements are more timid but also more desperate, his need evident in his pace and little groans. This moment is better than you could've ever imagined. Despite Ji’s neediness, you are the one giving short licks at his full bottom lip asking for entrance, which he grants immediately. 

Minho has moved to your neck, sucking and kissing, his arm snaking around your waist pulling you closer to them. Arching into them, your hands slide up to rest on their built chests, and you can feel them both smiling against your skin. Your chest is heaving from the lack of oxygen and immense lust thick in the air.

“We should get off the floor; I fear if we don’t do it now, you’ll be bent over the coffee table,” Jisung suggests causing Minho to let out a hushed laugh. Despite knowing full well that is where the night is headed, you can’t help your coyness at his words. It’s hard to believe this is actually happening. Both men rise and extend hands to help your ascent, which you are more than grateful as the heady desire coursing through your veins has you feeling unsteady. They guide you to the hallway, shooting glances between one another, having one of their classic silent talks, but this time it seems more like an argument as you all stand at the point of the walkway where you have to decide which path to take to each of their rooms, knowing you will probably end up sleeping in whichever bed you land in. They attempt to make you choose, but you refuse to pick sides, both rooms are lovely and each bed equally comfortable. You just want to be with them. Minho makes the decision for you all when he drags you towards his room, just tired of trying to get two indecisive people to make a simple choice. 

Minho’s room is just as you remembered, simultaneously minimal but full of little pieces that make it full of character. There's no time to look at the new photos on the mirror or trinkets on the desk before you're playfully pushed towards the bed urging you to jump on, crawling to the center in order to make room for them, expecting them to follow you. But when you turn your back to the luxe pillows, you find yourself alone in the big bed with a cheek cramping grin on your face that melts when you see them removing their shirts and tossing them to the corner before approaching the end of the mattress staring down at you. Your mouth slightly agape as you take in their tan skin and sculpted builds, 

“This is so fucked up,” you strangle out of your drying throat, shaking your head in disbelief, and they just chuckle and move to join you. You sit legs outstretched in front of you, and they’re each on their knees sitting back on their ankles. They get you high on love, taking turns passing your lips back and forth, as the other plays with your hair, or rubs your shoulders, or simply lets their hands roam your torso. It is impossible to tell how long this went on, the only moments of clarity being when a gentle hand would guide you off one with a brief second for you to fill your lungs before connecting to the other. However, the makeout session is punctuated by the tug you feel on the bottom of your shirt to which to instinctively raise your arms for its removal which immediately follows, causing Jisung to groan, annoyed he had to release your lips before he was ready. 

Much to your dismay, neither pair of lips return to yours once you’ve been disrobed, the men just lean back to drink in the sight, causing your skin to burn impossibly hotter, your exposed chest flaring with redness that their eyes seemingly can’t be pulled from. If this is actually going to happen, you can’t be mortified the whole time,

“I swear, if you guys keep embarrassing me, we’ll have to stop. I can’t take it,” you half confess and half warn the pair, but it doesn’t shake their gazes.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Jisung offers his apology but continues defiling you with his eyes.

“We’re just as shocked as you, jagi, just let us savor it,” Minho defends their staring while lightly scolding you right back. You start to feel cold from the lack of touch, but luckily, Jisung cracks, diving into the crook of your neck licking down, across your collarbone, to the crevice between your breasts before kissing up the swells. Minho takes a different approach. He shifts his seating and leans down. He pulls the waist of your pants just enough to expose your hip bone that he gives a hard open mouthed kiss before working his way up to meet Han, worshiping your tummy and waist. They meet at your chest, quickly going to work with their hands and mouths. Jisung’s more needy palming is juxtaposed by Minho's firm, but cautious grasping, as they work in tandem to kiss every inch from the base of your neck to your shoulders to your sternum before finally landing on your sensitive buds with just the most gentle of kisses causing the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding to release in a sigh. While they both had distinct styles, Jisung using wilder, sloppy strokes and Minho more direct and teasing, they were both gentle and attentive, causing your abdomen to tense, barely raising your shoulders off the cushions you rest against, and soft moans to pour from your lips.

When you compose yourself enough to look down at them, you once again find them staring at you, up through their thick lashes, pure adoration in their faces. The sight causes your head to fall back with a groan, mostly due to the absolutely errotic vision and feeling, but also partly at being tired of them being so damn perfect. Maybe you really were the pervert they imagined; this has to be some sort of hyper realistic wet dream. You have all been too consumed by lust to talk but Minho speaks up for the first time in a bit with a snarky remark,

“We can’t stop embarrassing you, if everything we do makes you embarrassed,” he chides against your velvety skin. Causing you to giggle and place your hand on his cheek and try to push him away in retribution, but he clamps down not hard enough to hurt, but when you start to push his head, it tugs on your nipple, hissing as your hand to fall limp at your side for him to continue his torture. 

At your submission, he lets out a sound of satisfaction and resumes his pilgrimage back the way he came, moving back down your body, hooking his fingers in your waistbands, and you rise for him to rid you of your final pieces of clothing. Jisung’s passionate tonguing winds back down to loud kisses and then to slightly shaking his head side to side, ghosting his softly smiling lips over the bud, pulling whimpers from your swollen lips. After a quick kiss, he shuffles around, to sit amongst the pillows, slotting you between his legs. Turning your head to the side, he gives a loving kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to his front and lazily kissing up and down the column of your neck and shoulder. 

You between Jisung’s legs and Min between yours, the beautiful man is covering your hips and thighs with wet kisses. You gaze down and see Minho’s bunny pink lips inches from where you need him, hot breath fanning over your slick core, using his fingers to spread you, just admiring. You lean your head back to rest on Jisung’s shoulder to brace yourself for the incoming rush pleasure. As you anticipated, Min’s first probing lick already has you arching into his mouth, gasping, pushing back into the warm chest of the man behind you. All of the foreplay combined with the months of yearning have you reaching an unprecedented level of sensitivity; it won’t take much, especially with Minho’s skilled movements. He gives an arrogant huff against your cunt at the way he already has you squirming on his tongue sending delicious vibrations that only make you squirm harder. He skims his index finger up your thigh as a sign of what he is about to do, not wanting to shock you when he slides the finder inside just to the first knuckle. He slowly plunges it in and out while sucking mercilessly on your clit, drawing noises from you that will haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future.

Jisung is checking in regularly to which you always respond positively, but still Minho pumps the brakes for a brief moment to allow you to calm down a little. He moves to kissing over your silken folds before giving small, soft licks to either side of your clit, giving the perfect amount of pressure and teasing. Your eyes are screwed shut, and the breath is caught in your chest as you feel your climax barreling towards you. Pulled from you blissful rapture by Ji’s voice,

“Breathe, baby. Look at Minho; doesn’t he look so pretty?” His words alone could have made you cum, but when you peel your eyes open and raise you head to see the cat like man giving you the most seductive eyes, his nose and lips glistening in your essence, white hot pleasure explodes through your body with a flood of curses out of your lips. You lie there, panting, weak in Jiusung’s arms as he lightly drags his fingers up and down your arms and across your chest soothing your involuntary tremors. The sound of the condom wrapper being torn open reminds you of where you are. You see Minho finishing rolling on the protection on his flushed cock, and he shoots back a faux guilty look, like you’d caught him in a naughty act, he giggles before asking one last time,

“You want this?” He asks with a cheeky smirk, half confirming consent and half teasing out your desperation. You respond, over feeling bashful about your desires,

“So bad, babe,” with a grin, he grabs your hips and twists them, encouraging you to flip over on to all fours over Jisung who is smiling massive and genuinely up at you before puckering, asking for more kisses. Minho is kneading your ass probably the roughest he’d been all night, as he lines himself with your entrance. He teases you with the tip, dipping it in once, twice, and then rubbing it through your slick lips, causing you to whimper against Jisung. When he goes to enter, he takes it painfully slowly, inching in while raking his fingers down your back in a sign of affection, loving the way it makes you shiver,

