#CI snippet

[butmakeitgayblog]

cruel intentions anon here 🥹 can u share something with us? like a small snippet or a scene you've scraped or idk just some ideas? I've read the fic twice but I fear I'm fr addicted to them 😭

Well I'll admit I don't have too much since I've started focusing on only one project at a time, but I have a bit of a oneshot that goes with this pic

Set a few weeks after the, ahem, conclusion of The Bet. Nothing smutty posted here unfortunately, but it will be. Oh it will be smutty. Clarke does not leave Lexa looking like that for no reason 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're whistling.

Honest to God, actually whistling. 

A jaunty little tune devoid of melody and structure. Nothing more than a slow sling of notes that doesn't really have any direction in particular, because the point isn't the song itself. 

It's the mood.

And that mood is… happy.

So, so fucking happy. 

Terrifyingly, unmitigatedly, euphorically fucking happy.

It's weird and you hate it, and it's embarrassing to even think about, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. 

And really, who could blame you. Not when life has never been this good. All rose colored glasses and kiss-filled memories that dance like bubbly champagne around the empty space in your head.

You genuinely don't think anyone has ever been as blissful in the existence of the world as you are right now when the doors of the elevator slide open, and you swagger your exceptional ass into your penthouse's bottom floor. 

You drop your purse on the bench and toss your keys on the countertop, praying it leaves a scratch for your stepmother to have a stroke over. Just for the hell of it. You undo the clip and feel your hair untwist in tousled ringlets draped sensually across your shoulders. 

You whistle a few more notes, and contemplate grabbing something to eat, before deciding there's nothing else in the world that you need.

Because you're in love. 

And it's that love that keeps you smiling as you walk down the hall, adding an extra click in your steps just to hear the crispness reverberate off the walls you don't pay for. It's that same love that makes your heart race as you slam the antique handles down and throw open the parlor doors with a flourish, lightheaded and so goddamn euphoric you would fucking hate the chipperness for them if it were anyone else.

It's that love that makes you so stupid that you don't even bother to look around before your eyes land on her. Beautiful and formidable as she stands behind the bar. Her lips purse at the shotgun bang of the doors, but she doesn't even jump, and her control next to your chaos makes you love her even more.

“Miss me?” you burst in with a deep chested purr.

Because you're in love and you love her and you absolutely want her to know it.

You just… don't know how to fucking say it.

Not yet.

Grey-green eyes widen like a warning shot, darting from you to the corner of the room and right back again, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring quite so hard.

“Not particularly, no,” she snips in that contemptuous drawl of hers without missing a beat, and pops the cork back on a bottle of gin that costs more than your semester's tuition. 

You, belatedly, follow her eyes to the corner of the room and see your housemaid diligently running a duster across the frame of your great-grandfather's portrait. 

Fuck.

Your heart drops right down to your asshole, but you send up a silent prayer of thanks because at least you hadn't tacked on the pet name ‘lover’ like you'd been using so much as of late. 

That's been the closest you could get.

But Sherri doesn't seem to have heard you. Or at least she doesn't pay you any mind, not having paused from her work for even a fraction of a second at your grand entrance and social faux pas.

You stand frozen, staring at Lexa still working her magic behind the bar, adding a splash of something red to a drink before taking a sip and grimacing at its taste.

She smacks her lips and shakes her head and sets the drink back down like it's personally offended her. 

You frown at the whole display because you know she's not even a gin girl.

“Sherri,” she calls in that sweet little voice she reserves for the people she actually cares if they like her. 

“Yes, Miss Lexa,” your faithful maid answers, immediately stopping to look over.

Huh.

Apparently her hearing is just fine.

Delicate fingers discreetly land on your stomach as she passes, trailing down to your hips and snagging the bottom hem of your sweater, yanking just so to send you stumbling several feet away from the door and out of the way.

“You should take the evening off,” Lexa says once she's left you off-balance in her wake. “Go enjoy life for a change.”

“Oh, I don't think—” Sherry starts but cuts off at the soft tisk from Lexa's lips. 

“No. No. Now, there is simply nothing to think about, because that was not a suggestion, my chérie.”

You smile at the lilt of her teasing. Always in awe, because for the life of you, you'll never understand how she manages to be such a condescending bitch while still sounding so innocent. So warm and pleasant. 

And to be fair, it really hadn't been a suggestion. 

You stand forgotten in the late afternoon shadows and watch as she closes in on your maid like a huntress. All sculpted calves and four inch heels. Hands tucked daintily behind her back.

“But your mother—”

“Will never know,” Lexa whispers, bringing one long, sexy finger up to press against the pout of her smile. “I can keep a secret if you can…”

Sherri sighs in her defeat and shakes her head with the fondness of an exasperated mother, and you wonder if there's anyone this girl can't charm off their feet.

Lexa preens.

“Good. Now, a little birdy told me it was your birthday this weekend.” She pauses just long enough for your maid to nod in surprise. “And, well… I guess I just couldn't help myself.”

You cross your arms and make yourself comfy by settling a shoulder against the wall. More than thrilled to just sit back and take in the show as this fucking magician pulls out a bracelet from goddamn nowhere. 

She hushes the woman's flustered coughs, ignores hands slipping through greying red hair and automatic dismissals of, “no, Miss Lexa, this is—I couldn't possibly.” She soothes it all with honeyed words of reliability and sacrifice and devotion to our comfort, all while clasping the understated but opulent chain to an overworked wrist, connected to a woman who doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself. Nimble fingers twist and turn the apparently well-thought-out gift so it lays perfectly in place, admiring her own exquisite taste in jewelry more than anything, you already know.

You wonder when the hell she got so thoughtful. 

She ushers the woman out with a firm, guiding hand to her back, mouth tipped in a demure smile as she assures her, this is exactly what she wants. 

The parlor doors close much more gently than when you'd entered through them, and she spins gracefully on her heel, looking so fucking pleased with herself.

