#*pounding on table* SHES. QUEER.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Have a taste - Emily Prentiss

Summary: when you explain to emily how one of your exes loved giving you head, she decided that she needs to have a taste warnings: SMUT, oral (r!receiving), face sitting, fwb(?) 1.5k+ wc

Girl's night was missing two crucial members this week, leaving you alone with Emily in her vast living room, staring out her window wall and peering into the night skyline with twin glasses of wine. You were perched on her cloud white sofa, a comfortable silence between you as you delved into each other's personal lives. Clad in soft hello kitty shorts and a mismatching graphic tee, you glanced at Emily, who wore a similarly styled outfit to you, as you asked her the next question.

Somehow, girl's night always found a path towards sex-related conversations, whether is be the dimmed lights in Emily's apartment or your chronic nosiness. Tonight was no different. "Do you prefer sex with men or women?" You inquired, leaning closer to her. To nobody's surprise, Emily had dabbled with both, and would continue to do so for as long as she liked. "Depends on the mood I'm in. Sometimes I want a masculine man to pound into me until sunrise-" She paused at your tipsy giggle, grinning widely before continuing "But otherwise I think I mostly gravitate towards women. They're hot." Another laugh bubbled in your chest at her statement, muttering a joking "Thank you" with a shrug of your shoulders.

Emily downed the rest of her glass of wine before reaching for the bottle again. "Okay, best head you ever got?" She asked blatantly. You hummed, leaning down to put your glass of wine on her coffee table, clapping your hands together. "I dated a guy who was in a band for a while." Emily 'Ooh'ed, tucking her legs under her to make herself more comfortable. "He had this whole look with the messy hair, like nose ring and tattoos going up arms and on the back of his neck. He had an obsession, I think. Could literally wake up on his days off, roll over, and spend hours between my legs. Cooking dinner? Put me on the counter and spread my legs wide open. Checking myself out in the mirror? Got down on his knees behind me and got to work."

"You're lying to me." Emily's reaction was priceless, with her jaw slack, hand frozen around the bottle of wine as she listened to you talk about your ex. When you shook your head with a smile, eyes glinting with mischief, she added

"Well I've got to have me a taste of that pussy."

"Go for it honestly."

She'd meant it as a joke, she really did. A 'oh watch out I like women' type of thing, referring to the straight girls deathly afraid of their queer friends. But now, watching as you shrugged your shoulders carelessly with a chuckle, offering for her to get between your legs and taste what you had to offer, she completely froze.

"I thought you were straight."

"I don't really discriminate between men and women."

"I thought you've never gotten with a girl before."

"I haven't. Doesn't mean I won't."

"So... you'd let me eat you out?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

"Are you fucking with me?"

At the shake of your head, Emily put the bottle of wine on the table alongside your glass, crawling over to where you sat on the end of the couch. Emily only stopped when your knees were touching, watching as you consciously straightened up, eyes staring into hers as you worriedly bit down on your bottom lip. "Can I kiss you first?" You nodded, hands falling to Emily's waist as hers went to cup your jaw, leaning in until her lips were grazing yours. She finally pulled you closer so her lips pressed against yours, your mouth falling open to let her slither her tongue in, meeting yours in a passionate dance. Emily expertly took over the kiss, her tongue dominating yours so she could explore your mouth, one hand moving to the nape of your neck to keep you close to her.

Both your hands came up to Emily's chest, pushing her away softly so you could catch your breath, panting softly. If Emily wanted to ease into the act by kissing you, you didn't have a problem with it. You just weren't expecting that. "Okay, let me have a taste then." She spoke again, eyes running over your body. Your nipples were hard, harder than they had been mere moments ago, but she assumed that she just hadn't noticed it before, her senses heightened by her arousal. She had to resist the urge to reach out to pinch them, instead helping you pull your shorts and panties off when you lifted your hips up for her.

"It's probably nothing special." You mumbled, letting Emily guide you so you were leaning back against some pillows, still allowing you a clear view of the woman's movements. Emily scoffed in amusement, laying down in front of you before shuffling forwards until she was close enough to lick your awaiting cunt. She couldn't believe how one question had led to this. The dim lights of her penthouse almost hid the shine of arousal against your skin, but she ran a finger up your slit, collecting your juices before cockily saying "I'll be the judge of that." Emily inhaled deeply, taking in your scent before finally delving into your pussy, arms hooking around your thighs to control their movement.

A moan was immediately heard when Emily ran her tongue up your slit, pushing your puffy lips apart from each other due to the pressure she was applying. You think the moan came from the both of you. "Fuck me." You heard Emily whisper, the movement of her lips against your skin tickling you slightly. Then, she was back to licking, tasting your juices and pressing hard against your clit with her tongue. Your toes curled slightly, hips bucking when your clit sent little shocks of pleasure up your body. Emily grunted, pushing your thighs apart to get more space between them, separating from you slightly so she could spit directly onto your pussy, emitting a loud gasp from you.

Her fingers were on you then, massaging her saliva onto your clit before she latched on again, this time sucking on the sensitive nub. You keened loudly, hands instantly securing in her brown hair as your thighs instinctively tried shutting around her head. Emily allowed it this time, nails making little crescents on the skin at the top of your thighs as she tried getting impossibly closer to your cunt, messily making out with it as she alternated between sucking on your clit and thrusting her tongue into your entrance.

You were convinced she would suffocate just then.

Alas, Emily suddenly pulled away from you, her mouth and chin wet from your arousal as she begged. "I need more. Sit on my face." Your eyes widened at her suggestion, beginning to shake your head as you mutter "I've never-" But she was already frantically tugging your t-shirt off and laying down on her back, hands on your thighs guiding you to mount her. You found yourself letting her direct you over her face, grabbing at the arm of the couch as you tried slowly lowering yourself onto her. Emily wasn't having any of that though, hands on your hips aggressively pulling you down on her face so her nose instantly hit your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

Changing her technique, Emily thrusted her tongue into your hole repeatedly, hands dragging you back and forth on her face, encouraging you to grind down on her. That's what you did, letting the woman sloppily tongue at your cunt while she reached up for your tits, immediately tweaking your nipples between your fingers. She groped your tits with purpose, alternating between massaging the fat of your breasts and pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples until you were panting, eyebrows scrunching up while telling her "'M so close. So close Em." Your words encouraged her to go faster, one hand falling from your breast to your hip so she could drag you where she wanted you, lips immediately closing around your clit to suck harshly.

Emily's hand immediately returned to groping your tit, and paired with the aggressive pleasure on your clit, she immediately had you coming, legs closing around her head while you came down from your high. Emily continued lapping at your pussy, hands dropping to rest on your ass where she rubbed your skin gently until you were bucking your hips away from her, whispering "Em, 's too much."

The girl finally stopped, slowly helping you un-straddle her face. She sat up next to you on the couch, arm wrapping around your waist while she leaned in close to you, asking delicately "Was that okay for you?" You nodded, turning your head before leaning into her slightly, staring at her lips. Emily grinned, pecking your lips gingerly before stating "I am a whole mess over here." You chuckled, grabbing tissues from the table to start wiping your juices off her face when she stopped you, adding playfully "And by the way, sweetest pussy I've ever tasted."

[steddielations]

Eddie’s queer awakening Part 2 | Part 1

Steve doesn’t know what else to do to make Eddie realize he likes him. Never in his life has he had to work this hard at winning someone over. Never.

Even with Nancy in high school, there was always a hint that she wanted him to chase her, which made it worthwhile. Sometimes, Eddie will do something that makes Steve sure he feels the same, flirting back. Then Eddie will do something that makes Steve not so sure, laughing it off.

Steve doesn’t like resorting to bullshit queer stereotypes because he doesn’t exactly fit them either, but Eddie looks like those rugged guys on his posters and album covers. Sometimes it feels like a masculinity performance worthy of King Steve, but sometimes it feels genuine.

Eddie’s not dressing like Bowie, but he prances around on cafeteria tables yelling about sodomy and he’s never had a girlfriend that Steve knows of. He could like both, same as Steve, of course. Or it could be nothing, of course. Steve’s just putting all these moves on a straight boy, about to get his heart broken again.

Robin’s given him countless pep talks, assuring him that he’s right about Eddie when he starts to doubt it. “You sniffed Vickie out just from her VHS returns. If anyone has a functional queer detector here, it’s you. Trust it.”

“What if I ask him out and he rejects me?” Steve fully understands Robin’s worries now, it’s not the same as getting shot down by a girl. “I’ve got enough rumors about me already.” They all wanted to say it in high school, calling Steve a pretty boy in tight pants that spent too much time in the mirror.

Tommy used to shoot them all down. Now he’s not by Steve’s side, snarling at anyone who suggests it. Which was mostly just Tommy trying to convince himself that everything they did under the covers at sleepovers was “just guy stuff”, and he convinced Steve too. To the point where Steve hadn’t even considered any different until a few months ago when he told Robin and— yeah, that was an eventful conversation. The first time he stumbled across the word bisexual— from a Bowie interview in one of Robin’s magazines— it felt like something clicked into place.

“I don’t think Eddie’s the type to out anyone, either way.” Robin’s right. She’s not always right, everything would be easier if she was, but she’s right about that.

“I keep having to pretend to like his shitty weed to get him to come over. Not even the yawn and stretch move worked on him. Y’know, this,” Steve demonstrates, stretching an arm above his head and then draping it over Robin’s shoulder. She shrugs him off with a fake gag. “I kept looking at his lips and I thought we were gonna kiss, but he laughed and poked me in the ribs and called me dude.”

Robin listens to all his boy troubles and then they come up with a plan. Steve decides he’s going to come out to Eddie, just put it out there that he likes guys. In a totally platonic way and hopefully that gets the ball rolling the other way, where he tells Eddie he likes one guy in particular and hopes all his Romeo efforts don’t blow up in his face.

So he goes for it. Eddie strolls into Family Video and picks out a movie that Steve’s actually heard of for once. It’s easy for Steve to throw him a smile and invite himself over. “You know this is the closest thing to a romance movie you’ve picked? No way I’m letting you watch this alone, somebody’s gotta hold your hand through the sad ending, looks like it’s gonna be me.”

Several emotions fly across Eddie’s face, landing on overwhelmed disbelief. “I don’t get it, man. How do you not have a girlfriend? You’d be so easy to fall in love with. Hell, I feel like you've made me fall halfway in love with you already. If I was a girl, I’d date the shit out of you.”

It looks like Eddie wants to clap a hand over his mouth as soon as the words leave it.

Steve watches him carefully, trying to think clearly over his heart pounding in his chest because Eddie just said he loves him, kind of. This is it. “Would you still date me as a guy?”

Eddie’s nervous hands jingle with chain bracelets as they tug his hair and hide his face. “You mean, objectively? As a guy would I date another guy? I mean, could I want that? I hadn’t really considered that option until now. Uh. Shit. Wow, this is-”

“Because I would, you know,” Steve jumps to say, as earnestly as he can, needing Eddie to finally know. How could he not know? This is it. Steve didn’t come all this way just to tap out at the finish line. He goes for it. “I’d date you as a guy, Eddie. I’d date the shit out of you, too, just like you are.”