“Minho you feel so—so good,” you sputter out, complimenting the way Minho makes your brain go fuzzy. He just gives a cocky hum back in response, trying to act cool, but truthfully he doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. Your lips reconnect to Jisung’s as you reach down into his sweats to give him some well deserved attention. He lets out a long groan against your lips, bucking up into your hand. Minho’s fighting his moans, but they escape out in strangled grunts. His slow thrusts gain in speed as he grips tightly to you hips, but he remains fucking impossibly deep, leaning forward to kiss your shoulders and upper back, pushing you back to your climax. You and Jisung are trading sounds of pleasure into eachothers open mouths, pumping him in time with the thrusts, he’s lost in the pleasure, until his realizes his orgasm approaching at lightning speed, shocking him, and he begs for you to stop the twisting of your wrist,

“Please don’t make me cum. I want to fuck you so bad, please,” he's thankful when your hand flies from his cock to land on beside his head to you steady your shaking body. When he is sure your orgasm is passed, Minho frantically frees himself, ripping off the condom, and coming around to face you, kneeling, pumping himself to keep himself on the edge. Jisung shimmies out from under you allowing Minho to scoot closer looking at you with pleading eyes. You open for him and he is instantly in your mouth. You take him as far as you can, causing the saliva to build in your mouth to slick him up. You find your rhythm, occasionally focusing on the tip and swirling your tongue around it before returning to taking all of him. He is no longer holding back cries, groaning and hissing at your moves. He runs his fingers through your hair, before dragging his fingers down your cheek to caress your chin, staring down at you,

“So fucking gorgeous, feels so good,” your pattern of sucking and licking is harshly interrupted when you hear spitting and feel warm liquid slide down your cunt threatening to drip off before Hans’s flattends tongue licks a broad stripe up you slit, forcing a muffled shout to revererate from you and you to lurch forward in surprise. You lightly gag around Minho, catching you both by surprise. The motion causes Minho to paint your throat with a string of whines,

“Ah, ah, aaah—” You swallow, loving his taste. He dramatically falls to the bed with a look of pure bliss plastered on his face. He moves to you to bestow a few passionate kisses laced with gratitude to your puffy lips before rolling off the bed. You are too distracted by the euphoria flowing through you to see where he goes as Jisung is devouring you, every lick, languid but methodical, wanting to gather every last drop of your essence. It's messy and hot, and when you look down, between your legs, you not only Ji’s angry cock oozing precum, but the growing pool under you of your juices and his spit drooling off your pussy. You plea to him. You don’t want this to end, but you are so dumb on pleasure and needy, you want him inside you,

“Hannie, I need you inside, please,” but he doesn’t budge. He might be wanting to draw yet another orgasm from you, but it's more likely that he is too pussydrunk and is just hypnotized by your addictive taste and filthy sounds,

“Jisung, please,” you try again, as Minho enters again, holding waters and towels. After placing the goodies on the nightstand, he crawls back into bed beside you, admiring the salacious scene before him and your sweet sullied expression before nudging Jisung,

“Give the girl what she wants, before I do,” Ji releases your pussy with a wet pop and once again, your hips are grabbed, guiding you to flip over, this time having to aid you a bit more as your muscles are starting to give out. Jisung gives your forehead a kiss before aligning himself with your entrance, but is interrupted by the flying condom smacks him in the chest and falls to land on your stomach. He swiftly tears it open and rolls it on, embarrassed that he almost forgot, caught up in the moment as Minho shames him under his breath. Minho holds your chin to face him as Jisung slips in, watching you intently since he didn't get to see your face when he had his way with you. He holds your gaze, and when you try to close your eyes, he gently taps your cheek reminding you to return his gaze. Jisung is savagely pounding into you. He has been waiting for so long, as much as he wanted to be sensual like Minho, right now, he just couldn't hold back,

“You’re perfect, baby. Shit, i’m not gonna last,” he mumbles, thrust already getting erratic. Minho frees you when Jisung falls forward onto his forearms to cage you in, attacking your mouth with desperate kisses, the kissing shifts to just moaning and whimpering into each other as you both reach your highs, Jisung mumbling your name on repeat, looking almost as wrecked as you, giving a few final powerful thrusts before collapsing down to your other side. The room is quiet besides the heavy breathing as you all bask in the lustful aura, Min breaks the silence,

“I can speak for Jisung on this, when are the vows?” he chuckles out, causing you all to burst into breathy laughter. After cleaning up and hydrating, you all lay in bed together rolling around snuggling and kissing in the post-sex lovey state. Minho goes to the bathroom to complete his night time routine leaving you in bed with Jisung where you two giggle and take turns tracing imaginary patterns on each other's skin. When Minho returns dewy faced and in neat pajamas, Jisung leaves your side to do the same. Minho holds you tight against his side, your head resting on his chest as he hums, lips pressed into your hair. Jisung offers up some of his boxers and Minho provides a tshirt for you to sleep in, and then you too go wash up and brush your teeth and hair, trying not to get existential or horny while you stare at yourself in the mirror recounting the evening’s events. 

When you return, Minho is already under the covers on his side of the bed. He’s prepped the other side for you, pulling back the covers, giving you some extra pillows, and placing your water and a snack on the nightstand, but Ji is just sitting on the edge of the bed. When you approach he stands and opens his arms for a hug,

“I wanted to wait to say goodnight,” he offers. You can't help the look of disappointment,

“We all it fine on the bed earlier, so couldn’t you just stay? Is that okay?” you ask timidly, that embarrassment you’ve been able to shove down all flooding back since the emboldening lust has been quelled. Jisung doesn’t respond, simply pulls you into a tight embrace. You guess he wasn’t okay with that suggestion, but before you could tell him that it's fine to tell you no, he is tackling you onto the bed, and pulling the duvet up over all three of you causing Minho to give an exasperated sign. 

Breakfast was sure to be interesting, but as you lay curled around Jisung, his thick hair tickling your cheek with Minho pressed to your back, a strong arm slung over your waist resting on Ji’s side, the one thing you know is that you could definitely get used to this. Figuring this out was tomorrow's problem. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨(๑ > ᴗ < ๑)୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

pic creds x x x

A.n- Thanks for reading. This is a bit of a longer one. The longest thing I've written in fact. I just hava lot of felling about this. I hope it's not too niche/reaches the right horny nerds

-mo :)

Masterlist

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[orphicsun]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[r3starttt]

HELL IS A TEENAGE GIRL

PAIRING: Jennifer's body (Abby Anderson x reader)

CW: blood. murdering-killing. vomit. sub! abby. oral. Owen!!!!!

AN: this goes for my beautiful amazing talented gorgeous @clairoscharm . Ieally hope u like at least the beggining and I'm sorry for making it SO rushed!!! u deserve better

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @roos4lm4 @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles @0court @dinakisser @lott6i @imagoddess1 @viajeros--sin--destino | ABBY: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @grey-jedi12 @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee @wastdstime @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @0court

People always found it a bit of a joke that a girl like you—pretty, effortlessly charming, and so untouchable—would hang around with someone like Abby Anderson. The class nerd. The lesbian with a mile-long case of compulsory heterosexuality and a fake boyfriend. Everyone knew he was just there to shield her from the obvious: the way her eyes lit up like a puppy every time she saw you cheering.

They didn’t understand what you saw in her, how her soft sweaters would end up around your shoulders when your mom forgot to pick you up in the raniest day of sixth grade, or how her glasses would fog up every time you hugged her just a little too long.

They also didn’t remember that day in fourth grade when you were playing boyfriend and girlfriend—naturally, she was your girl—and she punched a boy who interrupted your first kiss just to mock you both. His mom was more furious about the kiss than his kid falling down the slide.