You hold her eyes. 

Uncross your arms.

And slowly, loudly, begin to clap.

“Well aren't you made of sugar and spice and everything nice, Miss Lexa.”

She pinches the sides of her skirt and fans them out, dipping into a mere suggestion of a curtsey.

You move as though to reach for her because it's been six hours too long since you've had your hands on that body, but her pleasantries drop away as she sends you a scowl and slips just out of reach. 

“Next time, have a touch more decorum when entering a room,” she sighs over the authoritative clack-clack of her heels. “I had just gotten that bracelet. Didn't even have a chance to wear it out yet.”

Ah.

Now that makes more sense.

Fuck, you love how good she is at thinking on her feet.

“No one told you to kiss her ass with jewelry, for fucks sake,” you mutter despite the efficacy of her brilliance because really, she always had to be so damn extra about everything. 

“It was all I had, and thanks to someone,” she says with a pointed edge, “I didn't exactly have time to figure out another distraction. And since I'm fairly certain she at least already knows we're sleeping together, I'd much rather stay in her good graces. I can handle losing a bracelet in exchange for…”

She trails off and vaguely gestures to the air between you. 

The thought alone of someone else knowing makes you want to vomit. 

You cross your arms tighter. 

“Why do you think that she knows?”

That evil fucking brow of her flits up when she looks at you like you're an idiot.

“Because you're not quiet, and she's not stupid, and half of Greenwich knows what you sound like when you come.”

You grit your teeth and wonder if it's worth reminding her who came on your fingers while loudly calling your name last night, but when she struts her perfectly bubble shaped ass back over to the bar, you ultimately decide that, no, it is in fact not worth it.

Apparently done with the minor complication of your eagerness and the conversion as a whole, she picks up the drink you'd all but forgotten and holds it out at arm's length, letting it dangle from the mere tips of her elegant fingers. 

“For you, my darling.”

You still haven't figured out exactly what she's playing at when she calls you that, because you know she is never sweet for nothing. You know there has to be a barb in there somewhere. Some sort of slight on your character or something. She shouldn't just call you ‘darling’ for no reason… But for the life of you, when she looks at you like this - like you're the only thing that matters in her broad and expansive world - you can't figure what it could possibly be.

“Gin and… cherries?” you ask when you take the glass and give a tiny sniff of the drink. 

She smiles indulgently and twists away to retake her place behind the bar, and suddenly her grimace from her sip before makes sense.

She hates sweet drinks.

Well.

Unless she's kissing the taste of them from your lips. 

“So is this what we're doing now?” You examine your drink closer. It doesn't look poisoned anyway. “It's this what we've become?”

She hums in question as she picks up a second shaker and stirs the contents. You watch her grab a martini glass and begin to pour her own crystal clear drink and, yes, that's much more her style.

You truly are fucking a master mixologist. Which you suppose is bound to happen considering she's been making drinks for one person or another since the tender age of thirteen…

“My kingdom for some context, darling,” she murmurs when you're too enamored to answer, popping an olive into her glass and taking a healthy sized pull, moaning at the taste.

You down half your bramble in one go and traipse yourself around the back of the bar.

Setting the drink down at her side, you put your empty hands to much better use. Drift your fingers across the soft dip of her back and trace her hips, holding her steady as you press in and drape yourself along the length of her.

“Acting like a vintage married couple,” you clarify in a whisper. You reach up and pull her hair aside to expose the delicious expanse of her neck, and you wonder in what lifetime you actually managed to do something good enough to deserve the way she tips her head to the side to give you more access. 

You mouth slow, wet kisses along the sensitive spot just behind her ear as she sighs, “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me, pretty girl.” You smile against her skin when she shudders at the name. “Waiting for me to come home to you. Having a drink ready. Did you make me a special little dinner to eat as well?”

And you're still getting used to this.

This thing with her you've been playing at for the last couple of weeks. This truce or whatever it is that leaves you so off balance you never know which end is up.

Because you've never had something like this. 

Because where you expect a scoff and a rebuff of your entire charade, she only presses harder into you with a sensual groan. Where you expect her to fling your hands away and shove you off of her entirely as she would have before, she merely sets down her glass, and kisses your lips, and covers your hands with her own.

"Not in your wildest dreams, my love," she whispers with an adoring grin, and kisses you deeper again.

[lovecraftiancicada]

Edit: THIS IS THE FIC THAT MADE ME THINK HE WAS AN OLD MAN 😭 (there's implied nsfw, but it's mostly comedy!)

[v7lgar]

sunday snippet

thank you for tagging me @ecstarry @godsofwoes @soreddieforit @orbitfalls @honeybcj @certifiedl0verboy

; where you go, i go

“Just because he is my best friend, it doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to him all the time.”

“You never listen to anyone, Barty. You just act like it. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore,” He put his glass down right next to his knee and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“It isn't?” Barty asked, there was something in his voice. It wasn't a cocky reply, it was genuine.

Regulus slowly turned to him, knees touching Barty’s. He could cut the tension with a knife, he could climb on his lap and settle there too. There were many choices he could make.

He slowly raised his hand and touched Barty’s cheek, he could feel his stubble poking his skin but he didn't care, he slowly caressed his cheek and Barty closed his eyes, slowly melting under Regulus’ touch.

“I missed you,” Barty whispered, eyes still closed.

Regulus trailed his thumb under his eye, he was being careful as if he was touching something that could break any minute. There was nothing that could break Barty, not even Regulus. He was sure of it, but Barty didn't seem to acknowledge that.

“Did you, now?”

np tags: @salty-wench @star4daisy @ninety-two-bees @veryinnovative @sommerregenjuniluft @orchideous-nox @bellaxisworld @spacexcowgirl @malchai @a-lilypad

[heavenofficialspokemon]

Pokémon AU snippet.