Eddie’s face is flushed now, his eyes wide and swimming with both questions and realizations. Steve snaps out of it for a second, looking around to see the store is thankfully empty, Robin’s still on her break, but this isn’t the place for this conversation.

“Wanna talk about it over the movie tonight?” He offers.

It moors Eddie, he relaxes more and Steve hopes he’s not imagining the faint hint of a smile. “Yeah, that’s— yeah, talk. I can do that.”

“Okay, it’s a date. See you then.” Steve hands over the tape, their fingers brushing and making warmth flutter all through him. He watches Eddie halfway trip out the door, running into it once and pulling on it three times before pushing it open.

Steve can’t stop grinning, thinking about later, determined to tell Eddie he’s already in love with him too.

[cuubism]

last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

--

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

--

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

--

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first. 

[lilac-hecox]

would you write that idea that's been moving around here recently with everybody thinking ian and anthony are exes before actually getting to know them? bonus points if they hear about it and they actually reconsider some things 👀

Actually Exes?- Ian/Anthony - ianthony

--

It’s at lunch when Angela perks up and lets her mouth move faster than her brain, letting her thoughts fall like loose change from her mouth with no one to catch them.

“You know, I was thinking of how progressive it is that our company was not only founded by, but owned, and run successfully by a pair of exes. Gay exes at that.”

Chanse looks at her, arching an eyebrow. “Angela…”

“What?” she asks, taking a bite of her salad. “Don’t you think that’s cool? I mean. You don’t really see that a lot. Imagine buying back your company with your ex-boyfriend and making a big theatrical reunion and all that.”

“Oh, Ang…” Amanda says, as if she were looking at a cat who is struggling to figure out how to get itself out of a box or something.

Angela looks around at her friends and co-workers, and then she looks over at the far table where Ian and Anthony are seated, shoulder-to-shoulder. Anthony is cracking up at something Ian has said, a grin stretched across Ian’s face, as Anthony wheezes and pounds his fist on the table.

When Anthony regains his composure, they keep eating until Ian offers Anthony a bite of his salad from his own fork, which Anthony gladly takes.

“You’re telling me those two salads sharing freaks aren’t ex-boyfriends?” Angela asks.

“They aren’t,” Courtney says, turning away from Shayne next to her to focus on Angela and the conversation that had been going on next to them. “As much as it seems like they are.”

“But…” Angela says, frowning. All of her thoughts of a progressive Smosh being championed by queer owners flying out the window of her mind. “Look at them.”

Courtney smiles at the two men who are lost in a world that seems to be completely their own.

“I know, but I’ve known them a long time and as far as I know they’ve never been together.”

“This is one of those things where you guys are fucking with me, isn’t it?” Angela asks, “like, ha ha, Angela believed that Ian and Anthony never dated.”

“No! I swear!” Courtney says through giggles which isn’t helping her case.

“Bitch, don’t you think I would have said something?” Chanse asks.

“You did! Our half-time song at the funeral! The sexual tension of it all!”

Chanse blinks at Angela and then looks at the group around them.

“She’s got me there.”

“Angela,” Shayne says, smiling but more serious than the rest, “We swear as far as any of us know Ian and Anthony are just friends.”

Angela lets the conversation die down after that, but she keeps her eye on her bosses the rest of lunch in case they do anything that could signify that they ever were a couple.

Over the next few days Angela takes to watching Ian and Anthony. She follows a distance behind them as they walk down the hall together. She notes that Anthony knows the exact way Ian likes his coffee in the mornings. Later on, when they get ready to shoot, Angela overhears Ian reminding Anthony that he needs to grab a snack after the shoot because Anthony had a small breakfast. She watches Anthony smile and nod, reaching out to touch Ian’s arm in thanks.

There’s no way they’ve never dated.

She records a Lunchtime Podcast with them and Erin and during the episode they talk about how they sat together at lunch throughout high school. Ian even feeds Anthony a forkful of vegan spaghetti. Angela has to dig her nails into the palm of her hand to stop herself from asking outright during the podcast about their history and their relationship.

The next day Angela gets an email from Emily that they are looking for cast and crew meme submissions for the upcoming episode of Who Memed It? Angela scans the website Spencer had shown her for making memes, but nothing inspires her. She’s too wrapped up in this Ian and Anthony conspiracy.

The way they look at each other, talk to each other, how close they are, there is no way they aren’t amicable exes!

Things at Smosh get a little busier and Angela can’t keep track of Ian and Anthony as closely as she wants. She does walk by Ian’s office and catches him on his couch, phone in hand, Anthony with his head pillowed on Ian’s shoulder, napping there.

Then, they are set to film the Who Meme’d It? episode. Angela isn’t on the panel, but she sits and watches because those episodes are always a good time and really funny to watch be filmed. Ian and Anthony happen to be on the panel along with Courtney.

They go through the memes and then partway through Shayne presents a meme that is two people making out, bodies tangled together.

“So, this says, uh, how Angela sees Ian and Anthony,” Shayne says, laughing as he explains the meme.

Anthony laughs, his cheeks red, and Ian is grinning.

“Angela has seen us make out?” Anthony asks, glancing at her across the set.

“No, she just thought you two were actual ex-boyfriends,” Shayne says, laughing.

The cast and crew watching break into laughter, Angela too.

“Hey!” she says, standing up to defend herself, “it’s an honest mistake to make!”

The laughter quiets down and the panel make their guesses. The meme was made by Shayne, and he sheepishly grins at Angela as she glares at him.

When the video is over, Angela makes a beeline for Shayne, she is so wrapped up in giving him shit over his meme that she misses the way Ian and Anthony happen to slink off the set together, as usual.

--

“So, Angela thought we actually dated,” Anthony says, “that’s funny.”

“Of course she did,” Ian says, rolling his eyes, “she also thought xylophone was spelt with a ‘Z’.”

“Yeah, true, and she and Chanse wrote that half-time show saying we had sexual tension,” Anthony adds.

Ian looks at Anthony, the two of them in their shared office.  

“Our meddlesome kids,” Ian says with a sigh.

Anthony grins, “Yeah, see, when you say they are our kids, when we’re their dads, they kinda have a point.”

“Oh,” Ian says, “you want to talk to them? Tell them to tone it down?”

Anthony smiles, leaning across the expanse of Ian’s desk and covering Ian’s hand with his own, squeezing gently, affectionately.

“Nah, it’s way more fun this way.”

[thequeenofsarcaasm]

Chapter 9 of Love is in the hands

Thanks again to @bearhaviour for inspiring 50% of the nastiness of this chapter and to @fah-keet for always encouraging me to take artistic decisions that will lead me to hell.

Summary

After getting kicked out of his home for being queer, Suguru comes across his childhood sweetheart in a strange gay bar that is owned by his new “family”: a bunch of queer social rejects who were taken in by Yuki, an eccentric matriarch. He finds a new home (and his lost love) there.

Glimpse

“I don’t think I ever made someone cum that hard and that says a lot for coming from an ex professional piece of ass as myself. Are you okay?” Satoru asks.

“Still a bit overwhelmed. I’m sorry,” Suguru says, feeling gross over the mix of cum and sweat covering his body. 

“It’s okay. I think I should be the one apologizing,” Satoru says with a laugh. Gently, he rubs a warm, humid towel over his partner’s bare abdomen to get rid of any trace of their previous activities.

“You were great. I just-yeah. You were great. Too great even. My skirt- Shoot.” Suguru covers his forehead with his hands and shakes his head. Suddenly his voice is tangled up again and his cheeks are wet, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with me,” he sniffles. 

“Did my dick break my boyfriend? Did these people even pay me what I was worth?” Satoru asks himself aloud. But his attempt at humor is fruitless. Suguru can’t stop sobbing.

“Suguru,” Satoru discards the towel and pulls him in a tight embrace.”What’s wrong? Is it because of your parents?” he asks against his hair while gently petting it. 

“I’m fine. I just need a few minutes,” Suguru reassures in ragged breaths. What an embarrassing day for him. 

“Do you think tea would help calm you down?” Satoru asks. “Lavender maybe?” he suggests. His voice is so kind, so loving and his gaze so tender that the tears threaten to flow again.

“Maybe,” Suguru says.

Satoru collects his cum stained t-shirt and shorts from the floor and slips into them. Hopefully, he won’t meet anyone on his way. “Just give me two minutes. Okay? I’ll go fetch you some. Cuddle with my Kuromi while I’m gone. She smells just like me.” He leans down for a quick forehead kiss and walks out urgently. 

Indeed, Kuromi proves herself to be a great placeholder while Satoru is gone. Suguru fights against the cold by holding on tight to her, cradling her head like a human child. A few minutes later, Satoru comes back with his favorite mug, the one not even Suguru is allowed to touch, in normal circumstances at least. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks as he hands it to Suguru and sits on the edge of the bed..

“Yes. I-That pounding was for the books. Are you mad at me or something?” Suguru jokes. The mug is warm against his palms.

“I just got carried away,” Satoru laughs shyly. 

“Well, you might be a brute but you sure are great at aftercare. Thank you, Satoru,” Suguru says with a smile. The tears are gone.

“It’s the least I could do after making you cry. You were hot though. Super hot,” Satoru comments shamelessly.

His partner can’t help but chuckle. “I heard you the first time. You’re a sadist,” he says. 

“Can’t help it.” Satoru shrugs. “I’m not really normal about you,” he admits. “Besides, you’re not especially kind to my body either.”

“Can you remove your t-shirt and turn around for me?” Suguru asks as he places the mug on the bedside table and scrawls closer to examine Satoru’s back. He traces the red stripes with the tip of his fingers, earning a slight shudder from Satoru. “Does it hurt?”

Satoru turns his head to look at him. “Nah. It’s fine. I deserved it anyways,” he reassures. “You better trim those nails though. An accident could happen.”

“Do it for me later?” Suguru asks.

“Sure.” Satoru says.

The raven scoots even closer to him, pressing his chest against his back. “I love you, Satoru. With all my heart.” he whispers against Satoru’s shoulder, nuzzling him closely.

“Why so sentimental suddenly? Are you going to cry again?” Satoru taunts.

“I'm still dick drunk. Don’t mind me,” Suguru says. “Wait,” he perks up. “ Maybe I really am a cock slut.”.

Satoru claps his hands proudly. “Congratulations, you just unlocked the skill of self awareness,” he jokes.

‘Stop teasing,” Suguru giggles, more at the memories awakened by the clapping sounds than anything else. He rubs his cheek against Satoru’s freshly shaved undercut and leaves a little kiss just underneath. “ Hey Satoru,” he calls softly. “Do you think I should try something new with my hair?”