She would always be your girl. And you would always be hers, or so you've dreamed of.

Everything really began with that stupid cross scrawled across the back of your hand, a sort of ticket to a "club" full of sleazy mustache-twirling creeps and horny teenage boys. You were in it for the experience, of course. Abby, ever loyal, tagged along as usual.

The night started with you picking her up from another one of her fake boyfriend's dates. Fifth time that week. You never liked Owen. He was basic—worn-out jeans, some boring neutral colored shirt—and he couldn’t wait to ditch his belt the moment he stepped foot in Abby’s meticulously organized, nerdy little room. He didn't care about her classical music or her favorite bands posters or her books or her theories or her love for anything.

But you did.

You knew boys; Abby didn’t.

And every time you saw him with her, something in you twisted with jealousy—he wanted her, and he got her too easily.

Abby was something with plenty potential, naturally smart- a genius to your eyes. She had good grades, good money, a surgeon as a dad who was single and overworked himself- like father, like daughter. She folded her clothes neatly and organized them by color, she chose what she would wear a day before, she would have a schedule for everything- you always present. Her hair down made her prettier than that gentle braid she'd wear every day, and whenever she did her lashes and added that extra gloss, her face looked so pretty, and her glasses were that perfect extra she needed to be perfect for your eyes.

And then there was this boy, horny and getting a boner just by the sight of Abby's bra. You despised Abby for allowing such lame boy into her perfect life.

That night, though, it was you who had your eyes on someone else—a band, well, a man. Not for the music, but for the thrill. Older guys, somewhat famous, the kind that would treat you like you were stupid.

And the idea of it had your heart racing.

Hormones, maybe. The chance to see if anyone could ever make you feel the way Abby did. But with a dick and the creepy beard- like Abby called it.

She warned you not to, you just didn’t listen but laughed, batting your lashes, your glossy lips flashing in that ridiculous puffy white jacket.

You were invincible, right?

Wrong.

It all spiraled faster than you could process. The screaming, the snapping bones, the music turning into something warped and twisted. The man—one of those rockstars you thought would show you a good time—stared at you, as if he was just as shocked by what was happening as you were.

You stood there, frozen, as if it was all some bad dream.

Then, suddenly, you were outside, Abby’s hands gripping your waist, trying to lead you away as your broken heels gave out beneath you. You felt like you were burning from the inside, your mind fuzzy from the bartender’s “gift”—a drink served with a wink after you'd playfully pressed your arms against your breasts, just a little- enough to show them off for a pretty girl discount.

You collapsed, feeling stupid and weak, like you were drugged. Abby’s warm hands pressed against your face, and her lips repeated something that must've been your name, but before you could focus on her, you heard that man’s voice—the same man you’d dreamt about for maybe a day or two—crooning, “Let’s go to my van.”

Abby’s "no" cut through the haze, repeated over and over. But it didn’t matter. He shoved another drink into your mouth, the liquid spilling over your glossy lips, staining the glass. Abby’s glasses caught the reflection of the chaos behind you, the carnage inside, but no one seemed to notice.

Then you were in his van. Skinny, twisted, looking like something straight out of a nightmare. To Abby, you were gone—like a corpse. He dragged you in with a grip too tight on your waist, and just like that, the door slammed shut.

By the time they were halfway there, you were eerily quiet. Your glossy eyes mirrored the messy streaks of lip gloss now smeared up your cheeks, the result of tears and desperation. The skin around your nails was raw and bleeding, torn from how furiously you’d been scratching at yourself, trying to ground your fear.

"Are you guys like... rapists or something?" Your voice came out small, weak. You were just a girl, after all. You’d never expected a bunch of men to kidnap you, let alone drag you somewhere far away. But if you were about to die, you’d rather it be with Abby.

One of them scoffed, turning in his seat to mutter to the driver. "God, man, I hate girls." The guy riding shotgun glanced back at you, his face almost as pale as yours. He looked scared—like he hadn’t signed up for this. "Are you even sure she’s a virgin?" he asked, nervousness creeping into his voice.

The driver shot him a glare. "Yes, I’m sure, I don’t—"

"I’ve never—" you blurted out, your voice cracking as you struggled to hold back sobs. "You should, uh... find someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who’s good at it." Your words were stumbling over themselves, trying to buy time, to make them think twice. After all those boys and awkward make-out sessions, you’d never gone further. It scared you. And deep down, you’d always hoped the first time would be with someone who mattered—someone with pretty lashes like Abby, eyes like Abby, a body like hers, a voice like hers. You dreamed about it being her.

"See? Told you she’s a virgin. Y’all owe me a beer," the driver said smugly, ignoring the panic in your voice.

They kept shoving beers at you, forcing you to drink. Soon, everything started to blur—the dark van, the Satanic symbols plastered on the walls, the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes. Your mind drifted as they dragged you out, the cold night air biting at your skin. You recognized the place. The falls—the very place that gave your town its name. Were you really going to die here?

"We gather tonight to sacrifice the body of..." One of the men started speaking, his voice dripping with dark ritualistic glee. You barely heard him over your own muffled screams. The ropes they’d tied around you were crude, hastily knotted, biting into your skin.

You fought hard, thrashing against the bonds, trying to kick at them. Your thighs were burning, knees scraped raw as they shoved you forward. Your heels had long since fallen off, lost somewhere in the dirt.

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up," the man you thought was your dream sneered. The same man you’d been stupid enough to trust just hours ago. He grabbed your face roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Maybe we’ll write a song about you," he teased, pressing a mocking kiss to your forehead before shoving you toward the edge of the falls. The roar of the water was deafening, mist from the cascade sparkling in the air around them. Everything about it was twisted, surreal.

"With the deepest malice, we deliver this virgin sacrifice..." The knife came next. Cold, sharp, unforgiving. It tore through you over and over, ice and fire mingling in your veins. You couldn’t make sense of the pain—sometimes it burned, sometimes it was numb, like your body was trying to shut down. You wanted to rip your heart out just to make it stop. The agony tore your screams from your throat, desperate cries for them to stop.

Was Abby okay?

-

Owen's words were right that night. Who could care about you and those assholes with they stupid looks and voices and music when people just got burned alive.

But for Abby it was just a stupid jealous rambling. He didn't like you, his argument? You're a bad influence for her, telling her to prioritize girls night instead of him, or teaching her to put on more makeup for their dates which he had to pretend to notice. Because you made her laugh louder than anyone else and she would get called out during classes. Because you brought the best from her, a best he couldn’t.

"No, no. I'm telling you- Owen! fuck! listen, please-" any other argument she was trying to make it have sense for his boyfriend completely shushed on her brain as a loudness interrupted behind her. It was something falling- maybe someone. Steps and a quiet growl what she could manage to understand in the few seconds she was given to turn around and press the phone against her chest.

You were covered in blood, your pretty pink tights broken. Heels not even on. That pretty white on your jacket covered by a worrying amount of blood, ripped. Teeth tainted in blood and dark eyes. Your pretty make up ruined, mascara as if you'd cried and those glossy lips she adored to feel on her cheek each day you greeted her first thing morning now blurred and melt into a disgusting mix of drool and blood.

Owen's voice long forgotten as you were there. She spoke your name many times, you simply got on your knees, opening her fridge and getting out a random fried chicken her dad had bought. It smelled putrid but you could not care any less.

Her shaky hands cleaned her tears off, adjusting her glasses as she kneeled on your side, patting your back.

You shouted at her, an inhuman sound leaving your mouth followed by dark vomit. It was like a weird heavy oil.

She didn't understand that day but you did.

Your last time alive was for and to her, trying to escape into the safe of her home and her arms but unable to as you were far gone and replaced by a weird entity. A sickness.

She ran away, thinking on who to call or what to do. You knew she wouldn't but the thing inside you didn't.