Mei Nianqing’s lips are drawn into a thin line, before he picks up the red Pokémon. “Delibird! So cute. Yes, I've missed you too.” His expression was that of pure joy, purple eyes softening. There's a cough from behind, but he pays it no mind. Mei Nianqing’s cheek presses against the bird like Pokémon's, practically squealing at how cute it is.

“... Nianqing,” Jun Wu coughed.

Mei Nianqing barely pays him any mind. “That is a nasty cough you've got going on, my dearest professor.” He says, his tone soft as his eyes practically shine. He spins himself around, practically twirling the Pokémon in his arms. When he finally turns to look over at Jun Wu, the Pokémon Professor does not look amused. Nianqing sort of laughs right in his face.

[persephoneflouwers]

Hello, in a move that surprises no one, I want to know about the Louis Rare Pair fic :))))))))))) haha

Haha! Thank you for this surprising reaction to the WIP game 🤪

So the @louisrarepairfest fic is based on Prompt S: bread van fic reimagined with all the guys in Louis’ band.

My original idea was to set the story completely inside the van, one simple space and have 5 characters interacting inside. I intended to make it mostly funny, with sharp forth and backs, but when I started writing I was listening to an Audiobook (italian classic book that I could never read cause it’s tooo dense so I listened to it) and I was inspired by Chapter Three - The Smoke.

And I decided to spice up the things a bit, using the story as a tool to approach to the topic of tobacco/weed in a different light. I don’t know if I can manage lol but this is my project so far.

Since you’re always so nice to me, Anitra, I will also give you a little snippet 🥰 hope you like it!

«Hey, Lou», said Micheal, fingers hidden in the back pocket of his skinny jeans. A single silver earring gleamed under the dim lights when he tilted his head slightly. «Was it your idea?» A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a glimpse of confidence peeking through his bashful facade.

Louis sauntered forward, cigarette dangling from his lips. With a mocking snort, he shook his head, sending puffs of smoke swirling around him. Each step exuded confidence, his eyes crinkling behind dark round sunglasses, the smoldering tip of his cigarette casting a faint glow on his face. « ‘t was Oli’s. File your complaints at him».

Louis took a few more steps and found himself enveloped by the tightknit circle of friends.

«Oliver!», shouted Matt at Louis’ back. The complete name provoked a new wave of laughs among all of them, Louis included. «You don’t pay me enough for this, man!»

«You twats», commented Oli, rolling his eyes, «I even had the van cleaned and freshen up, brought in there some pillows to have your flat asses well rested and comfortable, too».

«Hey, flat ass to who?!» interjected Krystle, the perfect fringe softly brushing her curly eyelashes.

«Definitely not Louis’».

«Except for Louis, I guess».

Louis giggled, pulling up his oversized jumper to uncover the juicy bum on his back. He looks over his shoulder to check himself out, then he hums in agreement. «Can’t say you’re all wrong, to be fair».

UNBETAED. All mistakes are mine

[lavellander]

been rereading all my da fic to decide what I wanna keep for the rewrite and I gotta say this is the most maeve thing I ever wrote

[orphiccrowns]

y'all i keep doubting whether im a shitty ally to all my funky gender friends :(

[sinvulkt]

Body in Abyss, Heart in Abyss by Emerald_sealin

WARNING: Heavy Book 4 and 5 SPOILERS.

For 800 years Xie Lian fought for what he believed was right. He endured centuries of unearned torment, shouldered responsibilities bigger than he was, no matter what was thrown at him Xie Lian took it, Xie Lian bore it, Xie Lian soldiered on.

Until the final battle on Mount Tonglu, when Xie Lian looses for the last time.And forgives....for the last time.

Finally, the god of Xianle will have his REVENGE! Completed, 59k words.

*** ** * ** ***

Chapter 1:

"There he is," he grinned at Xie Lian, drawing a breath of awe as he felt the overwhelming power crashing down on him. Power that could shake the very mountainside with each mighty step that Xie Lian took. "That's the face I want to see!" he laughed. "Finally, after so many wasted centuries you're making the right face!" [...] "You are not a monster," Guoshi said firmly, a failed attempt to undo Bai Wuxiang's brainwashing. Unfortunately, Xie Lian was not brainwashed. His eyes were wide open and he could see just how ugly the world truly was. "I don't care," Xie Lian said and kept walking, his sandals slapping against the wet bloody floor, Jun Wu's body following after him. [...] It took a thousand people to create, but it took one to destroy

[...]

'He wouldn't want this' Guoshi had said and Xie Lian couldn't help but sneer. "He's not here," Xie Lian said. With that, he walked away.

Chapter 5:

The prince cried out, falling to the floor and screaming in agony. Xie Lian was stupefied. He'd put a little work into his food this time but come on, it couldn't be that bad. The prince was rolling on the floor and sobbing like he'd accidentally swallowed a million knives, banging his hands on the floor as he wailed in misery. **** Jun Wu wasn't having a particularly great day considering the nightmares of what happened the day before. He hadn't been able to rest his eyes as his heart was in turmoil wondering what Xianle planned to do next with his younger self. He didn't have to wait long to find out. "HE ATE HIS FUCKING FOOD?!!" Jun Wu roared as an unfamiliar gagging pain flared within his belly. He'd lived 800 years with Xie Lian in his life and he'd never ONCE made that mistake! His alternate self was an IDIOT!!

[dresshistorynerd]

Roughly 10 Cool Historical Queer Figures More People Should Know About

Part 1 - From Ancient Era to Early Modern Era

In spirit of Pride Month here's some snippets of queer history I think are interesting.

I've been working on a series of deep dives into interesting historical queer figures, but I haven't had the time to continue my list after the first entry about Julie d'Aubigny. I do want to continue with it, but I came to the realization that I will never have to time to do all the cool and interesting figures in depth, since there's too many, so I decided to do a list with brief descriptions about some of my favorite figures who are not that well known. Some of them are more well-known than others but I think they all deserve more acknowledgement.