[justsome-di]

Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Final Chapter

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years by the time his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3. If you want to read more adventures of the NEUD cast and see other works by me, you can subscribe to my Patreon for only $4! If you’ve enjoyed the story and want to support me in other ways, consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

And thank you for reading this silly, little story. It means the world to me <3

Damián rolled over, stopping when he felt another body. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. Alex was sitting up next to him, scrolling through his phone with bedhead and alert eyes. When he saw Damián looking at him, he smiled.

“What time is it?” Damián asked.

There was a pound of gunk in his eyes, and his mouth was dry and fuzzy. He hadn’t slept so soundly in days. His brain was running slow, and his body refused to move any more than it had to turn his head toward Alex.

“10,” Alex said.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I called in sick. They can cope without me for a day.” Alex set his phone aside. “I thought maybe it’d be a good idea if I hung around today. Just in case we want to talk anymore. Or if you wanted a little company.”

The tables had never been turned like that before. It was always Damián providing the company. Not that he was complaining. It was nice. It was wonderful. He was glad Alex finally understood.

“I’d like that,” Damián said.

“Do you want breakfast?”

It was a loaded question. Damián pulled himself up, preparing to start his long explanation. Food was hard to stomach at the moment. He could eat some things but not others. Even if he felt like trying something, he might not eat all of it.

He had fasted so harshly the past few days. He didn’t know what he’d be able to eat or if he’d fall into a binge in front of Alex.

“We can do something small,” Alex said, not quite backtracking but offering a lifeline. “However much you want. Just maybe we should eat a little?”

“We can do a small home brunch,” Damián said, trying to sound casual.

“I’ve never done brunch before!”

“This is like a queer initiation. We’re doing at-home brunch.”

“Please be here for my first brunch.”

He liked the way Alex said “we.” “We” could eat a little. There was no pushing. There was no anger. It was just understanding, patience, and solidarity. The promise of making food into something more than just eating—a bigger bonding moment—eased some of the uneasy turning in Damián’s stomach.

Damián pulled himself up even though it was hours before he would have willingly gotten up on any other day. He pulled on a shirt, borrowed from Alex, that actually fit well. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he cataloged that information.

Eve was standing in the middle of the living room, dressed and with her school bag on her shoulders. She stared ahead. Leo sat in the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear.

“What’s going on?” Alex whispered.

“I would love to,” Leo said. “My brother went out the other night, and what this student told me was he was at the bar, and then all of a sudden he wasn’t—he was, you know. He was acting different. Like he was really drunk. But he hadn’t been there all that long. The bartender said he had only served him a glass of wine. And then the man my brother was with was trying to get him out of the bar. He apparently left when some people confronted him and offered help.”

Damián’s heart sank. Alex’s hand came to rest, lightly, on his back. Damián could have easily inched forward to break off the contact, but he leaned into it.

Leo took a quiet, deep breath. He laid his free hand on the countertop.

“And someone else managed to call me from his phone,” he continued. “She was a nurse, apparently. And she told me where they were and what she thought had happened, and I met them down there. And he was—he wasn’t okay.”

He was quiet for a minute, allowing the man on the other side of the phone to speak. He closed his eyes. His chest was heaving in and out.

“No, it wasn’t that,” Leo said. “He was totally out of it, and the bartender said there was no way he could have gotten that drunk. And he was sober when he got there. I saw him right before he left.” And I’m sorry that there’s no proof. My brother just wants to move on. He doesn’t want to press charges, and he didn’t go to the police or anything right after. It’s really time-sensitive, you know. And now that we lost the opportunity to get proof—yes, sir. That’s exactly right.”

Leo listened for a few more seconds and then quickly pulled his phone away from his ear and turned on the speakerphone.

“—really am sorry that that happen to your brother. That doesn’t reflect our company, and we would never support someone who would do something like that.”

“But your employee did do it.”

“Right. Right. I did contact the bar late last night as soon as I received the email, and they did confirm what you told me, and I’ve been conducting a thorough investigation since. So, the only option moving forward is our company will be cutting ties with Mr. Trills.”

Leo punched the air. Eve relaxed a little in her stance. Damián felt a little something inside him settle and loosen.

“I mean, that’s unfortunate, but honestly, it’s a relief to hear after what my family has been through.”

And when Leo said it, he didn’t just look at Damián. He looked at Eve, too, and then with great reluctance, Alex.

“I hope you all find comfort in that decision, then. And thank you for being willing to talk about this.”

“Yeah. No problem. Thank you for listening.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too, Mr. Parkwood.” Leo hung up and slammed his phone down on the counter. “Fucking got ‘em.”

Eve jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands. It was the most emotion Damián had seen from the kid.

“You’re going to be late,” Leo told her, stern. “Go.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours!” she said. “Damián, we’re celebrating tonight!”

Damián watched her run from the apartment and slam the door behind her. Alex nudged him a little toward the counter and to the seat next to Leo.

Damián didn’t know what to do with his little victory. He was happy, of course, but he wished it hadn’t had to happen. He didn’t blink for a few seconds too long. He ground his teeth together, starting a little bit of a headache at his jaw and traveling up to his temple.

Alex put his hand on his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Was that all good?” Leo asked.

Damián smiled and cupped his cheek. He pulled his hand back and lovingly slapped Leo’s face, making it split into a smile.

“You were wonderful,” Damián said. “You were perfect. Thank you for doing that.”

Leo shrugged and looked away.

“I’m going to order brunch for all of us.” Alex pulled out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. “Do you guys like French toast? I’m already thinking of a place.”

“Can I get pancakes?” Leo asked. “Please? If it’s an option.”

“Oh, you’re nice to him now that he’s getting you breakfast,” Damián said.

“I’m easily bought.”

As Alex placed their orders, Damián started to figure out how the coffee pot worked. Alex exclusively kept bougie, gourmet coffee in his cabinets. If Damián wanted anything fancier than a bag he could grab at a grocery store, he went to a coffee shop and had someone brew it for him. He always thought it was pointless to buy something expensive if he had no idea how to brew it. It was like picking up a Stradivarius after a few violin lessons.

But Alex had fancy contraptions on his counter. He knew how to roast coffee well. Damián stared at the bag and at the glass carafes tucked away in the corner.

Alex took the bag from his hands. “I got this.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I’m just doing this for you. You can chill.”

Damián fell into the stool next to Leo. Without something to keep him busy, he didn’t know what to do.

“Don’t you have a class?” Damián asked.

“My prof let us have the day off to work on our capstones.”

“So, are you going to work on it?”

“Probably not. I’ll be honest.”

Alex poured three cups of amazing coffee that Leo “tainted” by adding sugar and milk. Damián wasn’t a huge fan of black coffee, but he didn’t want to insult Alex’s special blends by adding anything. Just like last time, he trusted Alex’s barista skills.

Alex took a test sip of Damián’s coffee to make sure it was cool enough to hand over. Again, Damián didn’t burn his lips or tongue.

Brunch came to the door just after 11, and they set it up at the limited counter space.

Over a mouthful of pancakes, Leo told them all about his capstone project. Alex, Damián could tell, was trying his best to understand. He asked questions, and Leo was actually polite and patient as he explained it all. Leo’s manners might have taken a dip over the past month but at least he wasn’t pretentious. Damián barely kept up with all the math jargon himself, but eventually, he let the conversation fade behind him.

Damián picked up the trash of the takeout bags and containers and tucked his barely-touched breakfast away in the fridge. Alex insisted he try again later. Even if it took all day, Damián promised himself he would try finishing the modest serving of French toast.

Eve called Leo to scream in his ear that her professor graded her test in front of her and that she had passed with a grade that wasn’t fantastic but that she could definitely pass the semester with.

It was the first time Damián had watched Leo be so excited for someone else. He was glowing. His little protege, he said, had done so well.

And sitting there, watching Leo congratulate Eve and Alex pour more coffee for all of them and hearing Eve’s excited squeals on the other end of the phone, he hoped that he would get to have many more mornings like that. And, by the way everyone was laughing, he was almost sure that there would be.

He believed, at his core, that he deserved a happy ending. And while he wasn’t sure what it was going to look like, he was fairly certain that he was getting a happy middle to lead up to it.

[moodmother]

Witch's Dozen - Part I

"Aha!"

A claw-like grip seizes her arm, just as her fingertips have brushed one of the biscuits on the windowsill.

She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere on her long walk home through the forest. Standing in a desolate clearing, she came upon a lonely cabin, hardly more than a shack. And there, in the open window, a tray of shortbread cookies set to cool. And she is so very hungry, and there had seemed to be no one around.

The old woman gripping her arm is gaunt and stooped but terrifyingly strong. Silver hair hangs in long curtains on either side of her wolfish face. She bares sharp grey teeth in a cruel grin.

"I was just about to feed the hogs, and here's a new one come swaggering in. Wants all the shortbread for herself, I reckon."

The younger woman, the interloper, tries to speak, to explain. But the hag reaches across her, picks up one of the biscuits, and goes on: "You must be greedy as a hog to come thieving food that's not yours. Lucky for you, these are made special, with hogs in mind." The hag drags the young woman around the side of the shack, to a pigsty where a dozen skinny, mean-looking animals root about in the dirt. 

"Special," the hag repeats, still grinning. She holds up the biscuit. "Watch." She lobs it into the sty, where one of the hogs snaps it up.

Before the younger woman's eyes, the hog begins to change. It swells outward in every direction. Its eyes sink into soft drooping jowls. Its sides and rump bloat out, and its belly sags down so that it nearly brushes the ground. After the transformation, what had been a quick, lean animal now lumbers around the sty, laboring beneath its own bulk.

"Twice the weight it was before," growls the hag.

+++

Suddenly they are not out beside the hog pen anymore. The young woman blinks in the dim, dusty light, and realizes that they must be inside the witch's cabin. To her right is the hearth and to her left a bed. Drying herbs and flowers hang from the low ceiling. She is seated before a table, and the hag looms over her. The shortbread biscuits are piled ominously onto a plate in front of her.

"Made a baker's dozen," the witch murmurs into the woman's ear. "So there are twelve left. Supposed to be for the hogs, but this hog here thinks she owns the place. Thinks the whole batch is for her."

Fear jolts through the young woman's chest. She tries to stand but the hag grips her shoulder and pushes her back down into the chair. Twice what it had weighed before. The woman is a sturdy young farmwife, lean and in her prime; 150 pounds, give or take.

She opens her mouth to protest--and like a flash the hag shoves a biscuit into it. Some irresistible force compels her to chew and swallow. It is slightly sweet, but mostly it is powerfully unctuous. The buttery oiliness of it coats her mouth and throat, and seems to fill her stomach and then her skin.

The seams of her clothes pinch as her body swells. They strain painfully against her skin, and then start to give way. Every part of her bulges out heavy and soft. Her belly presses against the edge of the table. The heft of her breasts tugs downward, straining the fabric of her dress. She cannot see her own face, but she can feel the fullness in her cheeks, the weight of a jowl that has formed beneath her chin. Beneath her, she can feel the edges of her buttocks swell out across the seat of the chair and sag slightly over the sides. When the changes have stopped, she sits quivering and fat, crammed painfully into her straining clothes.