Abby Anderson wouldn't acuse you to the police or try to escape or do anything at all that could hurt you or put you in any danger, she just wanted to help you.

Your force was scary, stupid against her.

You pinned her against the wall, her lower back hitting the furniture on her entrance and your hand breaking the glass of her pretty picture from earlier that grade. Your hands bleeding more and more and her pretty clothes earlier chosen just for you to see and admire now drenched in your same blood and dirt.

"Are you scared?" You pressed your lips against her neck, your breath hovering intense against her flesh. She was trembling, crying. You felt the nod on her face and just there your dirty nails cradled her face. You just looked at her, a lost look on both of your faces. The salt of her tears burned on your skin, but no inch of skin flinched.

She tried to call your name but you just leaned forward again, biting at the little necklace on her neck with her initial into a pretty gold. Abby sobbed- Your Abigail, the strongest person you've met was heart broken, and terrified.

Her skin was salty and her perfume was comforting, it almost made you bite. But you didn't, you stepped back and freeing her face, you pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. She hated blood, but she took it.

And just like that she spent all night with sobbing eyes and fogged glasses. Her nails dirty in whatever dark vomit you've displayed on her floor.

-

"Abigail" your acute usual morning greeting made her blink for once this morning. Her usual perfect lips now chapped. She felt your bracelets hit around her neck before your gloss spread on her cheeks. "You're alright." she mumbled.

"yeah...? why wouldn't I be." Your eyes rolled as you put the small notebook and a pen over the shared bench. "Yesterday at my house-"

"Oh my god! Abby you overreact all the time- Remember you thought there was an earthquake and it was just those fat kids playing?" you giggled, the loud of your voice no longer shushed by her as she was in pure shock. "People died, it's national news."

"Anyone we know?" The lip gloss glisthened against your lips as you put more of it, your lashes pointing at her eyes while starting at her lips. "We know everyone." Her tone obvious.

"Sucks to be them, I guess." You shrugged, about to lay your open arms and take full space before her hands hold you in place. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you, besides the obvious need of a fucking mani, bad." The edges of your eyebrows fought to turn into a frown, curving slightly at the edge of your nose. "I don't know maybe that I had to be all night scrubbing the...carnage off the linoleum-" your voices overlapped. "God don't talk like that it's... one of the most freaky Abby behaviors."

She showed you her hands, the under of her nails in a disgusting black, it made you want to throw up. "No- don't show your hands- stop." You shoved them down, the cool of your skin making her frown. "It makes us look both like total Gaylords."

-

Your lips were drenched in blood. She was sweet, with her freckled cheeks and the short bun on her now masy hair. She whined so pretty and so far she'd been the only one to try and fight back. Her nails scratched on your back and neck and arms, almost made it to hurt your eye too. Maybe if she hadn't done that your teeth wouldn't have pierced on her skin like they did.

Your grip left bruises on her skin. A gutural groan- half a moan while you uncovered her tits to hold her nipples between your fingers.

"Good girl" you whispered, holding her still.

If Abby could se who's organs you had on your mouth right now, she would turn into dust in a matter of seconds. Her girl, her all life best friend, had her mouth filled with blood and fresh organs that belonged to the girl you've made fun of together your whole life. Ellie Williams, the quiet girl you mocked with Abby by calling her all kinds of names because she had a smartness you didn't and you envied, she had the girls you couldn't, she was Abby’s first friend and most likely first love- she never realized. And you envied all of it, so, instead of getting over it you're digging into her open stomach, drenching your hands and clothes and mouth with her blood and her flesh. All of her is delicious, really- well, all except her tattooed arm. That's putrid.

The empty house you've found yourself in suddenly felt quiet as you could finally free yourself from her gripp. Her short nails had left a small bruise around your pale wrists until the pain became too blinding and the blood wasn't enough to keep her alive.

Cigarettes, lighter, some old ticket on her left pocket. Some dollars on the right one.

Nothing worth keeping from her. Truly.

Just the gain of your youth again.

"I'm feeling scrumptious-" The lighter fired small sparks way too close to your face. The taste of blood eventually disappearing from your tongue, fading withing each gulp of your salivating mouth. "Oh okay! cool im-" Abby tried to speak from the other side of the line. Her voice cutting through the not so long distance between. "You know when you kiss a boy and your whole body feels on vibrate?" the lighter in your hand with a small initial drawn with permanent pen caught your attention, almost making it sound like your words had lost trail. Abby frowned, laying her stomach on the bed as she held her weight over her elbows to speak a proper "yeah" just loud enough for you to hear. "Me- uhm, I'm still a little bit depressed about the giant smoldering funeral pyre in the middle of town-" yet you interrupted again.

"Move on Abby, it's over- And...you should be truly caring about your best friend who's having the best days ever since like Jesus invented the calendar." You finally stood up, hitting the cold of Ellie's leg just to make sure she was properly gone- as if all the blood you've sucked from her and all the flesh you've filled yourself with could somehow be meaningless and not enough to end with her.

"He didn't." Abby didn't even tried to explain it to you. It would be a waste of time and for once in her life she was feeling like hanging the call and leaving your bimbo brain to manage itself. "Well whatever. I'm like... a god- what's got you busy from paying all your attention to me? mhm?" you practically groaned at the absence of her response. "Gotta go, Owen wants to see me."

You pressed the fire right against your tongue. As if all the mad in you felt comfort by the pain. "You know... he's looking kinda cute to me lately, with his stupid t shirts and that-"

"Yeah, whatever, bye."

Your tongue burned.

-

"No offense but you look really tired." Abby put her black backpack over one of her shoulders, struggling to get the other side over her arm. You, you took your small purse and empty notebook and hid yourself under the violet hoodie- A hoodie that covered almost your knees if you tried to. Unlike you. really. "Wat's wrong?"

"I feel like boo-boo. My skin is breaking out, my hair is dull and lifeless. God... it's like I'm you."

Part of it comforted Abby, knowing you still had energy left for your humor to be this passive aggressive and your love to be this mean.

"Are you PMS-ing?-" you stopped before her, eyeing the pretty pink on her clothes up and down. She'd took the advice you gave her a few weeks ago on how to drees more for your liking. But, what the fuck was she speaking right now.

"Abby, that's not real. It was invented by the men to make women look crazy and you should know better."

"Oh I should know better? fuck off."

It was killing you, not having her near. She was afraid of you. You thought it was selfish. No matter how ugly your skin was and how much your stomach could kill you of hunger you couldn't get yourself to hurt her, yet she seemed beyond terrified of you. She was even mad at you.

It was killing you to see her with him. She wasn't good enough for him and he wasn't good enough for her.

"Hey, Abby. I'm sorry" you practically whined, holding her hand and locking your fingers with hers. She was mad at you, for, twice this year. That's a lot.

"Can I go home with you?"

-

"God! Abby stop with the screaming you're such a cliché-" The initials of your last victim shining beneath the gentle orange light of her room. The lighter on Abby's hands. "I won't bite you..." The whisper almost hit her skin as you crawled closer to her, your knees sinking in the matress. "Why are you wearing that..." she eyed the overworn hoodie hugging your body. "Though you'd like it..." Your nails tugged at the edges of her sweater, showing the bare shoulders beneath her white tank top.

She looked horrified- and more than breaking your heart, it made you pussy starved. Maybe this is why boys were an easy target.

You cradled her face between your heating hands, caressing her cheekbones under her glasses until they fogged. You chuckled at it before taking them off.

Her heartbeat could be felt on your own body, as if you'd already made her yours- She'd always been. "Come here..." you would expect a flinch, a push, a slap. Not her saliva meeting yours, the fat of her lip between yours until it goes the other way and she's got you in between.

It makes you wet, really. How her shoulder stiffen and her posture straightens until it doesn't and she leans to kiss you and savor you back.