I was able to trim down the number of figures to (roughly) 20, which was still too many for one post, so it's two posts now. They are in chronological order, so this part is set mostly before Victorian Era and the second part will be from Victorian Era onward.

This list is centered around western history (but not exclusively) because that's the history I'm most familiar with, though it's definitely not all white, since western history is not all white. I will be avoiding using modern labels, since they are rarely exactly applicable to history, rather I will present whatever we know about these figures' gender, sexuality and relationships. If there's information about what language they used about themselves, I will use that. Often we don't know their own thoughts, so I will need to do some educated guess work, but I will lean towards ambiguity whenever evidence is particularly unclear. If you are the type of person who gets angry with the mere suggestion there's a possibility that a historical gnc person might not have been cis, I encourage you to read my answers to related asks (here and here) first before sending me another identical ask. Try to at least bring some new arguments if you decide to waste my time with your trans erasure.

1. Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum (latter half of 2400 BCE)

Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum were ancient Egyptian royal servants, and possibly the first recorded gay couple in history known by name. They shared the title of Overseer of the Manicurists in the Palace of King Nyuserre Ini. They both had a wife and children, but they (along with their families) were buried together in a tomb. The tomb decorations show them similarly as other afterlife couples.

2. Marinos the Monk (c. 5th-8th century)

Marinos the Monk was born as Marina somewhere in eastern parts of Byzantine Empire, likely in the Levant. He was from a wealthy Christian family, possibly Coptic. Assigned female at birth his widowed father planned to marry him off and go to a monastery himself, but he convinced his father to take him with him dressed as a boy named Marinos. His father agreed and they were accepted as monks. After his father died many years later, he continued his life as a male presenting monk. Later he was accused of fathering an illegitimate child with a daughter of an innkeeper, which was not possible, but he didn't revoke the accusations, instead he begged for the abbot's forgiveness for "his sins". Marinos was banished from the monastery and became a beggar. For 10 years he raised his alleged illegitimate child as a father, until he was allowed to return to the monastery and do penance. Only after his death the abbot and the monks discovered his genitals and his inability to father children and were distraught for punishing an innocent man for 10 long years. The real father was discovered and along with the innkeeper and his daughter they all came to honor Marinos' grave and ask his forgiveness. He was canonized as a saint for his sacrificial selflessness, modesty and humility and honored across the Mediterranean from Ethiopia to France.

3. Mubārak and Muẓaffar al-Saqlabi (c. 10th - 11th century)

Mubārak and Muẓaffar were co-rulers of Taifa of Valencia in Muslim Spain. Al-Saqlabi means literally "of the Slavs", which in Al-Andalus was a general term for enslaved northern Europeans, as the two had been enslaved as children. They were in the service of another al-Saqlabi, a chief of police, and they worked they way up as civil servants till a local military coup in 1010, which resulted in them becoming the emirs of Taifa of Valencia. English language sources often describe them as "brothers" and "eunuchs", which gives the "historical gal pals" trope a concerning twist, but contemporary Muslim sources wrote fawningly about their passionate love, trust based on equality and mutual devotion. There was a popular genre of homoerotic poetry in the Islamic world at the time and poems in that genre were written about celebrating Mubārak and Muẓaffar's relationship. In 1018 Mubārak was killed in a riding accident and Muẓaffar shortly after in an uprising.

4. Eleno de Céspedes (1545 – died after 1589)

CW: genital inspection

Eleno was born in Andalusia, Spain, to an enslaved black Muslim woman and to a free Castillian peasant. He was assigned female at birth, given name Elena, and branded as a mulatto born to a slave. She was freed as a child and married to a stonemason at 15-16 years old. When pregnant, her husband left her and died a while later. Later Eleno testified that his intersex condition became externally visible, while he gave birth, and he became a man. He left his son to be raised by a friend and traveled around Spain. After he stabbed a pimp and ended up in jail, he started presenting as a man and openly courting women. Eventually he taught himself to be a surgeon with the help of a surgeon friend.

When he married María del Caño, his maleness was questioned and he was subjected to genital inspection multiple times and it was agreed by doctors that he had definitely male genitals, possibly also female genitals. After a year of marriage the couple was accused of sodomy. Eleno was tried by the Spanish Inquisition and subjected to more genital inspections, during which no penis was found. He claimed that his penis had been amputated after an injury. He defended himself in the trial by arguing that his intersex condition was natural and he had become a man after his pregnancy, so his marriage was legal. He was sentenced only for bigamy, since he had not confirmed that his husband was dead and punished as a male bigamist with 200 lashes and 10 years of public service to care for the poor in a public hospital. His fame attracted a lot of people wanting to be healed by him, which which was very embarrasing for the hospital so he was sent away and eventually exonerated from his charges.

5. Chevaliére d'Éon (1728-1810)

Charles d'Éon de Beaumont was born to a poor French noble family. In their 20s they became a government official and at 28 they joined the secret spy network of the king, Secret du Roi. They became a diplomat first in Russia and later in Britain while they used their position to spy for the king. Rumors circulated in London that they were secretly a woman. While in London they had a falling out with the French ambassador, accused him of attempted murder and published secret diplomatic correspondence. They were instead accused of libel and went into hiding. After the death of Louis XV in 1774 and the abolishment of Secret du Roi, d'Éon negotiated with the French government of the end of their exile in exchange for the rest of the secret documents he possessed. D'Éon took the name Charlotte, claimed she was in fact a cis woman - she had pretended to be man since a child so she could get the inheritance - and demanded the government to recognize her as such. When the king agreed and included funds for women's wardrobe, she agreed and returned to France in 1777. After that she helped rebels in the American War of Indepence - was not allowed to ]go and fight too, ghostwrote her not super reliable memoir, offered to lead a division of female soldiers against the Hasburgs in 1792 - was for some reason denied, attended fencing tournaments till 65 years old and settled down for the rest of her years with a widow, Mrs. Cole. After her death a surgeon reported that she had male primary sex characteristics, but fairly feminine secondary sex characteristics, like round breasts, which might suggest she had hormonal difference/was intersex in some way.