Shocked, too shocked to weep or scream, she tries again to say something. To protest or plead. But the hag just stuffs another biscuit into her mouth.

The sensation of growing is itself so strange. A tickling almost, a warm queer trembling, across her entire body, deep within her flesh. And then a flood of pressure, of filling up from some unseen well, her body a helpless vessel.

The edge of the table digs into her belly, which swells up into a fleshy heap and finally creeps out to hang over her knees. Her huge, shapeless breasts snap free of her dress. Any remaining seams give way and burst against her burgeoning bulk; her dress, shift, and underwear all tear away.

She becomes terribly aware of how her enormous underside--her thighs and buttocks--is overflowing the seat and sagging down toward the ground. The chair creaks with the strain.

She can feel it around her jaw, as her neck is swallowed up by her chins. Her back and sides bloat out so that her heavy arms cannot hang freely at her sides. She rests her forearms on the table, and watches in horror as her very fingers swell.

The chair finally breaks. She tumbles to the ground, naked. Big enough now to be someone that her former self might have gawked at. The size of a circus fat lady.

The hag cackles. Tears sting the younger woman's eyes.

"Learned our lesson, have we?" The hag reaches out an arm as if to help the woman up. And after some struggling, she does manage to stand, bracing herself against the hag's inhuman strength.

She is in shock. This is terrible, unthinkable…but she can carry on. People do, after all. She will live her life. Just differently--that's all. Just as soon as she escapes this awful place.

As she moves to stagger around the table toward the door, the hag laughs again. A horrible, cruel, mocking laugh. And the younger woman finds herself rooted in place, held still, trapped not by her weight but by some invisible force. Just standing, trembling but inert.

The hag shoves a third biscuit into her mouth. And the feeling washes over her yet again, the sensation of filling up. Still held in place, she feels her back and sides swell out, propping up her useless arms. Her upper arms billow into dimpled sacks of fat, and a deep crease forms at the joints between her hands and bloated wrists. Hips and sides and back and buttocks all merge into a great mass of flesh, and gravity pulls the heavy rolls down toward the floor.

Her belly bloats out, and out, and out, so that she staggers backward beneath its weight. Then gravity prevails, dragging the entire mass of it downward. With a soft pat, the lower edge of her tremendous belly hits the floor. Beneath it, her feet are buried beneath the overhanging flesh of her lower legs.

Her neck is gone completely now, her head propped up on a thick collar of fat.

The table has been nudged away by her expanding mass, but the witch somehow hovers close, holding the remaining biscuits piled up in her apron.

"Now," the hag hisses, "you're about as heavy as any hog or human has ever been. Soak that in a bit. I got nine biscuits left, and I won't see them go to waste."

The hideous, impossible implications flood the woman’s mind. “Nooo” she begins to moan, but the hag just crams a fourth biscuit into her mouth....

[thatseventiesbitch]

https://www.tumblr.com/creativepromptsforwriting/686054087997997056/drabble-list-7

Geia for #5!!!

Thank you for this ask, Poorni! Have a request? You can submit it to me here.

"I feel like this is definitely going to be my year," Leia told Gwen. She'd blown out the candles on her birthday cake just a few minutes ago - all sixteen of them - and now Leia, Gwen, and Ozzie sat around a card table her grandpa had set up in the garage, munching on the chocolatey confection.

"Oh yeah?" Gwen asked affectionately. They sat next to each other on folding chairs. "Why's that?"

Leia hesitated, like she wasn't prepared for the question. "Well. Because eventually it has to happen. Right?" She looked around desperately at her friends for confirmation.

But they just looked at her blankly. Ozzie started to slowly shake his head.

"No, you have to make it happen." His voice had its usual hard edge, but it was belied by the crinkle of kindness by his eyes.

"Oh, I'm gonna make things happen this year," Leia raised her eyebrow at Ozzie. Challenge accepted. "In fact - " she spun towards Gwen and grabbed her face, crushing her lips into hers. They clung together for a few seconds... lingered together for a few more... before pulling away. They both panted, recovering their breath. Their eyes were locked together and neither of them looked away until Ozzie coughed.

"Well. Way to seize the gay - I mean day, Leia." He smirked.

Gwen continued to stare at Leia. Slowly, like she was a little unsure or maybe in shock, she brought her hand up to her mouth and touched her lips gently. But she didn't speak.

Leia stared back at Gwen. Her expression was nervous - she bit her lip, and her eyes were clouded over with worry.

"I'm sor- "

"What was that?" Gwen had finally found her voice, and her tone was one of astonishment rather than accusation.

"I do not know."

"How long have you...?"

"I do not know," Leia protested again, her eyes wild. "It just - Ozzie said I have to make things happen if I want them to happen, and I - I've wanted this to happen," she admitted, her voice suddenly going soft as she became almost bashful, shy to her very best friend. "For a long time."

"You've thought about kissing me for a long time?" Gwen said evenly.

Leia glanced up at her, but her expression was unreadable. But she was in for a penny, in for a pound now. She cringed. "I - I, yeah. Yeah."

"Huh," Gwen said. She paused long enough for Leia to see their whole friendship flash before her eyes, but then she said, "I've thought about kissing you before, too. A lot, actually."

Leia's eyes snapped to hers. Her heart was thundering.

"And I wanna do it again." Gwen smirked. She closed the distance between them, pulling Leia's head close. Her fingers tangled in the back of Leia's hair and her tongue tangled with Leia's as the two girls relaxed into the kiss.

Next to them, Ozzie cheered. "Oh my god," he exclaimed. "I have queer friends now!" He fist pumped excitedly to himself as his friends continued to make-out. Ozzie smiled and headed inside the house. "The real winner at Leia's birthday party, is me."

[comfy-whumpee]

Tyler

Implied past abuse, homophobia and alcohol. BBU.

If you’re just here for the epistolary material, scroll to the end! Preceding piece: Everyone.

“See you later, Phil.”

The last person left the office. It was Friday night, and Roman had gone home with Dillon, Joel and Phil had finished up, and Tyler was left working late with Charlie on this stupid urgent Christmas thing. The world outside the windows was a dark void, speckled by street lights. The office was weirdly quiet without Roman washing up or pottering around tidying. Hell, if they stayed late enough the cleaner would show up.

Charlie had been quiet all week. Roman was fucking limping from his stress. They needed to make sure everything was sorted before they closed and all took the week off. Charlie didn’t want to be fixing shit while he was having Christmas with his girlfriend.

Tyler would probably go visit his mom. She got lonely at this time of year. Maybe he’d be able to take Ro, as well. Give him a proper holiday. Introduce him…

“Let’s stop there,” Charlie said, leaning back and running a hand through his flattened quiff, as if trying to coax more life into it. He always over-oiled his hair to keep it in shape. Shaking his hand now would feel greasy.

Tyler closed his notebook gladly, dropping his pen on top. Most of their clients wouldn’t be doing business during the festive period, but they also didn’t want the app to break. It was their first time closing the office for a week; last year they’d barely taken seven days off between them. Planning around the issue before it happened was how Charlie liked to do things, but it was a headache.

“I wanted to talk to you about Roman,” Charlie said.

His voice was low and calm, or it sounded calm. Tyler knew Charlie never let everything out at once. He built up to it. When he called Roman into the office, he started off venting, and only smacked him around after he’d worked himself up. It was cathartic, he said.

“We all know you’re gay.”

The statement was so fucking far out of left field that Tyler almost laughed. “What the fuck?”

“Nobody cares. Roman turns you on. Whatever. But we’ve all seen how you’re looking at him these days. Coming in early to hang out with him. Giving him hugs.”

Tyler sat very still, feeling his body start to burn. “Shut up,” he protested, but his voice had fled. His face was on fire. His blood was pounding.

“I’m trying to be nice,” Charlie snapped back. His eyes were dark, so dark. He was furious. Tyler knew it. It beat in his pulse. Like watching his dad neck a bottle of beer. “I’m trying to be nice,” Charlie repeated, voice calmer but harder. “I heard you talk bullshit about freeing him. Taking him away with you.”

He listened to them. When did he find out? Had he snuck in one morning to eavesdrop? Was there a day they didn’t hear the door?

“I haven’t told the others. I don’t need the hassle. But this is your one fucking warning, alright?”

Charlie still sounded so calm. He wasn’t calm. He couldn’t be. Tyler watched his hands, folded on the table in front of him. They’d move. Any second now. They’d throw the first punch.

“You stood there and planned to steal the most expensive company property we have. Over some fucking scratches on his hand. If I see you doing any of that shit again, treating him like your little boyfriend, having your breakfast dates and whatever, you’re out of this goddamn company. Alright?”

Tyler watched. Charlie’s hands didn’t move. His engagement ring would sting harder than the punch. Light shone off it.

His father had always said he had to be a man, and take his hits like one. Failed on both counts. The old man would have an aneurysm to know Tyler was a pet-liberating queer.

“Alright?” Charlie repeated. Anger pressing up against the word, threatening to break through.

“Alright,” Tyler repeated back mechanically.

“He’s not going home with you anymore. I see you taking him off this property, I call the cops. You don’t talk to him or get alone with him. Stop being such a fucking moron.”

“Alright.”

Charlie sighed. “Alright. Go home and download Grindr or something. Get outta here.”

Tyler got up feeling like every muscle was hardened clay. He picked up his notebook and pen. He walked to his desk, scooped up his bag and jacket, and left the office to walk to his car.

Charlie had been quiet all week. Charlie had been beating Roman every day. Had screamed at him, red in the face, embarrassing to watch. He’d stopped apologising after. Stopped feeling guilty.

Tyler hadn’t noticed. Still stupid. Still slow.

He’d have to stop talking to the lawyer. She’d want him to push on, be a whistleblower or some shit. Throw everything away to take these guys to court for an outcome Roman didn’t even fucking want.

What was the point?

They knew. They knew everything he’d tried to keep secret. We all know you’re gay.

He hadn’t. Not until he’d started getting close to Roman.

Tyler drove on autopilot, gaze skittering across the road and back again for hazards without consciously processing it. It was only when he passed a billboard with two dressed-up pets, blown up larger than life under the electric lights, that the dam broke.

Make a positive change this season.

Humiliation and anger took over, and the tears rushed up. He pulled over and cried like a child, alone in his car, three days before Christmas.

-

@neuro-whump​​, @rosesareviolentlyread​​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf​, @pumpkin-spice-whump​, @whumpsday​ @kira-the-whump-enthusiast​, @firewheeesky​, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question​

[house-of-slayterr]

The Gangs All Here:

Tag: @oceansrose2002 @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @myers-meadow-selfship @queer-and-utter-chaos

Blinky’s POV:

I sadly bid goodbye to Tommy, but promised I’d come visit soon. His mother made it clear I was welcome anytime, despite her original hostility. And I told Monty I’d attempt to fix the wall next time and bring my good supplies. I had pretty much zoned out the whole day, my autism being particularly annoying today. Every little thing was making my skin crawl and my head pound. But I was trying my best to remain calm and in control.