She feels ridiculously soft and the little clothes she wears are beyond inviting. But there's nothing you'll push on her, not a boundary you'll ignore. She's the most tender flesh you've had, the most loud pump of blood you've sensed and the prettiest salty your tongue has feasted on. She's your girl, your Abby.

And she's whining at the little kisses you give her.

Abby Anderson, the girl you've craved for your whole life more than anything is now under your mercy, for you to take and enjoy as you please- well, almost.

You lay back again, meeting her no longer maddening eyes but soft brows and the locks of hair adorning her braid, resting over her shoulder.

You lock your fingers with them, undoing her smooth blonde between your hands. And Abby just stares in awe.

Just a few seconds ago she was about to cry at the confirmation that she'd lost you and now she wanted nothing else than to play girlfriend and boyfriend again and have you between her legs to fo the job Owen had failed miserable at.

And so she did, straddling your legs and sinking your bodies on the matress. Her lips eating yours eagerly, like she'd craved you just as much as you did. And you were so warm, scary comforting.

Your hands slid under her white top, covered by her sweater. The tip of your nails scratching the middle of her back until you got to her bra.

"What the fuck is happening." Her voice became loud, too acute for her own good.

The little heart with the BFF craved on it hit your chin, forcing your eyes to open and then your back to drag you and sit in front of her.

"My god, Abby. I've never heard you drop the F-bomb before." She stumbled over her words, trying to make it all have sense. The lighter on her hands again and suddenly being tossed for you to own it again. Your little award. "Slow down tardy slip, you sound like a sped." You imitated her stuttering, brushing some of your hair off your face.

"I'm gonna call the police." She threatened, but you just laughed it off, cupping her cheeks to deepen your tongue between her lips.

She didn't hesitate on following your lead. She never did.

It's fervent and sloppy and wet. And you have drool over your chin, you're truly rabid.

Her ass gets cupped by your hands, and she whines against your lips, taking her clothes off for you. Her bra reveals the perky nipples beneath and you direct your mouth to them, brushing the straps down her shoulders to get a proper taste.

"Let me hear you... yeah, like that." it makes you wet how obedient she is. How soft her nipple feels between your lips, It's delicious. "I love you Abby." Your arousal grows at how her hear stops, how her face genuinely lightens again for you.

"Lay down, come on." You guide her with soft murmurs and praise, a touch so gentle it could never be fair for Owen if he ever tried to feel her again.

Your hands traveled to the back of her legs, pressing a soft kiss on each before putting them over your shoulders. Her jeans unzipped before you got rid of her underwear, and sinking in between her legs not Inmediatelly- but after you took a proper look of her wet slit and your breath hovered.

Your mouth leaves kisses over her puffy clit, fingers sissoring her soaked folds. You could come just by how pretty she sounds for you. How she held onto you and trust her body to you.

In exchange its only fair to savour every inch of her. Licking, sucking, kissing her arousal. Teasing it with the tip of your fingers and tongue before actually thrusting inside her.

And you lose yourself in her, sucking at her clit- moaning against it at how fucking delicious she tastes. Her legs are so soft, and her happy trail is as pretty as the under. Her tits show enough for you to remember forever and her hands are constantly looking to hold onto you, to lock her fingers between your head into a tender grip that you have to guide into harsh and rough.

You can see her fogged glasses. Her once perfect hair a mess all over her back, pressed against her pretty skin covered in sweat. Your name falls from her plump lips as pleads. Over and over again- too overwhelmed with your pretty voice, your hands on her- she just whines, searching for friction, rubbing desperately against your sloppy tongue licking over her pretty pussy.

-

Abby never said I love you back

-

"Hey, sorry I- I need to talk to you about you know who?"

It had been months after that. Currently October 31, way too cold to still be months away from December.

Abby never said I love you back, and that's all you cared about. Not all the deaths that had been your fault, not the sex, not her cum dripping down your chin before you crawled to her and deepened your tongue into hers again.

And Abby, on the other hand, she didn't care about else than the stupid lighter.

Fuck Ellie, and fuck Owen, and fuck her.

"ugh, our little Abby?" The boy seemed oblivious to the whole thing. "She's been acting off lately, but it must be you..." His passive aggressive self was- "I think there's something wrong, she's been really upset since... you know, Ellie died?"

He frowned, stepping back from you just enough to eye you up and down- to look at your tits. "They were being intimate and-" he tried to stop you, but you held him in place "And, I just- I'm sorry, I care about you... so much, more than I've ever had the guts to admit...."

He stood there, quiet and still. You, held the sides of his arms and just like that he was on his knees for you.

"Abby didn't deserve a boy like you"

-

"I feel so empty-" he kissed you.

The only man beside her father to get her full heart and soul, was kissing you. He wasn't only betraying her- your Abby- he was doing it with you, the most important person in this world for her.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Your teeth sinking into his tongue, ripping it from him. It was too painful to even scream or shout or fight back. He held you, his gross hands were touching you and keeping you in place. It wasn't his strength nor your fear but the shock of the sudden disgusting feeling within you. Shame.

You throw him into the pool, your dress heavy against you. He got trapped between you and the fabric of your white stained dress and the natural heaviness of the water.

His head hit with the walls of the pool endless times until he tried to fight back for once. Abby.

-

"You were never a good friend, even when we were little you would throw your toys at me and bite me and- " you cut her off, trying to step closer. She wouldn't let you.

it broke your heart.

"And now I'm eating your boyfriend, see? at least I'm consistent." You left the floor, all the anger and pain and shame mixing into one. It wasn't you anymore but whatever those men had done to your body and your brain. Abby wasn't Abby, she was a threat.

"Why do you need him? you can have any boy you want, why him?" the next words were mumbles until she pronounced insecure. Insecure.

You didn't reply, not a single word leaving your lips until you managed to make your way into her.

"I'm not insecure Abby, how could I?"

You tried to contain, you really did. The live and adoration for her was endless, no demon, no man, no boy, no nothing could ever take that from you. It was a thing that made you, you. She was the thing, the human you loved more than anything in the whole universe.

Yet no matter what, a man would always take the place you deserved.

"I am going to eat your soul and shit it out Abigail!"

"I thought you only murdered boys"

"Oh, I go both ways."

[queereads-bracket]

FINAL: Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin

A groundbreaking work of science fiction, The Left Hand of Darkness tells the story of a lone human emissary to Winter, an alien world whose inhabitants spend most of their time without a gender. His goal is to facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the completely dissimilar culture that he encounters.

Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction.

Science fiction, classics, speculative fiction, anthropological science fiction, distant future, adult

The Locked Tomb series (Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth, Nona the Ninth, and others) by Tamsyn Muir

Endorsement from submitter #1: "An extremely fun, humorous romp! A heart-breaking, soul crushing catharsis inducing tragedy! A thoughtful piece on imperial structures and trauma. On queerness, Muir flawlessly and without announcement, cracks gender open like an egg and spills its disproven guts across the page. The Locked Tomb does it all also bones, bitch."

Endorsement from submitter #2: "Lesbian necromancers in space. So many fascinating, sort of fucked up sapphic relationships going on."

The Emperor needs necromancers.

The Ninth Necromancer needs a swordswoman.

Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead bullshit.

Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. She packs up her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and prepares to launch her daring escape. But her childhood nemesis won't set her free without a service.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House and bone witch extraordinaire, has been summoned into action. The Emperor has invited the heirs to each of his loyal Houses to a deadly trial of wits and skill. If Harrowhark succeeds she will become an immortal, all-powerful servant of the Resurrection, but no necromancer can ascend without their cavalier.

Without Gideon's sword, Harrow will fail, and the Ninth House will die. Of course, some things are better left dead.

Fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, humor, series, adult

[novaandmali]

ARTISTS WANTED! 

We’re making a super gay super inclusive TAROT DECK!!! We want every card to be in a fantasy world and featuring at least one LGBT person. We’re looking for up to 78 artists, potentially one artist per card, but we may choose to have some artists do up to 2 cards. 