6. Public Universal Friend (1752-1819)

Public Universal Friend, or The Friend or PUF, was born as Jemima Wilkinson to Quaker parents in Rhodes Island, USA. Jemima contracted a disease in 1776, gained intense fever and almost died. The Friend claimed that she did die and God sent the Friend to occupy her body. The Friend didn't identify as man or a woman, and when asked about the Friend's gender, the Friend said "I am that I am". The Friend didn't want any gendered pronouns or gendered language to be used about the Friend. The Friend's pronouns, according to the writings of the Friend's followers, were "the Friend", "PUF" and possibly he. First recorded neo-pronouns perhaps? The Friend also dressed in androgynous/masculine manner.

The Friend started a bit cultish religious society disavowed by mainstream Quakers, The Society of Universal Friends, which I can only describe as chaotic good. The Friend first predicted a Day of Judgement would come in 1780 and when 1780 came and went, the Friend decided it was New England's Dark Day in 1780 and they had survived survived the Judgement Day so all was good then. The Friend preached for gender equality, free will, universal salvation (Jesus saved everyone and no one will go to hell) and abolition of slavery. The Friend persuaded any followers to free their slaves, which is probably the most chaotic good thing a potential cult leader can do with their influence over their followers, and several freed black people followed the Friend too. The Friend advocated for celibacy and was unfavorable towards marriage, but didn't think celibacy or rejection of marriage were necessary for everyone else, so it feels more like a personal preference. Many young unmarried women followed the Friend and some of them formed Faithful Sisterhood and took leadership positions among the Society.

The Society of Universal Friends tried to form a town for themselves around mid-1780s, till in 1799 the Friend was accused of blasphemy. The Friend successfully escaped the law two times. First the Friend, a skilled rider (what's a gender neutral version of horse girl?), escaped with a horse, then after an officer and an assistant tried to arrest the Friend at home, women of the house drove the men away. Third time 30 men surrounded the Friend's home at night, but a doctor convinced them that the Friend was in too poor health to move but would agree to appear at court. The Friend was cleared for all charges and even allowed to preach at the court.

7. Mary Jones (early 1800s–1853)

Mary Jones' origin is unknown, but she was an adult in 1836 in New York, USA. She was a free Black person, who preferred to present as a woman. She was sex worker by trade and used a prosthetic vagina. As a side hustle she would steel her customer's wallets, and usually they wouldn't tell anyone because it was 1830s and inter-racial sex and prostitution were illegal and everyone was repressed. Smart. Get your coin, girl. However after one of her more shameless customers discovered his wallet with 99 dollars inside had been replaced with a different man's empty wallet and contacted the police, she was arrested. The police discovered she had male genitals and when they searched her room they found several more stolen wallets. She appeared in court in her female presentation and when asked about her dress, she said that prostitutes she had worked with encouraged her to dress in women's clothing and said she looked better in them. They were right and she had since presented as a woman in her evening profession and among other Black people. She was convicted for grand larceny and sentenced to 5 years in prison. Later she continued to present as a woman and practice sex work, for which she was arrested for two more times.

8. George Sand (1804-1876)

George Sand was pen name of Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francueil, a French Romantic writer. Amantine was high-born with a countess as a grandmother. George wrote about themself with alternating masculine and feminine language, using feminine language when talking about his childhood, but masculine language often other times. Their friends also used both masculine and feminine terms about them. Victor Hugo for example said about them: "George Sand cannot determine whether she is male or female. I entertain a high regard for all my colleagues, but it is not my place to decide whether she is my sister or my brother." George preferred men's clothing in public, which was illegal for those seen as women without a permit, but they didn't ask for permissions. They alternated between masculine and feminine presentations. They were outspoken feminist, critic of the institution of marriage, committed republican and supporter of worker's rights. They were married at age 18, had two children and left their husband in 1831, but legally separated from him in 1835. They had many affairs with men and some with women, at least with actress Marie Dorval. Their most notable relationship was with Frédéric Chopin, but they fell out before Chopin's death.

I fucked up the numbering first and put less entries to this list than the second one (which I have not finished), but 8 is kinda roughly 10 right?

[butmakeitgayblog]

Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?

CI fight 😈

///////////////////////

This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.

Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.

But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.

Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.

You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.

But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.

So here the hell you are.

Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.

She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.

Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.

Not your finest point in life.

Not the lowest either.

At least the drugs made it a good time...

Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.

Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.

"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.

You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.

Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.

But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.

Fantastic.

She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.

Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.

"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."

You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.

She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.

"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."

That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.

"I missed you too, baby."

"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."

You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.

"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"

"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.

The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.

"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."

"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.

"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."

"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."

"No, actually, you are."

You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.

Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.

But you do not.

Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.

Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.

"No. The fuck. I am not."

It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.

"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."

"Lexa—"

"I don't care."

"Lexa—"

"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."

"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."

Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.

She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.

"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.

And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...

Until it does not.

Because she just nods.

And keeps nodding.

Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.

This only fills your chest with dread.

So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.

Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.

Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.

"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.

And your breath catches in your chest.

Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.

And really... that should've been a warning.

"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.

You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.

She shakes her head. Sadly.

"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...

She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.

"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."

You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.

She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.

Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.

"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."

Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.

"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.

Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.

"Let go of me."

"Uh, no—"

"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."

You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."

"You heard me perfectly well, my love."

"No, I don't think I did."

"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."

You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"

"One that could've killed you."

"It wasn't even my fault."

"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Waiting around to lose you!"

Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.

You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.

Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.

You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.

"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."

"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"

"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."

It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.

You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

Because you are... so fucking stupid.

Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.

And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...

You did this.

You did all of this.

"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.

She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"

"I said... okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.

She stares at you, placid and unmoved.

"All of them?"

You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."

She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—

"You have to compromise with me here!"

She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.

You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.

"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."

"You hate that fucking thing—"

"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."