Macy pulled up to our usual spot and parked.

“Wanna get some lunch before we head back to your place?”

I nodded. She frowned, lifting my chin with her finger.

“You feeling ok pretty girl?”

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I walk through that door Macy. I ran away, yes I told them I was going but still, I was a coward, I left.”

“I’m sure they won’t hold that against ya puddin’ how could anyone stay mad at you?”

She missed my nose and I giggled.

“Want me to go in with you?”

My eyes widened as I looked at her.

“It’s not like I don’t know.”

“I know that you know. But they don’t- know… you know, you know?”

“You’re cute when you don’t think before you speak.” She jeered.

I rolled my eyes.

“I just, I don’t want them to freak out. What if someone tries to hurt you? That would kill me inside.”

“You’re worried about me getting hurt? May I remind you I beat Thomas in our little wrestling contest last night?”

“Yeah you did” I smiled dreamily.

“There’s that smile I love so much! Come on let’s get you some proper food, I’m buying.”

Macy was too tall to put her arm on my shoulder, so she just put it on my head and I playfully glared up at her. I don’t know how she does it. Macy isn’t the happiest of people, at least not on the outside. Most people would probably find her scary or intimidating. Yet she always managed to make me smile, from that first day we met all those months ago.

Miss G greeted Macy and I Happily. As we sat in our spot she set down our coffees, leaving the pot at the table.

“You know you two are my favourite right?” She said.

Macy smiled at her. “Your boss makes the only edible food in this town” Macy joked, “it’s good to see you again.”

“You two deary, you know what you want to order yet? I know this one wants a pastry.” She laughed.

“Yes please!”

“Give us a moment to think, take your time with the other customers.”

Miss G gave us a kind smile and left us to look at the menus.

“Ugh, why can’t that woman be my mother.” Macy quipped.

“I know right. But Luda ain’t all that bad. She’ll get better.” I said, placing my hand in hers.

“I’ve never seen her yell at Hoyt like that before Blinky, I think you starred a wildfire.” She laughed.

“Good, your family needed to get in gear. I swear y’all didn’t say two words to each other that weren’t about me. Do you guys even talk?” I asked.

“Just me and Tommy. Nobody wants to hear what Hoyt or Monty have to say. And Ma, she has her kind moments but we mostly just stick to ourselves. I don’t mind it that much, means I don’t have anyone up my ass when I disappear from time to time.”

“And where would you be right now, if you weren’t with me?” I asked, curious.

“The Glenwood Cemetery in Huston. The place is huge! Everytime I go I read a few new graves and I like to think about the lives they may have had. Oldest grave I’ve found so far was 1871.”

I smiled fondly. Macy had strange interests but I always let her talk about them. I loved hearing her voice when she was happy. It had this little hum, when her tongue moves to fast and hit the top of her mouth. It sounded like little bees in my ears. She had the slightest lisp that she tried really hard to hide, but I thought it added to her charm.

My voice whistled too, ever since I lost that tooth. Sometimes my tongue would poke out from behind it and make a weird little sound. We looked over the menu, I knew it was really important to her that I ate something “healthy” so I put a pause on the could so I could focus. But that didn’t last long when I caught her staring.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Nothing,”

I squinted my eyes at her.

“Did you know you stick your tongue out when your focused?” She asked smugly.

“Pftt, I dont-“ I looked down, “oh. What’s that doing there?” I said.

She laughed airily, loud enough that some of the other patrons looked out way. But Macy was not one to be shy. Sure, she was stand offish, but that was because she didn’t like people. But she was never shy.

“I don’t know how you do it Blink, but I swear you get cuter each day.”

I blushed heavily.

“Hush, I’m trying to focus.”

She held her hands up in mock surrender. Seemingly she already knew what she was going to order.

“What about this? That’s got protein right?”

I pointed to it on her menu.

“A Falafel burger, sure, tons. You sure you’re up for trying it?”

“Mmm, it’s been a good day. I think I can handle a new food.”

“You two ready?”

“Umm yes, can we have one Falafel burger, fries on a different plate please. And I’ll take two of your lunch burritos and a salad for us to split.”

“You kids are hungry today, coming right up. Oh, Blinky the pastry of the day is apple fritters.” She addressed me.

“Apples!” I said, my eyes glowing.

She leaned in to whisper.

“I’ll put a few aside for you in a take out box.”

“You’re the best!” I smiled.

“Anything else to drink? Or just coffee today?”

I turned to Macy, “milkshake?” She grinned wide, “a strawberry milkshake with two straws please.”

“Coming right up. I’ll put extra whipped cream and a Cherry for each of you.”

“You’re a god send.” Macy complimented.

The woman blushed and hurried off to the kitchen.

“You’re only getting a milkshake cause you’ve been so good today. I’m proud of you for how you handled my family. They’re enough to drive anyone crazy”

I pouted.

“I’m always good.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Sure you are Blink, you’re like a little hurricane that sneaks up on people.”

I frowned.

“Oh come on Blink. You know you can’t have all this sugar all the time. You said you were studying medicine, you should know this.”

“Yeah yeah, so it could thicken my heart muscles. Fine, I’ll cut back on my sugar.”

“Wait really, that’s what happens?”

“Mmm, it increases your insulin and it has nowhere else to go.” I shrugged.

“And you still eat the way that you do? Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Not before you, no. And I didn’t have much of a choice. America is stupid, the things that are the worst for you are the cheapest and most readily available. I could buy a watermelon for $3.50 or I could get two boxes of cereal that will feed me for a week.”

“You mean for breakfast right?”

“Breakfast, lunch, dinner… it doesn’t matter, I used to ration one meal a day so I’m not really used to this whole, normal diet thing.”

Macy cringed.

“God Blinky, no wonder you’re so tiny. Your body never had anything to help it grow. The foods not going anywhere ok? You can eat as much as you want.”

“I know that, it’s just hard I guess. Old habits right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, tell me more about this cemetery.” I tried to pivot the conversation on me.

I knew she wouldn’t judge, but I didn’t like conversations focused on my flaws. It made me uneasy.

“Oh my god, you would love it there. It’s so quiet and the grounds keeper is really nice. There’s actually this crypt there a family and build in the early 1900s. They’re son had been missing for years and they thought he was dead, then he just showed up out of nowhere with no memories. Since he was alive, it never got used. He lets me go in there and write sometimes.”

“Wow, that does sound nice. Maybe I could read some of you writing sometime.”

“You gonna show me that drawing you did of me?”

“Eventually…”

“Then you have your answer.”

I rolled my eyes. Touché. The food came and Macy looked likes she had never seen food in her entire life. It was always funny to me how she could eat like there wasn’t enough food in the world. Miss G set the milkshake in the middle of the table.

“You two let me know if you need anything else.”

“Of course, thank you!” I said politely.

I stared at my food for a second, dissecting it with my eyes. Macy has already taken a bit out of one of her burritos. But she waited until her mouth wasn’t full to speak again. She slid some silverware across the table to me.

“Take off the top bun, it will be easier to cut.” She said.

I took the silverware and followed her instructions. I cut it into 6 neat pieces. And separated them on my plate.

“Ketchup?” I asked.

“Try a bite first.” She answered.

I nodded, slowly bringing the food to my mouth. The texture wasn’t what I was expecting, but it wasn’t bad. The flavour was nice, and I smiled into the bite. She looked at me expectantly and I gave her a thumbs up.

“Ketchup.” I concluded.

She let out a little snort from her nose, which made me scrunch mine in return. It was a adorable. I ate about half of it before I reached for the milkshake. It was much better. It was sweet, and cold and it felt nice on my tongue. Macy had mostly been drinking her coffee, and I had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to save most of it for me.

“You can have some you know, we did order to share.”

“You first.” She said.

“You know full well I’ll drink this whole thing by myself if you don’t stop me.” I teased.

“Ok, sassy. Fine I’ll have some.”

She moved the cup between us and sipped from her straw. It was like one of those classic scenes from those 50s movies. To top it off, she scooped up some whipped cream in her finger and put it on my nose. I pulled back, alarmed.

“You did not just-“

“I did, what are you gonna do about it?”

I took a French fry and threw it at her head, but she caught it in her mouth. I glared at her and she just laughed.

“Face it Blinky, you’re even sweeter than this milkshake.” She said.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I know.”

I moved my plate out of the way, and stabbed my fork into the salad. We got it with no dressing cause I hate dressing. It made the veggies also soggy. Gross. The crispy cucumbers were my favourite part. I was surprised to see Macy was already onto her second burrito. I think it had eggs and meat and cheese, I looked at it in disgust. I didn’t mean to show it on my face, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Macy rolled her eyes.

“You enjoying the salad.”

“Very fresh.” I said.

She took a break from her monstrosity of a lunch to eat some of the salad with me. I had no idea how she wasn’t full already. I sipped my coffee, the contrast between it and the Milkshake were a little jarring. But it wasn’t bad. The caffeine would help. I’d been sober for almost a week now, and I wasn’t feeling the best. But Macy didn’t need to know about that. I recently learned her middle name was Josephine cause Tommy’s sign name for her was MJ.

He made mine “cute” but signed with a B for my name. How could I argue against it when he himself looked cute signing it. I didn’t want to break his heart, so I gladly excepted the name. It was easier than spelling out Blinky. Tiny’s name already had a sign, so he didn’t need a special one. Miss G came back and she down one pasty for each of us, while sliding the take out box into my backpack with a wink. I smiled at her as she was called away to help someone else.

“Hey M?”

“Yes?” She asked.

“What if I- no it’s stupid.”

“Nothing you can say is stupid Blinky. I say the same thing to Tommy all the time. You both need to be a little more confident.” She said.

“What if I worked here?” I asked.

“Here? It’s not that far from your house I don’t think. Not that I’ve been there yet.” She put emphasis on the last part, “it’s a bit of a walk though isn’t it?” She pointed out.

I hummed.

“But you’d look cute in the uniform.” She smirked.

Of course that’s what she would focus on. The only think more ferocious then her appetite, was her sex drive. And I had unknowingly unleashed that can of worms. Oops.

“I’d have to ask of course. But like, beats working at the gas station. And it’s small enough that even full it wouldn’t be too loud, not that it ever gets too full.”

“Can you handle a job?” She cringed, “I’m sorry that came out wrong.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ve had plenty before. I think my family will be more lenient on chores if I’m bringing in more money. Plus there’s tips. Only tip we get at the gas station is a middle finger.” I laughed.

“Then go for it. I could come visit you at work.” She smiled.

“And you wouldn’t have to worry so much about me when you’re back home. Now we know they have something healthy I can eat.”

“That is very true.”

When we finished our meal I only had two pieces of my burger left, but I didn’t think it would heat up well. I looked at Macy.

“It’s ok little bug, you did good. I’m proud of you.”