Applications open October 10th at 1pm Eastern time and will remain open until October 13th at noon eastern OR we reach an application cap of 1000 entries.

Apps will be open for 24 hours minimum.

The application will NOT be available until that date - we will post it here, instagram (nova_mali), bluesky, and tumblr (novaandmali). Please be sure to set an alarm and get your application in ASAP - we will not be able to take any applications through email, dms, or after they close.

A tentative schedule:

Results emailed to EVERYONE on October 15th.

Sketch due Nov 31

Finals due Jan 15

Kickstarter running Jan 1-31

We are looking for up to 78 artists (who MUST be 18+ years old by October 15th) to join us to create a piece of digital art and/or merch. Traditional art is also accepted if scanned or photographed at a professional level.

We're looking specifically to increase the diversity of our artists, both in regards to race and gender - we want to be including all kinds of voices. Same thing with our art - we're looking to increase the variety of cultures, body types, and disabilities represented.

This is a PAID job. We’ve paid in the range of 200-300 for similar projects in the past, based on a set contract amount plus anything left over after production and shipping, split between everyone. Example: $150 in the contract and $100 extra per artist share. The additional amount will depend on how successful the Kickstarter campaign is.

Your app will ask you what you’re thinking about creating. This is not a final answer but we want to know what vibe, what era, etc what you’re thinking about. You’ll get the option to pick 2 suits you’re interested in working in, and 1-2 cards you very much do not want to illustrate.

The application will include things like: a link to your portfolio (instagram and twitter are NOT accepted as a portfolio) and if you are interested in designing any merch as well.

We also ask for a short artist bio: think twitter style - short and sweet. Please don’t talk down about yourself or your skills - talk yourself up! Make me excited to see your art!!

Reminder about our applications: PLEASE do not submit porn or gore in your highlight art. Blood and nudity are ok, porn and gore please no.

Hopefully it goes without saying but we do not accept NFT art or AI generated art.

About us: we’re two non-binary lesbians who really love cats and gay art. We’ve enjoyed our work as a queer publishing house and can’t wait to do more! We’ve completed 9 projects including tarot cards and books! Some of our previous works include classics but make it gay, And They Were Monsters, and Cover Me Queer.

Check out our work at www.novaandmali.com . 

[remnantglow]

what are five underrated sci fi books you think more sci fi lovers should read?

ooh that's such a fun question!

on the origin of species and other stories by kim bo-young (PLEASE. TRUST ME.)

the fortunate fall by cameron reed (recently republished lesbian cyberpunk cult classic, raw and heartwrenching, The best cyberpunk piece of media i've experienced to date)

walking practice by dolki min (satirical sci-fi like you've never seen before, gloriously grotesque, bound to be polarizing but so worth the read imo)

the membranes by chi ta-wei (only recently translated taiwanese queer scifi classic, a quiet introspective novella exploring body autonomy and an unforgettably haunting take on cyborgs)

children of time by adrian tchaikovsky (i know including a book that won the Arthur C. Clarke award is a bit of a stretch but i DO think it's still underrated is the thing. it's easily some of the best, most inventive hard scifi of this century)

(+classics bonus - i don't think these are that niche, but babel-17 by samuel r. delany and woman on the edge of time by marge piercy are sooo underappreciated imo)

[metamorphory]

our love is god — cho hyun-ju

PAIRING. Cho Hyun-ju x fem!reader SUMMARY. HEATHERS MEETS SCREAM! In this part 2 of fight for me (fight for her), you and Hyun-ju will crash at Heather's party, unaware that something more sinister awaits. CONTENT. this is obviously satire, please don't take it seriously, don’t try to kill your bullies bc you’ll go to jail, red flag reader lmao (you’re jd here), but you’re protective towards hyun-ju, bullying, swearing, stereotypes, crazy crossovers, writer went mildly insane with the plot, campy 80’s murder mystery vibes, horror, angst, toxic yuri, mommy issues if you squint, inspired by cult classics, fear street vibes, movie and book references (lmk what else!) WORD COUNT. 3.4k A/N. excuse the self-indulgence and unconventional y/n, my inner feral lesbian is at it again. this is what appeared when you guys asked for part 2. here's a playlist for this fic if you like.

The ice cream shop cashier has been eyeing you for at least a minute now, probably not because you just look really out of place, but because of the drain cleaner placed atop your table as you both ate ice cream.

Hyun-ju scooped up her melting vanilla ice cream over the strawberry and said, "I don't get why we need a drain cleaner."

You grabbed the container by the handle and put it beside you instead.

"I want to try something cool I read about in a book," you answered, scooping the last of your chocolate ice cream out of your bowl.

"At Heather's party?" Hyun-ju’s eyebrows rose, inquisitive but with a hint of warning. She took it upon herself to keep you in line ever since you tried to skip math class and almost broke your arm while sneaking out a window. It only took about a week before teachers associated you with trouble, and always left it to Hyun-ju to discipline you. Your friend just won't listen to anyone else, they complained.

You put your hands up in surrender. 

“I won't make trouble. I promise.”

“You better not,” she warned, gently wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin. As ladylike as always. “I don't know why we should stop by Heather's party when we can just watch movies at your place.”

You bit your lip. “I wanna try out something.” Then you pouted, “Besides, you won't like the movies I rented.”

Hyun-ju shrugged, “I'm up for anything.”

“Aw hell no, you don't. The last time we watched The Killer Klowns From Outer Space, you fell asleep.”

Hyun-ju giggled, that shy, cute one that sends you out of orbit. The one she usually hides, unaware that you'd do anything to make her laugh again. 

“I like Gremlins, though. They're cute,” she responded. 

“That's just the tip of the horror iceberg,” you circled a finger near your plate, drawing an imaginary iceberg. “There's more, and I intend to dabble in the extreme.”

Hyun-ju rolled her eyes but laughed anyway, already used to your theatrics. 

But unknown to her, the iceberg you were upending wasn't just your usual cheap gore or slasher. Not even as extreme as that one time you poured gasoline around your own house to piss off your antagonistic mother with arson. This time there's a body count. 

-

Before heading to Heather’s place, you hid behind a bush and watched the area for at least five minutes.

“That bitchy liar. She invited everyone but us,” you half-whispered, looking over the bush as you pour the drain cleaner on an empty Coke can. You sloshed the content, sniffed.

“We look ridiculous hiding in the bush,” Hyun-ju commented, brushing leaves from her trousers. 

You plucked one out of her hair and stood up, “Come on, then. Let’s go inside.”

-

Heather's party swarmed with your schoolmates, the entire place bathed in her signature color: red. There were familiar faces here and there, and even if you pretend not to remember names and faces often, you remember those who sneered at you in the hallways or the ones who scrawled slurs on your locker. When you entered, no one batted an eye or even glanced at you walking hand in hand. Hyun-ju kept smoothing out imaginary creases from her trousers and squeezing your hand with the other. 

The music blasting from the center vibrated off the walls, making you wince and wonder just how these people manage to last in these kinds of parties without sporting a headache. 

From the smell alone, you can tell they've opened the keg. Heather sat on the dinner table, her own cup remarkably fancier than those plastic red cups distributed around. 

“Y/N,” you heard Hyun-ju say from behind you, so faint you’re surprised you heard it. 

“Yeah?”

She looked around uncomfortably as if looking for something. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” you offered, completely oblivious of the place but willing to go anyway.

“No, it’s alright. I can manage.”

“You sure?”

She only nodded and let your hand go. Probably for the best because you spotted Heather, who was about to leave the dinner table, leaving her precious iridescent cup standing out among the cheap red plastic ones. 

With everyone stoned and drunk, no one noticed anything the moment you emptied your Coke can on her red punch. It slowly turned into a soft purple. You could tell despite the red lighting. Heather had better come back and drink it fast before the ice melts.