You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.

She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.

"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."

It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.

"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"

"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.

She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.

You never seem to know how to...

The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.

She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.

"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."

Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."

Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.

"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"

You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.

You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.

Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.

Just for old time's sake.

The hand holding yours squeezes gently.

"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."

Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...

You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.

"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"

"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."

God you love it when she gets vulgar.

She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.

"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."

You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.

"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"

Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"

She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,

"That you are everything to me."

You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...

"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."

She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.

Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.

When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.

That's part of why you love her so much.

Always unbreakable.

Except... when it comes to you.

You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.

And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.

"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."

"Clarke. I am married to you—"

"Still," you snort. "Loser."

Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.

Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.

"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod in agreement, just to be safe.

"Anything remotely questionable, goes."

You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.

"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."

As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.

You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.

"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.

She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.

You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.

And then another to the tip of your nose.

"We'll see."

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Ok ok. I'm back from the dead, And with another headcannon! following my last music related ask

What if after the characters hear our music they start subconsciously humming, or even singing it? After all the creator never has their computer volume on... exept this time we do! And we hear venti, or Barbara, or another character singing our favorite song A LOT. So much so that instead of the usual voices it's all song references and lyrics... I imagine it going something like this:

(venti dies) "don't worry... I'm never going to let you down.."

OR

(Barbara's afk) "la- La- LA- ehem, I'm working late because I'm a singer~"

Well a long night of trying to find out if it was an event mihoyo planned or something else is surely waiting right?

- 🦇

OMG HI 🦇 ANON HRUUUU

Dwdw, Ghost Rebel's been dead as well—you have not been the only one, rest assured 🥲

For this request, I won't be really focusing much on what music the Reader listens to (entirely up to you imo), so apologies if this affects your reading experience!

(The Request 🦇 Anon Mentioned)

Ayo, They Know My MUSIC ✨😎

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Who would've thought that all that singing pays off—now, all musicians and bards of Teyvat are reciting Their Almighty Grace's ballads like they're some holy, ancient harmonies (to them, it probably is—somehow—)

Let's see what our favorite ones have been up to! :D

Venti

With the amount of times you vibed to your songs, Venti's picked them up by listening through the wind. You can 100% assume that he is vibing to it, no matter what time or moment.

People thought he was singing his own ballads when he was humming your songs, when, in fact, he's listening to you jamming out in the distance.

So imagine your shock when you hear Venti sing your song. It was as shocking as Venti without his wine.

"Hehe~ Their Grace looks so flabbergasted!" Venti in the bg just cheering over the fact he made you shocked at his impression of your song!

Bro has zero regrets for breaking the Fourth Wall.

Barbara

Girlie is singing her heart out in the Church of Favonius, and everyone's there for it. 100% she has become the true Idol of Mondstadt.

Super excited and nervous at the same time when you put her in your party team (for whatever reason, only you will know), because this is a chance to show off her practice. She wants to impress you with the song she's heard you sing and hum to countless of times!

So the moment she let it slip through her idle animation, imagine her embarrassment as you flip out, questioning your life choices and your sleep deprivation

"S-Surely, I didn't scare Their Almighty Grace all too badly...?" Barbara's twiddling her fingers, contemplating if she should've done that in the first place, only to be reassured when the other nuns of the church mention that you were screaming how good it was (Ex. "HELLO???? BARBARA???? THAT WAS SO GOOD HELLO??? VOICE ACTOR BE POPPING OFF MAYBE??? THIS GLITCH IS AWESOME!")

Yes, she's doing this again. Add her back to her team. Now. :)

Xinyan

Oh, she is going to rock'n'roll hard after this. She is definitely going to make a rock cover of your song and play it all through Liyue!

Gurl's on her merry way, practicing with her guitar and singing loud and proud! Yunjin be cheering her on in the background as she masters that small snippet of your favorite song >:D

And when it's her time to shine? When you finally give her the chance to perform? Sure, she's nervous—she's only got one shot, and who knows when the next one will come—but she's gonna rock this song with everything she's got, heart, soul, and mind!

The moment you see it happening, Xinyan's a little too into it to care of your reaction at first, pretty much having a blast at the lyrics and overall music composition.

But after? "Whoo, I sure hope Their Grace liked it...Maybe I should've taken in how they were reacting instead of going all out, hehe..." Her legs are kind of shaking from her nerves, but she swears she's fine!

Upon seeing how the citizens of Liyue Harbor are acting though, and with the amount of positive comments her friends kept giving her, Xinyan is calling her performance an absolute success!

She is definitely doing this again—10/10!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: THIS TOOK TOO LONG TO MAKE I AM SO SORRY UGHHHH. I hate it when I say I'd be active and then the next thing I know, I'm being bombarded with irl problems >:(

Anyways! A few updates as I'm writing this: I am no longer taking Sagau Genshin requests for now (even if I might still be writing for a few—there's some waiting in my inbox that I gotta get to), as I need a break to recharge my batteries. However: HSR and Wuthering Waves are free and up for requests, so don't be shy to shoot your shots there!

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[hualian]

TGCF donghua season 2 update with a snippet of the opening theme song “Lian Cheng Ci” by Lu Han 🦋

[v7lgar]

where you go, i go | snippet

This is not a race, I have all the time. I will wait and I will endure.

After a half an hour, he changes his location. He is now watching the house from afar. He is sitting on a bank and chain smoking. He thought about leaving but he didn't want to miss the guy’s departure from his home.

The more he waits, the worse he feels. The voices aren't helping him anymore, they’re not as patient as James. They are already sick of waiting and telling him the things they shouldn’t put in his head.

I bet he is on all fours and getting fucked hard right now. And look at you, a guy is fucking your man and you are just sitting here and watching it. Maybe he is swallowing the guy’s cum right now, who knows what they’re doing in that house?

And fuck, they’re right. Maybe he should intervene.

But then he reminds himself, You will endure.

So he does.