I smiled, glad I was able to please her. I was surprised when she put a whole $20 on the table for tip. I raised a brow at her.

“Made some extra fixing up an old bike and a few days before you called. I’ve got some cash to spend, and she deserves it.”

“Don’t leave it on the table, sticky fingers around here.” I suggested.

We walked up to the counter and slid the money to Miss G.

“Aww thank you cuties, you didn’t half to.”

“Please for all you do for us, I did have a question though.”

“Shoot kid!”

“Are you guys hiring? I’d have to ask my dad but-“

“I would love to have you working here, you’d bring some smiles to this place. Let me go get the paperwork and you can think on it.”

“Thank you.”

We waited by the counter for a second, but that’s when a three boys walked in. Roughly around our age, maybe a little older than me. But they were the rowdy type, that much was evident from the laughter disturbing the peace. I tensed slightly but Macy rubbed her hand up my arm.

The came beside us to sit at the counter, and started hollering for some service. I rolled my eyes.

“Ain’t anybody working here or is it self service?” On of them called.

I grit my teeth, if I was gonna work here I’d have to deal with idiots like this. But they were no worse than the gas station idiots. But when she came back out to hand me my papers and one of the boys said something under his breath, o was beyond irritated. She didn’t deserve that.

“When you’re done serving that fine piece of ass over there, could you help a brother out?” One of the older looking boys said.

I saw his eyes on Macy and I was shaking. She wasn’t very pleased about it either. I said my thank you to Miss G and gave her a look of pity as she walked over to them. What I wasn’t expecting was for one of them to come over while his friends were order.

“You from around here sweetheart?” He asked Macy.

She rolled her eyes turning around.

“No, but my girlfriend is” she put emphasis on the girlfriend part.

I smiled smuggly.

“Why looking for something to do, afraid there’s not much. Why dont you and you’re friend check out Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen, if you’re up for a good scare.”

Macy gave me a look, recognising all the months ago when I told her to stay far away. She grinned.

“Yeah, if you’re man enough.” Macy teased him.

“Oh I’m man enough, we’ll check it out for sure. You two hotties gonna be there”

“You bet!” I sent a fake wink. “See you around handsome.”

Macy and I burst out laughing when we got outside.

“So do I finally get to see your Gruncle’s cabinet of curiosities?”

“We wouldn’t miss that for the world.” I grinned.

They deserved it for being rude or Miss G, and Ogling my girls ass.

“You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be I guess. Don’t take it to personally if they don’t like you at first. Otis hates everyone.”

She chuckled, “sounds a lot like Hoyt”

I froze, turning to look at her.

“He is nothing like that man.” I said coldly, I hadn’t meant to.

And I know she didn’t mean to insult him. But Otis was nothing like that Vile man Macy shared blood ties with.

“Sorry, that was meant to be a joke. Won’t happen again.”

“No, I’m- I’m sorry Macy I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m just a little on edge right now.”

“Blinky you don’t have to apologise for having emotions. You love your dad, and I love that you do.”

I smiled at her, getting onto her bike as usual as we rode back to the house. As we pulled up, I’m sure it was loud enough in the house no one had heard us. I grabbed Macy’s hand and lead her to the garden.

“Where are we going?”

“I gotta check on something first.” I said.

I dragged her around the side of the house, and sure enough there was some fresh dirt. We both stopped and looked down at it.

“Is that?”

“My mother, yeah. Rest in pieces I guess.”

Macy snorted and flipped off the pile of dirt. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

“Good, good to know that part of my life is over. I never want to think about her again if I can help it.”

I knelt down and started picking some of the lilies I’d planted a while ago.

“What are you doing Blink?” Macy asked curiously.

I held the flowers up to her.

“Gives these to Mama, than at the very least she’ll like you. If Mama likes you, no one is gonna dare disobey her. Not unless they got hit over the head a few to many times, so maybe don’t talk to RJ.” I joked, “that was a joke btw.”

“You’re cute.”

“So you keep saying.”

“It’s true though. And I’ll keep saying it because it makes you blush every time.”

“You’re evil, you know that woman? Total scum bag.” I said.

“Mmm, and do evil women get a kiss from their partner?” She mused.

“I don’t know, are you gonna be nice when we go inside?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about it.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the flowers down on the ledge near the house and picked me up, spinning me around. I couldn’t help but giggle, and when she finally stopped she pulled me in to a kiss. I melted into it, feeling all the stress leave my body.

“I’ll behave” she whispered, leaning down so her forehead was on mine.

“And I’ll protect you if anyone tries anything.”

“Aww, my little guard dog.”

I glared up at her.

“Come on, let’s get inside. I’m sure they’re worried about you. I would be too if you suddenly disappeared for 5 days.”

I cringed. Yeah not my best move. But I was glad none the less that Otis let me leave. It was nice to be away from the house for a while. I didn’t need to knock cause I had the house key. I pushed the door open and was immediately greeted by the chaotic sounds of my family. Baby was blasting music in the living room, I could hear Mama and Spaulding chatting in the kitchen, and I have no idea what the hell the others were doing at the back of the house but I could hear it from here.

I grabbed Macy’s hand and dragged her into the kitchen. Spaulding was the first to look up. One thing about him, he never forgot a face.

“Don’t I know you?” He addressed Macy.

“We met a whole back, at that farmers market. Blinky here sold me some of your chicken. Which was really good by the way.”

Smart move, Spaulding loved compliments. Especially about his cooking. He, Mama and Otis cooked the most in the house. Manon specialised more in dinner, and Selena sometimes helped with the prep work.

“These are for you Mrs. Firefly.” Macy held out the flowers and Mama gladly took them.

“Oh how sweet, we’re glad to have you Back Blinky. Why don’t you introduce us to your friend here?”

Mama was always hospitable. Which is why I went to her first.

“Mama, Cap, this is actually my girlfriend. Macy. I stayed with her while I was away.”

“Girlfriend?” Spaulding asked amused.

“Mhhhm, she knows about us.” I clarified so they wouldn’t have to lecturing about keeping someone around being dangerous. “She would never tell anyone.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes sir. My family participated in a similar… hobby.” She explained.

Sure saying you’re a killer is one thing, but I don’t blame her for not wanting to tell them right away.

“When did this happen?” Mama asked, ushering us both to sit.

“Since the Framers Market.”

“All that time and you kept ‘er a secret? Not sure how Otis is gonna feel about this.” Spaulding worried.

“That’s why I came to you both first.”

“You staying for dinner sweetheart?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Of course Sugar, why don’t you go introduce her to the others. Make yourself at home little miss Macy.”

“Thank you Mrs. Firefly.”

“Please call me Mama.”

I gave Mama a quick hug, and kissed Spaulding on the top of his head.

“Can we talk later?” I asked.

“Sure kid, you know where to find me.”

Macy followed me into the living room where I turned down Baby’s music. Not off, just down a little. My head felt like it was buzzing from all the electric guitars. Baby turned to look at me, but her eyes quickly met Macy’s.

“Who’d ya bring for us Blink?” She asked.

I chuckled.

“She’s not for that, Baby, this is my girlfriend, Macy. Macy this is my- aunt? I don’t know we never really defined that.” I laughed awkwardly.

“Aunt, sister, all the same to me. Love this kid no matter what.” She said, holding her hand out to shake Macy’s.

“Can’t say I blame ya, they’re easy to love aren’t they?”

Baby smiled wildly, already approving of the new company.

“We miss ya Blink, it was no fun without ya.” Baby said, wrapping me in a tight hug.

“I’m sure you managed just fine, looks like you were having plenty fun before I interrupted.”

“Mhhhm, RJ got me a new CD!”

“What is he Santa Claus now? Why the sudden interest in gifts?” She shrugged. “You know where the others are?”

“Umm, Ghostie and RJ are watching a movie in his room. And Doe Eyes and Otis-“

“Doe Eyes and Otis what?” I asked suspiciously.

“They’re busy. I’ll let him know you’re home and he’ll come find you later yeah?”

“Alright…”

I squinted my eyes suspiciously.

“She staying for dinenr?”

“Your Ma said I could, that cool with you?”

“Totally cool! You’ll have to tell me where you got the jacket Macy!”

Before they could chat more I was dragging her upstairs to my room, and Baby was blasting her music again. I didn’t want to bother RJ, and there was something suspicious about Baby not telling me what my dad was up to. But we’d see everyone down at dinner so there was no rush. I closed the door and threw myself face down onto the bed, groaning into my pillow.

“I’d say it’s going pretty well Bumble Bee, you had nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not those three I’m worried about?” I said, looking up at her.

“I live with Hoyt, I can handle anything they throw at me. Promise.”

“Pinky?” I asked.

She held out her pinky and locked it with mine, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You feeling ok Darlin’ you’re getting a little shaky there.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m cool… cool cool.”

“That sounds like something someone who is not cool would say.”

I sighed, crawling across my bed to lay my head on her lap.

“Why did she have to come here?” I asked.

Macy looked down at me, playing with one of my bouncy curls.

“I don’t know Blink.” She said sadly.

“It’s like everything was going good, great even. I was happy. So fucking happy!” I said.

“Did you just say fuck?” She raised a brow at me amused.

“Oh, right!” I said popping up and shoving a few bills in my sweat jar, “gotta pay up for what I said to Hoyt too. Even if he did deserve it.”

Macy chuckled.

“You say that like someone’s making you have the swear jar Blinky. Swearing ain’t that bad, I do it all the fucking time.” She smiled.

“Yeah yeah. I know there’s ways you can do it that aren’t mean, I just, I don’t like they way it sounds coming out of my mouth. Besides, a few more slip ups and I can get you something nice.” I smiled.

“You swearing on purpose to get something pretty for your girlfriend?” She asked.

“I’m just being lazy on purpose, the swearing is still an accident.” I laughed.

“I’m sorry your mom tried to ruin this for you, that wasn’t very nice of her.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

I sat back down on the bed next to her.

“Hey Macy?”

“Yes Blinky?”

I know she sometimes got amused when I said her name, even though we were already in the middle of the conversation. But I couldn’t help it. I liked the way her name felt on my tongue. Short and sweet, the exact opposite of her.

“Do you smoke? Like, smoke smoke?” I asked.

She seemed a little taken aback, but smiled anyway.

“I have before yes… why?”

“Do you want to?” I asked.

Now she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Why you got some?” I nodded.

“Honestly don’t think I can go back down there without it. Everything’s too much right now.”

She ran her hand along my arms again.

“Oh, and we should tell Spaulding that he’ll have some special guest at his showing after dinner tonight. Sure if you ask nicely he’ll let you help.” I said.

“You just wanna see me in action.” She mused.

“I will neither confirm or deny” I said, as I reached over in my drawer where some of my pre rolled joints were.

I made some mini ones, just to tell calm my mind on a regular basis. I didn’t want to be high everyday, but my sensory issues were not getting easier and it was the only thing that seemed to help. But I found a regular sized one jammed in the back. I grabbed a lighter from my nightstand and crawled back over to wear Macy sat. She laid down on her back, and I put my head on her stomach, laying perpendicular to her.