You crushed the Coke can in your foot and followed her outside. She stumbled on the grassy backyard of her house, heavily in need of trimming and weeding since it’s beginning to look like an extension of the forest nearby. Heather held on the grass and puked her guts out from too much alcohol. You took the opportunity and went to her in slow, purposeful strides.

“Uh-huh, the demon queen is also a puke queen. I didn’t know such a layered personality exists under all that makeup,” you chuckled, plucking the knife out of your back pocket. It barely made a glint in the starless night sky. “Thought you’re just a pure she-demon in there.”

Heather spat on the ground and glared at you, “Didn’t you see the NO FAGS ALLOWED sign at the door?” 

Ironically, she took a cigarette from her shirt pocket, easily regaining her composure after lighting it up. She blew a disrespectful amount of smoke in your direction, her arrogance back in full gear as though she just hadn’t puked her guts out a minute ago.

“We saw it. Charming handwriting, you got actually,” you answered, grazing the tip of your knife on your sleeve.

“Oh, so your girlfriend came here as well? Is she bitter about not being invited?” Heather said it in an annoyingly emphasized way with discriminatory undertones that made your ears ring. It was no surprise, considering you heard her make fun of Hyun-ju behind her back. Heather would either jab at Hyun-ju's insecurities, whether her voice, her style, or her appearance, until you’re tempted to hit her square on the jaw and endure detention for a week in consequence.

“Yep, she’s here. But she didn’t want to come here to begin with,” you took a step forward, “I insisted. And I came here for you.”

You took another step forward, trampling the grass on each one. 

“What the hell do you want from me?” Heather burst in a shrill voice, trying to act tough despite seeing the knife neatly lined in your sleeve. “Are you obsessed with me or something?”

“You're not my type,” you tutted, pocketing your other hand. You leaned in again, and Heather began to back away. “I want you gone for good.”

“Ugh, what did I ever do to you?” she whined, backing two steps away.

“You really don't know what you did?” You expected her to at least have an idea. Making people's lives hell to the point that everyone divides like the sea when she’s around, when she conspired everyone against you after that seat issue in history class, until the only one that stuck with you was Hyun-ju, and now she’s punishing her for that too.

But her eyes widened, and she almost dropped her cigarette. Her face contorted into a mix of annoyance and fear as if you ruined her entire week. 

“Don't tell me you know? Who told you?” she accused.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you returned, confused. Heather must be completely out of it, too stoned and drunk. Probably confusing you for another person or thinking you found out a secret amongst their circle. 

“The prom night, of course! We'll make your girlfriend the prom queen,” she laughed. “And it's like Carrie all over again!” 

Your ears began to ring again, growing red and hot from what you're hearing. You were right from the beginning that these people befriending Hyun-ju was bad news, too good to be true. They didn't want her around; they wanted someone to toy with and bully until prom night. A lamb to the slaughter, a livestock to feed and butcher for their entertainment. That must be what the bloody mascots in the hallway bulletins were meant for. A sick school tradition. You’ve heard whispers about how Heather and her friend group buy students on Slave Day and douse them with pig’s blood and make them walk around in classes on that mess. That doesn’t sound like an exaggeration now.

“Say that again.” You didn't bother hiding your knife this time. And even before you could step closer, Heather took off running in the forest. Screaming for help that wouldn't come. No one will hear her over the music, no one will rescue her in those silent woods. 

You chased after her, knife edged-out on your fists until you disappeared in the darkness after her. 

-

The forest was carpeted with dried leaves, and every step you took was an audible crunch on the forest floor. Heather had stopped screaming long ago, probably hiding behind some thickets or bushes, or the thick felled logs with rotting bark. You didn’t even have to kill her to begin the satisfaction. Just imagining Heather holding her mouth and trembling in the dark while insects crawled on her legs was enough revenge for today. 

“Come out now, Heather. I won’t kill you,” you cooed, half-serious since you’ve easily grown bored of this. Besides, you promised Hyun-ju a movie night and you don’t want to be late for that. 

Any step further in the forest meant being swallowed in darkness. As much as you loved the thrill, you decided against it and turned away. Hyun-ju was probably out of the bathroom now and standing in one corner, waiting for you. Or looking for you since letting you out of her sight was trouble. Which was half-right since the party was missing their demon queen because you chased her through the woods. You could almost hear Heather's whiny voice the next day, telling everyone that you went there to kill her.

But as you neared the forest clearing, you heard Heather screaming. Wailing as if someone tore through her skin and broke her bones. For a fracture of a moment, you felt scared, concerned, even. Just enough to turn your back around and head to where the noise came from.

You didn’t get far enough when you felt an impact on your side that sent you stumbling on the leaves. Groaning, you sat up and cursed only to see Hyun-ju across where you sat, brushing leaves off her knees. She wasn’t supposed to bump against you in the dark, you’re both a mile away from the party, thinking the other is still there.

“Hyun-ju?” You blinked in the darkness, scrambling on your feet to get a good look at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, worried, taking your arm instantly as if the darkness would separate you. She sounded scared, which rarely happens.

“I followed Heather here.” You drew her closer to you, the soft glow of the moon faintly reflecting her face.

“She’s here?” Her eyes widened, you could tell even in the dark. “We need to find her and get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“There's someone else here. Except for the three of us,” Hyun-ju's voice shook. Her hand felt cold against yours, trembling. Afraid. She was shifting her gaze in all directions.

“We need to get out of here now,” you said, tugging at her hand.

“No, we can't leave Heather here,” she protested, then looked you in the eye. “I think you should head back and call the police.”

“Call the police? For what?” 

“I-I can't explain. There's no time,” her face scrunched up slightly as if giving you any further explanation was troubling her. She asked you to run away before letting your arm go, and took off to where Heather's screams were heard.

“Oh, no no no. You don’t,” you muttered and began to run after her in the dark, almost losing her because of how fast she was running. A minute into the run, you were panting. Not because of your limited stamina, but because of the air in the forest. It felt too stuffy as if your shirt was strangling you by the neck, and the air was too thin to suffice for three, or in this case, four people in the woods. The rough patches and strewn roots on the forest floor were an obstacle course on their own, waiting for you to trip or step on the wrong stones.

It only took two minutes before Hyun-ju halted in another clearing. This one was flooded by the moonlight as if an oculus directed all its light to the surface. It made the forest glow a soft blue. Almost romantic if the air wasn’t too constricting and the darkness weren't rimming ominously on the sides. 

You didn’t know why Hyun-ju stopped until she took a step back from the single leafless tree left in the clearing. That’s when you saw Heather, redder and more peaceful than she ever was in life, her bloody corpse propped in awkward angles on the tree. 

Hyun-ju gasped, a scream stuck in her throat. You immediately went for her, pulling her close as she almost teared up on your shoulder and said that you should head back and call the police over and over again.

But for a minute, you allowed yourself to stare at Heather, her bloody face, and several leaking stab wounds. Her blue eyes were as lifeless as a doll's eyes, staring without seeing. Her blonde hair reflected the moonlight, like a sacred offering illuminated by the gods of heaven above. She looked like Carrie from the 1977 movie she was blabbering about earlier, her complexion complementing the red. 

As you held Hyun-ju's hand and took off to safety, you weren't scared or sorry for her murdered friend. You were pissed off that a budding serial killer emerged in town and beat you to killing Heather.

-

When the police arrived, everyone was on the ground, either screaming or trying to throw up everything they had consumed in the grass. This one girl was screaming, “Someone poisoned us!” repeatedly until a police woman had to intervene and calm her down. 

“What’s going on?” Hyun-ju whispered as an ambulance came, bringing out two stretchers. Two.

Hyun-ju wordlessly looked at you. You remembered the purplish liquid you left on the table, clearly in Heather's cup. Separated from the rest.