[gorbo-longstocking]

fun facts about the diaogue in out of sight, out of time: in order to accurately depict the main characters using a translation app as their primary means of communication, i write the dialogue out and then run it through google translate. any grammatical errors or mistakes that happen through the translating, i generally keep (unless it’s literally unintelligible then i rewrite it until it makes sense. or i just keep the clunky flow and just write what i want because some words are fr untranslatable unfortunately)

i know its been less than 24 hours and i made the poll to last a week but the ten unanimous votes got me opening up google docs to start screenshotting scenes from ch 1 i wanna share LMFAO

[nonconstories]

Humbly requesting the pumpkin-headed monsters as a snippet, that one seems timely (and man am I happy to see you writing again!)

Pumpkins pumpkins pumpkins pumpkins pumpkins pumpkins

Click under the cut for a high school bully (cis guy) getting railed by three pumpkin headed monsters in a moonlit field. It is NOT romantic! Rape, vine bondage, demonic possession, pumpkin dicks! What else could you want???

Word Count 2.9k

Lynn Underwood is possessed by the Devil. Everybody knows that. Well, everybody who goes to Kettles Memorial High School knows that, at least. Lynn Underwood is possessed by the Devil, and her brother Felix is a warlock, and her mother is dead, and her father hasn't left the house in years. The house in question sat perched atop a steep hill, overlooking a shallow ravine and the dirty creek that ran through it, and its appearance did little to dissuade the rumors about the family inside. Every inch of the shuttered windows and an uneven roof and a wrap-around porch were covered in ivy and snarled rose vines, and, every Autumn, the property became dotted with pumpkins of every size and shade. If it wasn't for the pumpkins, the Underwoods might have been shunned entirely; but Halloween comes every year, and people need jack o lanterns, and the Underwoods barely charged a thing.

Gunnar Middleson had learned all of this after his family moved into the semi-rural township. Despite his mother's high hopes (and his father's grave warnings) Gunnar had not changed the "behavior" that got him kicked out of both school districts in their previous town. Had, in fact, picked it right back up on day three at Kettles, when he decided to see what, exactly, was in the creepy kid's back-pack.

"Gimmie that," he'd said, and grabbed the top handle of Felix's back-pack, bringing the gawky, droopy eyed freak to an abrupt stop. His free had had grabbed Felix by the scruff of his neck and shoved him forward, hard, while also yanking the bag backwards. With a strangled grunt, Felix had gone sprawling on the walk outside school, and several other students had gasped. Gunnar had ignored them as he unzipped the bag and dumped it out all over the ground and Felix's legs as he struggled to push himself off the filthy concrete.

Half a dozen books covered in strange words and stranger pictures, bundles of dried plants and flowers, weird rocks, jewelry, random things of twine and tape, and couple of leather bags on straps. "Delicate--" Felix spat over his shoulder, and Gunnar hadn't yet noticed his bloody nose or busted lips.

"Holy shit! They weren't lying, you're an actual whack job, huh?" Contemptuously, he kicked at the random shit, and watched Felix heave himself to his feet. "Oooooh. You gotta tie your shoes tighter, bro. Your face is all jacked up."

Hard gray eyes stared at him, and more blood had oozed from his hawkish (and rapidly swelling) nose. "Apologize," Felix had spat, before dropping to his knees to begin gathering his things. Gunnar had promptly kicked him in the gut, knocking him flat on his back, and then stepped over him to head inside. "Apologize, or I fucking swear--" Felix had shouted after him, as whispers swirled anxiously through the crowd.

Gunnar didn't apologize. Instead, he made Felix his new hobby, and, to their credit, the other students really did try to interfere.

Meaning that, over the next few weeks, Gunnar had gotten the story in chunks and snippets and a few dramatic re-enactments from particularly hyped-up students. When Felix and Lynn were in the second grade, their creepy ass mom had drowned herself in the creepy ass crick below their creepy ass house. Then in fourth grade, Lynn had started having fits. Violent outbursts. Would speak in tongues and kill animals and threaten other students. When she nearly stabbed her teacher to death, that was that. Off to kiddie version of the nuthouse for Lynn until she was stable enough for home-schooling.

Everybody had seemed oddly...obligated to tell him this, and when he'd impatiently ask what that had to do with him flushing Felix's phone down the shitter or hurling his lunch into busy traffic or whatever...things got even weirder.

"He can talk to it," one girl had hissed, glancing furtively around the library they'd both been confined to for in-school suspension.

"To WHAT?"

"The thing inside his sister! The Devil, or whatever, he can TALK TO IT and--" A teacher coming back had interrupted her, and after that, her nerve was gone and not coming back.

Another had said, "He's dangerous, he's unstable, don't fucking needle him."

And yet another had replied simply: "He's a warlock. He can hurt you much, much worse than you can hurt him."

"Oh? Yeah? Then, why the fuck hasn't he?"

Which brings us right up to the present, where Gunnar found himself waking up in the Underwood's pumpkin patch. Brilliant moonlight had bathed everything in eerie silver, and Gunnar looked around, trying to blink his bedroom back into existence. "Wha--" He cut himself off with a cough, his mouth and throat oddly dry. His feet, sockless and a tad sweaty, slid back and forth in his ratty boots, and he looked down, trying to remember why he'd gone outside and walked all this way in just his sweatpants and shoes. "Why--"

His head felt strange, and it took some effort to move his feet. He started walking towards the house, before abruptly realizing that was probably a bad idea. He felt his sagging pockets for his phone. No luck. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the ravine, a toothless maw of darkness, and couldn't stop himself from thinking of the boy in his chem class. Kieran had solemnly insisted that Mary-Beth Underwood haunted Shivering Creek, that he had seen her more than once, and that her spirit was far from peaceful. In the other direction lay the road. Not as dark, but long, and isolated, and that didn't seem particularly safe either. For the first time in a long time, Gunnar felt small and frightened.