“Your family lets you smoke?”

“They know I do sometimes. Baby smokes too. Doe Eyes and Otis have regular cigs if you want one. I could snag a few for you.”

“My little thief” she ruffled my hair.

I was going to need to be actually stoned to survive family dinner. My nerves where getting the better of me. I mean I knew she was dead, we saw the evidence. So why did I still feel so heavy? So lost? Why the hell was I so scared? I didn’t notice tears start to slip until Macy’s big hands were on my face.

“Hey little bug, talk to me.”

I shook my head. Words were suddenly very hard.

“Hey, it’s ok, you’re ok. You’re safe.” She reassured me.

I gave her a pity smile. She reached over, grabbing the joint from my hand and lit it, holding it out to me. I weakly took a puff and laid back down, screwing my eyes shut. She took a hit herself, I couldn’t blame her if she was a little nervous. Anyone would be meeting my family. I know she tried to play strong and tough, but she was human like the rest of us.

She let my hair and held it out for me again. After a little while had passed and half the joint was gone, she spoke again.

“Feeling any better?”

I gave her a slow nod, signing a little.

“Are you non verbal right now Blinky?” She asked.

I was ashamed to say it, and I knew she’d figure it out eventually even if I didn’t tell her. I wasn’t very good about hiding what was wrong with me. And I didn’t want to have to hide it from her. I just wish it wasn’t there in the first place. That I wasn’t so broken and life wasn’t so much harder for me for no reason.

“That’s ok baby, you’re ok. Do you want me to tell them you aren’t feeling well and will skip dinner?”

I shook my head and sighed “Bad idea. You need food”

She playful glared at the irony of my comment.

“Yeah, you’re right. How about I do most of the talking tonight then? I think I can handle ‘em”

“Ok” I signed.

“And Blinky, it’s ok you didn’t tell me. But you don’t have to hide your autism from me ok? I’m actually pretty sure Tommy is on the spectrum too.”

I gave her a look that said “really?”

“Mhmm. But when you’re feeling better, you have to promise to talk to me more ok? I can’t read your mind, and you don’t have to suffer alone anymore ok? Everyone in this house right now wants what’s best for you, ok? I’m not gonna judge you Blinky, I love you.”

That was the first time she’d said it. I mean of course I knew it, and I felt it, and I hope she felt it too. But neither of us had said it seriously before.

“You love me?” I sighed.

“More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

I was able to stutter out a weak “I love you” before I felt too tired to speak again.

I swear it almost looked like she was about to smile too. She kissed the back of my hand, respecting that I was way too overstimulated right now.

“Just relax Darlin’ why don’t you try to nap and I’ll wake you when they say dinners ready?”

I nodded, closing my eyes and snuggling up to her. Weed dreams were always the strangest.

An: the ketchup thing is so funny to me cause I’m allergic 😭 damn my tomato allergy ruining everything! Will write the others meeting her next, this chapter was just getting kinda long lol.

[duckprintspress]

New Release: “Princess Antonia del Montari, aka The Accidental Barista” by A. L. Heard

Title: Princess Antonia del Montari, aka The Accidental Barista

Author: A.L. Heard

Genre: Modern with Magic

Rating: General

Relationship Type: commoner/noble, employee/customer, f/f

Character Features: royalty

Tags: attraction at first sight, coffee shop setting, first date, meet cute, mistaken identity, pov third person limited, present tense

Teaser:

“Excuse me?” someone asks from her right.

Toni startles slightly. She frowns in dismay as the coffee sloshes over the edge of one of the mugs.

Once everything’s balanced again, Toni looks over to the nearest table.

Black leather jacket, knee-high boots over dark skinny jeans, a too-loose T-shirt for a band Toni’s never heard of, and a myriad of piercings all conspire to make Toni’s heart pound in her chest and her mouth go dry. It’s only worse when she meets the woman’s eye and gets lost in caramel. She stands there, marveling at the beautiful woman so long that even Toni’s aware it’s become awkward.

Length: 10 pages/2,553

You know your Saturday would be better with some wlw meet-cute fluff, so get some RIGHT NOW!

Who we are: Duck Prints Press LLC is an independent publisher based in New York State. Our founding vision is to help fanfiction authors navigate the complex process of bringing their original works from first draft to print, culminating in publishing their work under our imprint. We are particularly dedicated to working with queer authors and publishing stories featuring characters from across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Love what we do? Want to make sure you don’t miss the announcement for future giveaways? Sign up for our monthly newsletter and get previews, behind-the-scenes information, coupons, and more!

Want to support the Press, read about us behind-the-scenes, learn about what’s coming down the pipeline, get exclusive teasers, and claim free stories? Back us on Patreon or ko-fi monthly!

[tailsrevane]

2022 in review, part 6: comics & manga first reads

1. orcs! by christine larsen (2021)

this is frighteningly perfect. orcs as protagonists, cute (but not too cute for orcs) art, and just supremely powerful good boy energy. (yeah a lot of the protagonists aren’t boys, but i feel like all orcs have good boy energy regardless of gender.) also it’s kinda gay!

this filled a hole i didn’t even know could be filled (which despite being ace is oftentimes what i’m looking for with orcs, hey-o), with the only problem being that whenever i go out looking for more orc fiction i’m looking for this specific vibe and nothing else has it. woof.

(in all seriousness i wouldn’t want every orc story to have this vibe because that would make it less special, but still i want more of this than this and its immediate sequel, y’know?)

2. the witch boy by molly ostertag (2017)

given the title & author i am less than 0% surprised how strongly i vibed with this. this gave me so many gender feels.

3. batman/teenage mutant ninja turtles (2015-16) writer: james tyrnion iv / artist: freddie williams ii

a love letter to fans of both franchises. this is one of the all-time great crossovers between two totally separate franchises. it might be the best ever.

4. the adventure zone, vol. 4: the crystal kingdom (2021) writers: clint mcelroy & griffin mcelroy & justin mcelroy & travis mcelroy artist: carey pietsch

it took me a minute to get into adventure zone because i was so thoroughly spoiled by the frankly superior dimension 20, but it really does grow on you. and i think the crystal kingdom story is the first one where the comic adaptation actually noticeably improved upon the podcast. the ending especially was just so arresting seeing it in comic form, and it really had an impact on me that i don’t remember it having when i was listening to the pod.

5. superman: birthright (2003-04) writer: mark waid / artists: leinil francis yu & gerry alanguilan

not only is this the best verison of superman’s origin story i’ve ever seen, it’s one of the best superman comics i’ve ever read.

6. batman, vol. 2: the city of owls (2012) writers: scott snyder & james tynion iv / artists: greg capulo & rafael albuquerque & more

what made this so special is not just that it was the epic confrontation between batman and the court (and possibly his long-lost brother). it also had two side stories, one that showed that the new 52 version of mr. freeze is kind of a unique twist on the character, but i'm actually way more interested in the last issue of the volume. this issue featured a pair of super gay siblings named harper and cullen row. harper will eventually become the hero bluebird, but for now we just see her civilian life and how she first comes into contact with batman. and honestly, just seeing these two low-income queer siblings existing and being extremely relatable was such a joy.

7. avatar: tsu’tey’s path (2019) writer: sherri l. smith / artists: dan parsons & jay durresma

basically a drastically better version of the first movie with less human stuff. it couldn’t totally remove the shitty white savior stuff from the narrative obviously since it is following the same events, but it did at least push them off to the side as much as it could.

8. batman: hush (2002) writer: jeph loeb / artist: jim lee

i’ve been a batman/catwoman shipper since before i knew that shipping was a thing, so obviously i loved this. ivy being blatantly femdommy, and bisexual at that, was also extremely, extremely, extremely my jam. yes please. more of that, please.

9. pleasure & corruption, vol. 1 by you someya (2019)

*pounding fist on table in rhythm to words* more. boy. subs. more. boy. subs. more. boy. subs.

i do wish so many authors didn’t seem so convinced that subby boys always have to “deserve it” by being pervs or whatever in stories like this, it makes them way harder to relate to. but yeah. seeing a boy get tied up and bullied a bunch is extremely wish fulfillment imo. also, loveloveloved the heavy emphasis on bondage, obviously.

10. 5 seconds before a witch falls in love by zeniko sumiya (2021)

a super cute enemies-to-lovers yuri about a witch & witch hunter. hell yeah.

[garbagevarmint]

personal rant about my stupid bullshit brain. if you know me irl don't fucking read

why does it seem like every other queer person i know is polyamorous and totally chill about it, including my gf, but i can't fucking get with it. shes on a date right now and i trust and love her so much but my heart is still pounding with anxiety as I try to rationalize to myself that its totally fine and she doesn't love me any less. which i know is true. but my body is reacting like im being told im absolutely worthless. why can't i just be ok?? i honestly don't deserve her. I'm just a fucking sham useless selfish dyke who can't be man or woman enough for her.

The girl she's in a date with rn is a fucking bombshell cool artist who is exciting and interesting. I'm a dirty ugly washout who gave up on art to try to get into vet med and failed out of that too. now I shovel dog shit for a living. She has so much more in common with this girl. I'm just some fucking guy. And no matter how many times I tell myself that that's not true I can't believe it. It just doesn't add up. I bring nothing to the table. Im so selfish for thinking this and typing this but it's eating me up inside. I wish I was dead

[freedformwriter]

Diary of a Baggage Train: Day 10

Having learned from my disgrace of yesterday, I make it down to breakfast on time this morning. The dining room is set with placards with table names on them and the diners are North American or German. The two American tables are busy exchanging details of their medical histories with hitherto strangers, because of course. (I’m so glad I refrained from jumping in when they mention last night’s Portugal match, because then I would have to forgo the pleasure of pure eavesdropping.) One woman commiserates with a man at the other table who’s fallen ill while walking. Almost apologetically, she hypotheses it’s because she walked up Devil’s Staircase yesterday, getting all sweaty, and then got hit with rain and wind at the top. ‘I don’t think that’s an entirely medical explanation.’ As if the admonition you’ll catch your death is some grandmotherly hocus. Her scepticism of old wives’ wisdom does not extend to her father-in-law and his patented cold remedy of gargling a shot of tequila before bed. She followed his advice, but all it’s done is give her a pounding headache. The man confesses his illness might be alcohol related as he’s been sampling the local whiskies for the last eight days. I scrape the entirety of my mother’s full English into a takeaway container and make my escape.

This is my last leg as a baggage train. I will struggle to share my little fiefdom of a Fiat with my mother; everything is just the way I like. She feels somewhat guilty that we don’t spend the days together. But long covid is shaping my personality towards introversion. I wander another gift shop with the same natural soaps and a selection of eco-friendly travel accessories made from recycled water bottles. (I buy the shea butter bar but resist the lunch bag in Highland Cattle print.) I sit and watch the Corran ferry load and unload, load and unload. I finish an audiobook about a happy queer family of eighteenth-century highwaymen. I follow the trail up towards a waterfall and find a picturesque bench looking out over a plantation of seedling trees. Loch Linnhe sparkles in the distance, courtesy of a coy hint of sunshine.