“Someone probably passed out drunk,” you shrugged and believed yourself until the medics brought out a pale corpse you only recognized as one of the lead quarterbacks, dating Heather on and off. They complement each other by being both hell-incarnate, with a common bonding of terrorizing students. The king and queen of high school both paraded in matching stretchers. What a laughably tragic story.

Heather's two other friends, oddly also named Heather, were bawling their eyes out when they saw the body bag containing Heather's corpse. You were keeping the muted joy to yourself until you overheard one of the investigators, leading out the door, saying that the cause of the quarterback's death was drain cleaner poisoning.

“That wasn’t me,” you said quickly. “That drink was for Heather to begin with.”

“That was the experiment you're talking about? Poisoning her?” Despite her calmness and effort to keep her voice down, you could tell she’s angry. And she was never angry with you, she goes out of her way to understand your actions, but this one is inexcusable. 

Her eyes left you, and she said, “I’m going home.���

It made you feel worse than you ever felt, worse than the guilt you felt after chasing Heather in the woods leading to her death, worse than accidentally poisoning that quarterback. Because this time, you might lose the person you began all of this for. 

“Wait, no. Hyun-ju, I’ll walk you home,” you chased after her. 

“I’m fine by myself,” she refused to look at you, hugging her arms close. 

“Hyun, I’m sorry. I really am,” you apologized, following her closely. “How about movie night? At my place. Please?”

“You remember that now?” She then stopped and looked at you. The trace of scorn behind her eyes hurts. It made you quiet, letting Hyun-ju speak. 

“I’ve been telling you that even before you bought the stupid drain cleaner. I told you I don’t care about the party or getting back at Heather. I just want to be with you, and that’s enough. But you weren't listening!” her eyes rimmed with tears. “As usual!”

You stood there frozen from the feet up, realizing the weight of your mistakes all of a sudden. The voice of reason in your head has Hyun-ju's voice, and she’s telling you that your sense of vengeance was awry from all angles. 

Hyun-ju began to walk away again, wiping the tears from her cheek, leaving you standing there. But you couldn’t stay frozen. You can't let her go home angry with you. So you chased her again like you’ve never chased anything in your life, hugging her back, and telling her the apologies never heard from your lips. 

Her soft heart couldn’t stay mad at you for much longer, not when you’re holding her hand, not when you’ve been there the whole time, accepted her, and worshiped her for who she is.

It was almost midnight when you reached home and settled with popcorn in bed as The Princess Bride played on the television.

“I thought you rented horror movies,” Hyun-ju asked, eating the popcorn in small bites. You held up a finger before answering, face stuffed with popcorn. 

“I did.” You fished out two DVDs under your bed: The Exorcist, which you watched for far too many times with Hyun-ju, and Re-animator. “I stole The Princess Bride DVD from my sister’s old room.”

Hyun-ju smiled. You felt relieved; you wanted to make her smile again.

“I love the story so far,” she said, looking at you. A softer one with affection, with the tenderness you’ve been dying to feel. 

“I’m glad you do.” You kissed her hand, promised her another slumber party tomorrow or any day she liked from now on. You don’t know how slumber parties work, or how to paint your nails as neatly as Hyun-ju does, or how to tie friendship bracelets without being confused by the pattern. But you'll try. You'll both try to be normal seventeen-year-olds. Enjoy life, skip classes, have sleepovers, bake brownies, eat ice cream, kiss under the blanket, play board games– anything. You'll forget the two dead bodies from three hours ago and stick with each other. But amidst the voices from TV and the hum of the fan, Hyun-ju spoke, “I didn’t tell you earlier why I was in the woods.”

You tore a gummy bear pack open and replied, “I'm wondering about that, too.”

“I saw someone,” Hyun-ju began, fiddling with her hands. “I never saw his face. But I’ve been seeing him in the school hallways for a while now. Then I saw him again earlier. He always wears this dark hood and can slip into the crowd easily. I had a bad feeling, so I followed him.”

“And you also followed Heather's screams. You’re breaking horror movie rules left and right, babe,” you said, offering her a pink gummy.

“My instincts kicked in, I suppose,” she accepted the gummy and replaced it with popcorn. “It still bugs me. What if he’s the one who killed Heather?”

“Frankly, I’m not surprised anyone is out there to kill her,” you shrugged. You weren't the only one with Heather on your hit list.

“I should have told the police what I saw,” Hyun-ju pondered. “It might help the investigation.”

Then a bright, dangerous idea clicked in your head.

“We should investigate too,” you voiced out loud. “It’ll be exciting. Catching the local killer in town. You get what I mean?”

“You’re kidding.”

You poked her cheek and teased, “Come on, I saw you reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. Don’t you want to play detective?”

As the movie credits rolled, you saw a hint of curiosity in Hyun-ju's eyes, the faintest smile, the silent “why not?” 

“Do you think we can do it?” she wondered aloud.

Then you grinned. Of course. With her wits and your daring, you can.

“Our love is god,” you kissed her cheek, grabbing the DVD beside you. “We should watch The Exorcist again.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

[phaedraismyusername]

Happy International Lesbian Day! Here's some super brief book recs to celebrate

Books dealing with love, loss, longing and abandonment

This is How You Lose The Time War is a short but beautifully written epistolary novel between two agents on opposite sides of a time war as they slowly fall in love.

Our Wives Under the Sea is one of the most beautifully written debuts I've ever read about a woman whose wife comes home wrong after they thought she'd died at sea and how it feels to grieve the loss of someone who's still in your home.

Lucky Red is a western novel about a young girl working in a brothel who meets her first female gunslinger and falls head over heels for her, and the consequences that come with loving dangerous people.

Body horror galore

Camp Damascus is about a young woman living in a super conservative christian town built around the worlds most successful conversion camp and the horrors that are uncovered there when praying the gay away fails.

To Be Devoured is about a woman whose fascination with the local vultures turns into obsession and the urge to know what carrion tastes like overtakes her life and leads her down stranger and stranger paths.

Chlorine is about a girl whose entire life revolves around being a competitive swimmer, and how abuse, neglect, and obsession with being the best takes its toll on the young women caught up in these destructive cycles.

Flawed character studies

Big Swiss is about a woman who has a kitchen floor reset in her 40s, moves away and starts a new life as a transcriber for a sex therapist and becomes obsessed with one of his clients before inserting herself into this poor woman's life.

The Seep is a speculative sci-fi set in a future where there's been a quiet alien invasion that has given people the ability to make almost any changes to their own bodies and what that world feels like to someone who doesn't want to partake.

Milk Fed is about a woman in therapy who feels cut off from almost everything until she meets another woman who triggers in her a melding of sex, hunger, and religion and where that takes her. Huge trigger warnings for ED content. It gets tough, y'all.

Fantastical wlw books

Bitterthorn is an amalgamation of fairytales retold as a slow burn sapphic love story between a sad young girl from a cursed land and the evil witch who takes her as a companion in the latest of the generational sacrifices made to appease her.

All the Bad Apples may be set in contemporary Ireland but it is a fairytale following a young girl as she travels across the country looking for a sister she refuses to believe is dead and the people she meets along the way.

Gideon the Ninth needs no introduction on this site but for the sake of formatting - lesbian necromancers in space who find themselves in an isolated murder mystery plot. It's not a romance but it is a love story and this series will change your life if you let it.

Translated novels

Boulder is a short character study following a free spirited woman when she accidentally settles down with the woman she loves and how love and resentment can take up the same space in your chest when life doesn't turn out the way you hoped it would.

Notes of a Crocodile is a cult classic coming of age story about queer teens in Taipei in the 1980s. It was written in the 90s so please keep that in mind if you choose to read it.

Paradise Rot is about an international student studying in Australia and her growing obsession with her housemate as they share a space that allows no privacy. I've never read anything that feels stickier.