Grass rustled behind him, and he whirled in place. Nothing. Nothing but pumpkins, and the house, which leered at him from the crown of the hill, looking more like a jack o lantern than a building. Gunnar warred with himself, trying to talk himself into walking up to the front door and banging on it until Andrew Underwood woke up and helped him. He had no idea what he'd do if Felix answered the door. If Lynn answered, he'd probably sprint downhill and take his chances with her mom's ghost.

He started to take a step towards the downright terrifying porch, but another rustle of grass and pumpkin vines had him freezing in place again. Heart racing, body cold with adrenaline, he looked around frantically, praying to spot a raccoon, a turkey, a goddamn coyote would be a welcome sight and...and where was the big one?

Confusion mixing itself up with the fear, Gunnar turned more fully towards the nearest clump of pumpkins, and approached them; there'd been a really big one in the middle, weighing at least ten pounds, as big as a watermelon, bright orange, and now it was gone--

And where was the white one? That had been off to the left? And the oddly mottled yellow-ish one, that had been in front of the main cluster of them. Both of those had been pretty big too, and all three were just...gone, all of a sudden.

Something was wrong.

He had to get to the house. He had to--

And then something heavy and leathery and too cool to be mammalian was wrapping itself around both of his ankles and yanking his feet out from under him. Gunnar screamed as he lost his balance, but managed to catch himself on his forearms. He looked back, kicking frantically, and then screamed again, much, much louder.

He'd found the missing pumpkins.

More vines came slithering forward, winding themselves around his calves and dragging him away from the Underwood house and towards the cluster of nightmares behind him. Three...things, that was the only way he could describe them, things, were crowded together, watching eagerly as he was dragged closer and closer to their greedy, viney claws and gap-toothed, leering mouths. They each stood six to eight feet tall, with bodies made of densely woven vines and tightly packed leaves, long legs and long arms branching off of their dark green torsos. But their heads were the worst. The gourds had been intact, pristine, when he'd seen them moments before. But now, their flesh had split in multiple places, giving them mouths and eyes and noses, all of which leaked pumpkin guts and shone with an unearthly orange light.

Gunnar wailed in horror and panic as the things lifted him from the ground and looked him over. Up close, the pumpkins rippled like human faces, twitching with expression as they inspected their wriggling, helpless catch. It was the white one that had him up in the air, suspended by the grip on his upper arms, and Gunnar thrashed even harder when the mottled yellow reached out and started to run its dirty vine-hands over his bare torso. "PUT ME DOWN."

All three made an odd sound. It was choked and thick and repetitive, and Gunnar had a sinking feeling that was laughter. The yellow one reached down and yanked off his boots, dropping them to the ground. Then it pulled down his pants, and Gunnar screamed again, so loudly it sent several birds fleeing from the nearest trees. Bare naked in the moonlight, Gunnar twisted in midair, trying to avoid the eager, unnatural hands that were roaming across his body. The orange one, the tallest by half a foot, looked at him over Yellow's shoulder, and made a long, heavy hissing sound.

"I'm sorry--" Gunnar babbled, barely realizing he was saying it, as the white one unspooled more vines and trussed him up even further. "Jesus I'm so fucking sorry, please, just let me go, Felix--"

The hands on his body forced him to the ground, on all fours, and the vines anchored into the dirt, binding him in place. He was positioned so he could see the house, could see the light shining through its upstairs windows, could see the silhouette watching him from the nearest one. "Felix--" He wailed again, and tried to crawl away, but the vines held him tight. Those awful hands had found his hips, were stroking them and his thighs indulgently, over and over, and he whimpered in terror. Whichever of the monsters was behind him slithered closer, and he screamed again as something hard and smooth and textured like an uncarved pumpkin slid between his spread and trembling thighs. The thing was huge and long and shaped...shaped like a...

Before Gunnar could look down his body to see what was rutting against his half-hard cock, the other two monsters shuffled into view in front of him, once again making that awful, inhuman laugh. The white pumpkin knelt on its knobbly plant-knees, and Gunnar found himself repeating "No" on a terrified, baffled loop, as it grabbed the back of his head and held it firmly in place. Because the thing had grown a new appendage.

A second, smaller pumpkin dangled between its thighs, shaped like a fucking dick. A dick that the creature was now trying to force into Gunnar's mouth as he fought to get away. The mottled yellow had one too, and it was presumably Orange's dick that was grinding against his own, getting hard despite his best efforts.

His jaw stretched uncomfortably and he moaned in despair as the fake gourd dick filled his mouth, and the pumpkin thing laughed at him again. Behind him, the orange dragged its cock up his taint and pressed the tip against his asshole, and Gunnar couldn't even scream; the white pumpkin had started fucking his mouth, and he couldn't scream past the girth. Not even when the orange one thrust past his rim, miraculously not tearing anything but causing him a shitton of serious discomfort. Gunnar squirmed and bucked but it got him nowhere, and the monsters kept laughing as they spit-roasted him in the dirt. The yellow one got impatient and shoved the white one away, but Gunnar didn't have time to do more than catch his breath before a second hard, inhuman cock was stuffed into his mouth.

The two in front passed his mouth back and forth while the third used his ass, and the vines holding his limbs in place only dug in tighter if he squirmed too much. Tears were running down his face and his dick throbbed between his thighs, completely ignored.

Up in his room, Felix Underwood watched, fairly certain he was in for a much more peaceful school-life, come Monday morning.

[suzukiblu]

Rin. *Rin*. What the fuck (appreciative)? Those cis!Kon snippets. They hurt. Ow. :( (<- also appreciative).💚🥹

“I–sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, just–just no one else should,” Cassie says, looking flustered. “You’re–that isn’t–you’re not any different to me. Okay? And I know that’s not–not as, like, important as what you think about yourself, obviously it’s not, just–to me, you’re still–

Kon doesn’t wanna hear whatever Cassie’s going to say. She just–she doesn’t. 

It’s gonna hurt too much, whatever it is.