It is absolutely gorgeous here, it really is, but could I survive the Highlands long term? I don’t think we’ve experienced anything over 15° or 16° and it’s summer. What about the dark months? There’s a rawness that makes me feel insubstantial in a way that has nothing to do with my weight. I am, as ever, an unrevealing ‘average’ on any measuring metric. My mother has always been the tougher one, with her athletic build and strong hands. My smaller bones and wider hips must come from the genetic wildcard that is my paternal gene pool. So it is a fresh surprise every time I notice how small she is now thanks to a diabetic diet and advancing age. I guess she notices it too. She’s remarked that everyone on the trail has meat on their bones. I observe the same of the locals, who radiate a certain ruddy robustness. Obviously, the imported walkers are a self-selected group of people who are more or less sure of their bodies. But the red-cheeked local open up the fantasy that one could become hardy simply by living in a hard climate in a remote location. Maybe, if I moved here, I’d start swimming in the loch every day and develop fantastic blood circulation and stride around bare legged within a year. That’s the fantasy.

Having set out at 5.30am, my mother fetches up at the Weatherspoon’s in Fort William – the new finish to the West Highland Way – at 8.30pm. She’s walked the last mile with a young Argentine woman who now stares at the city centre with tired, unfocussed eyes, struggling to formulate a plan beyond putting one foot in front of the other. We take the obligatory finishing bench photos with the bronze statue of a bald man ruefully rubbing his foot. ‘Where’s the car, dear?’ asks my ever-composed mother.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Dansy’s storming alternative-pop anthem ‘Bad Actress’ dances through self-confidence and frustrations with an unapologetic air

The unapologetic upcoming alternative-pop artist Dansy has been busting down the doors of the music scene since she entered it in 2021, plowing through with groundbreaking singles you’ll be glad you heard before they blew up. As a self-proclaimed “strong, thick, queer woman of colour”, this tour de-force of an artist looks to show you what you’ve been missing out on, and her newest single ‘Bad Actress’ does just that.

Thundering through an alternative-pop angst and undertone of empowered angsty Avril Lavigne-esque pop-punk, ‘Bad Actress’ storms into your eardrums with an all-consuming desire to be heard and truly listened to. Wrapped within the openings of a looping, moody electric guitar riff, ‘Bad Actress’ right away establishes a tenseness on the surface, building up to something you can tell is going to be grand. Gravelly distorted guitar strums soon pound in along with intermittent drum clashes as the staple guitar riff fades out, adding a darker edge to the track’s continuing calm before the storm, all the while Dansy’s strong, self-assured vocals find themselves rightfully taking your full focus. Half pettily, half proudly delivering each line, ‘Bad Actress’ spills from her confident tongue with an ease you can’t help but feel empowered by. The chorus clashes into a euphoric high, rising from these murky undertones into a full-fledged moment of high frictions and a wall of sound determined to break out of the nearing three minute shackles it’s created within. As her vocals leap into a dominant higher range, Dansy really shows off the extent of her commanding singing and how utterly infectious it can become. Between her crazy rhyme schemes and a beat you’ll find yourself dancing and head-banging along with, Dansy has woven a song that’s vigorously exceptional, recreating any expectation of what you’d expect from alternative-pop and bringing her own flair to the table.

The multifaceted lyrical unfolding of ‘Bad Actress’ is one that’ll surely leave you thinking for a long time after pressing play, delving through Dansy’s unwinding streams of consciousness. As she runs through judgements on those who are consistently dishonest and twisting the truth to their own benefit, Dansy explores the way many manipulate those around them and can never accept their faults: ‘I don’t understand why people practice saying things they know deep down never happened.’ Merging these behaviours with Dansy’s own contrasting experiences, she sings ‘I’m a bad actress, I’m terrible at lying’ , finding herself swept up in others’ strings of exploitation and expected to play the part. But her character simply never allows her to follow through with it as lines like ‘there’s always consequences to my actions, consider it a blessing and a curse, call it drama, call it karma, call my bluff’ make it pretty clear that her speaking the truth will always come to fruition. Further continuing ‘my opinion won’t stay hidden’, Dansy makes it clear she’s quite the character, candidly herself regardless of the wreckage it may cause to be so blunt and honest. As people attempt to blur their truth into reality and leave her second-guessing herself, lines like ‘you’re trying to confuse me’ show the deep-rooted strength Dansy bears, trusting herself always and letting no one deter her from the reality she’s lived through. With a lot to unpack inside of ‘Bad Actress’ , there are really many ways you can interpret what is being explored, and that of course makes it all the more fun to listen to.

Check out ‘Bad Actress’ here to appreciate Dansy’s powerful narrative and anthemically loud sound.

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[shallowrambles]

I'm so bothered by the fetishization of twins and triplets, actually. If I could erase anything, it'd be the flippant references to this. :(

To be clear, I'm not pro-purity culture. I just- this one stings and I have to literally curate my experience so hard because of it

I can't stand when it's used as "code" for "queer experience" either because it's just positioning queer as "unnatural / evil," and that bothers the heck outta me when they're equated. Inappropriate boundary crossing, grooming, and abuse =/= insta-queer. It's like HMMM. The way ppl stan the crowley hookup when it's a shows canon incest kink interest squicks the fuck outta me and like...the whole Demon!Dean is a study in disinhibition! Disinhibition was shown as very evil / shameful / uncomfortable experience for Dean, like, the entirety of season 10...Sam even tries to comfort him about it. But because Crowley-Dean supports those sides of Dean ppl want in their ships, they overlook that aspect of it.

There's also the American-ness of howling at the moon and total "I do what I WANT" as being a good thing, when it's clearly shown as...not. There's gotta be balance, man.

Reduced inhibition is OFTEN used as circumvention of consent, as Dean recounts in his John-and-the-bar story. And disinhibitions are ofc not always a reflection of true self. I'm thinking of a neuro unit, where an injured TBI survivor hits on his granddaughter. Is that his "true personality?" Of course not! It's a loss of free will, judgment, and choice due to the injury and/or disinhibition.

And this is a show about free will, after all.

Drinking and drugging tend to ‘loosen you up’ by reducing inhibitions. But they remove your judgment and CHOICE about things, too. That's not necessarily free will. Reduced inhibitions can be enjoyable, but they can also create risks and dangers. Our inhibitions serve to keep us acting within an acceptable threshold; reducing these inhibitions can push you past the threshold.

Drug addiction is sometimes potrayed as "freeing" but ofc that isn't the complete story. Even so, the show doesn't agree that the punishment fits the crime. Like Crowley, Randy is complex, and he has real feelings and emotions for his relationships!

I feel like the Claire episode puts this in full display:

///

10x09

DEAN: All right, so I get there. I sneak in, and it is nuts. I mean, people are drinking and they’re smoking and they’re—they’re snorting whatever. There’s a five-hundred pound guy on stage with a Mohawk just screaming. And, uh, my mind is blown. I don’t even know what to do. Then this girls walks up and she says “Hey, why don’t you come over and sit down with me and my friends at our table?” All right!

SAM: Yeah, and they get him drunk. First time.

DEAN: But not fun drunk. I’m not quite sure what was in that stuff, but the room starts to spin, and I feel like I’m going to puke … forever. And right about that time, I hear him. “Dean Winchester!”

[Cas looks confused, but Sam just smiles.]

DEAN: My old man. I don’t know how, but he found me. And now I’m really freaking out, because he’s just standing there, not saying anything. I look around, and everybody else is freaking out, too. In fact, nobody’s even looking him in the eye. And finally, this one guy with, like, a safety pin through his nose and a—a “Kill Everything” tattoo looks up and he says, “Sorry, sir.”

---

[Claire is sitting on a bed by herself when she hears footsteps. The door opens, and Salinger is standing there. He motions for his men to leave, and he turns to Claire.]

SALINGER: Hi. [He finishes off his beer, then turns and locks the door.] It’s Claire, right?

[She won’t look at him, until he’s standing in front of her. He reaches down, taking hold of her chin, making her look up at him.]

You really are a pretty one, you know that?

[She lifts her leg, kneeing him in the groin. She runs to the door and tries to unlock it, but Salinger is right behind her, grabbing her as she screams.]

[One of Salinger’s men opens the front door to find Cas, Sam, and Dean standing there. Cas lifts a hand, and the man goes flying backwards.

--

CASTIEL:

Where’s the girl?

[They hear screaming come from upstairs. In the room, Claire is screaming, trying to fight Salinger off. He’s trying to hold her down, and the door flies open. Castiel is standing there, and Salinger turns to look at him, giving Claire enough of an opening to kick Salinger in the face and get up. She kicks him, over and over again.]

CASTIEL: Claire. Claire!

[Castiel grabs her arm, and she finally stops kicking. Cas leads her from the room. They walk downstairs, and Claire moves away from Cas.]

--

[Claire climbs into the back seat of the Impala, and Castiel sits beside her. Claire smiles.]

CASTIEL: Are you okay?

CLAIRE: Yeah.

[She moves over, laying her head on Castiel’s chest, wrapping her arms around him. Cas hugs her back. Sam climbs in the front seat and glances back. He turns his head back towards the house as he hears shouting, then leaves the car as fast as he can.]

///

10x10

(Scene changes to Castiel pacing in the bunker library.)

CASTIEL: She barely speaks to me.

(Sam comes into view, sitting.)

CASTIEL: She’s like a wounded animal, just watching me.

SAM: Look, Cas, you know what? You really tried to do the right thing that night. You did. This guy Claire was hanging out with, Randy, all he did was use her.

CASTIEL: Well, she thought he was kind. And for that, she loved him. Shows how little kindness there was in her life. You know, whatever Randy did, he didn’t deserve –

SAM: No, yeah, I know, I know. I hear you. Dean has had to kill before. We both have. But that was –

DEAN: That was what?

(Sam rises, surprised. Dean walks in from the war room.)

SAM: Dean.

DEAN: That was a massacre. That’s what it was. (Dean looks from Sam to Cas.)

DEAN: There was a time I was a hunter, not a stone-cold killer?

(Cas and Sam look troubled.)

DEAN: You can say it. You’re not wrong. I crossed the line. Guys, this thing’s gotta go.

(Dean looks down at the Mark of Cain on his arm.)

///

And 10x22

MR. McKINLEY: By suggesting my daughter was a slut?

DEAN: I'll admit that thought crossed my mind. Then I came here, and I smelled the deceit and the beatings and the shame that pervade this home.

MR. McKINLEY: You shut your face right now.

DEAN: And you know what? I don't blame Rose anymore. No wonder she put on that skank outfit and went out there looking for validation, right into the arms of the monster that killed her. (Dean looks at Mr. McKinley and in a very calm voice says) Joe, who did this?