#and under Darryls skin

[kineticallyanywhere]

Monkey’s Paw pages 130-131 ( START HERE || ao3 || previous || next ) AU after episode 62. The Omega Dads try a more desperate gambit, but   careful what you wish for. Our dads find alternate versions of themselves in a strange dreamscape. Ifyou die in the dream, doyou die in real life?

we are getting real close to some more Monologues that I have been sitting on for more than a year

also this comic will not go about straight up shipping any of the dads, but I call it like I see it vis a vis how they interact with each other and who thinks who is hot

[psomeira]

1x02 - I've Got You Under My Skin

Stubbornly rating Charmed secondary characters.

Andy Trudeau: 2/10. He's even worse in this episode.

Darryl Morris: 6/10. Slightly better but still much to be improved.

Javna: 5/10 only because he was the first bad guy in Charmed that scared me when I was a kid and I still remember it. Pretty amateur as a demon. Lousy incantation to defeat him, again.

Rex Buckland: 7/10. I remember him getting worse, but this was a pretty good introduction.

Hannah Webster: 7/10. She's pretty and her scene made me laugh (which is more than any scene with Andy can say!)

Pastor Williams: 0/10. Useless! Bad!

[its-tortle]

Hi Luisa! Hope you’re doing well!! ❤️ From the prompt list, how about 23? 🥰

hi galks!! thank you for this <3 sorry it took so long

23. "Just pretend to be my date"

In retrospect, Bucky has no idea why he thought it would even be a good idea to come to this thing. He doesn’t know the groom that well, he doesn't know the bride at all, and his positive response to the RSVP was really mostly just because he had a pathetic lack of plans and was a glass or three of wine in. Also, he had foolishly hoped that the guy he had gone on two semi-pleasant dates with would turn into a boyfriend by the time he had to attend yet another one of these stupid weddings. But Darrian or Dorian or Darryl had turned out to be a tool, mostly, and they hadn’t even made it to their fourth date, so now Bucky is an itchy suit again, nursing his fourth glass of champagne and watching the happy couple -- couples, really -- spin around the dancefloor in their own little world of blissful oblivion. Bitches. 

He suppresses a sneer -- because he should be happy for them, really he should! -- and knocks back the rest of his glass. 

He hates himself a little bit, maybe, because he’s being the grumpy asshole in the corner he vowed to never be, but he’s just really sick of tinder matches that result in having to answer to how many siblings he has and what his favorite movie is only to end up at every wedding alone.

It’s not his fault his ex was an asshole and he’s gotten kind of bad at letting people in. 

And he’s fine most of the time, he really is, except suddenly it’s getting hard to convince himself of that because Brock is here, somehow, and he looks way too put together in his crisp suit and he’s laughing at something with a blonde hanging off of his arm and Bucky’s skin is crawling. He wants to run. He wants to grab another flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray just to throw it in Brock’s face. He wants to scream.

Mostly, he finds he just wants to show Brock that he’s better off without him, even if he still has to remind himself of it sometimes. He wants to seem cool, and handsome, and put together and over it in a way he can’t bring himself to totally be. He hears what sounds like an echo of a pop princess in his head sing “nobody actually happy and healthy has ever felt so desperate to prove it” at that thought, and maybe Maisie is right, but dammit, he just wants Brock to see that it’s his loss. 

Bucky is a catch. Brock is just some dude.

Except Bucky is the one sitting sourly in the corner while Brock is charming the pants off of the audience he’s amassed.

Bucky refuses to stand for it.

“If looks could kill,” a voice muses suddenly from beside him, and Bucky almost jumps with the surprise of it. 

His gaze follows the voice to a figure sitting at the table to his left -- and what a figure it is. The man is around Bucky’s age, with golden hair and blue, blue eyes, and shoulder’s the size of a fridge. Somehow, miraculously, he almost looks graceful despite it. With the bump in his nose and little waist Bucky can see under his tapered suit, he looks like a Greco-Roman statue. 

Bucky stares.

The man raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Bucky blurts. “I’m not- I don’t usually stare like that. I’m not a serial killer.”

The blond chuckles, but it doesn’t feel mean. “You sure?”

“I mean-” Bucky feels himself sink deeper into his awkwardness, even as he tries to backpedal. “I’d kill him maybe, but he’s an outlier.”

The stranger laughs again, and Bucky feels a little too proud of himself for it.

He steps away from the column he’s leaning on to take a seat beside the stranger at the table and hopes he isn’t being presumptuous. A pretty smile lets him know he doesn't mind.

“So what’s his crime?” the stranger prompts then. “Is he a high school bully? A shitty coworker? An ex?

“The latter,” Bucky admits. “And obviously it looks like he’s here only to rub into my face that he’s thriving.”

“I don’t know,” the stranger muses. “It kind of looks like he’s balding a little bit.”

Bucky lets out a startled laugh and decides he likes him right there and then. “Fucker deserves it.”

“Didn’t end well?” the stranger guesses.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky scoffs wryly, finally feeling somewhat like he’s regained his footing. “He kind of- oh shit, he’s coming over.”

And like that, his footing is gone. Sure enough, Brock seems to have spotted them across the dance floor and is cutting his way through the crowds with that pretty blonde still hanging off of his arm.

Bucky turns to the stranger in a panic. “Fuck. Can you- Can I ask a favor?”

The stranger frowns. “Sure.”

“Just pretend to be my date,” Bucky blurts. “For like, a minute until he goes away.”

Bucky expects the stranger to protest, to scoff and call him ridiculous to even suggest it, but instead he just gives Bucky a subtle nod and adjusts his seating so his (glorious) thigh and (beautiful devastating) shoulder is bumping into Bucky’s. Bucky presses back in thanks.

“James, darling,” Brock jeers when he approaches them. “How nice to see you made it.”

Brock might have been ruinously impossible to read, but even Bucky can tell he doesn't mean that. If he does, it’s just to rub his composed-ness into Bucky’s face. That’s not a word. Whatever.

“You too,” Bucky manages to grit back. “You look good.”

“You too,” Brock replies, but the moment of hesitation before it speaks volumes. Bucky wants to scratch his eyes out. 

“Still working at the shop, then?” Brock asks. Bucky just about jumps out of his chair.

“Yeah,” Bucky manages. His smile is so fake it's hurting his face.

“But he’s actually just started a new project!” the stranger cuts in all of a sudden. “Haven’t you, babe?”

He’s perfect, beautiful, a knight in shining armor. Bucky could kiss him.

Instead, he just smiles and looks back to Brock. “Oh, yes!” he confirms, like he only just remembered because fun new projects happen to him all the time. “I’m restoring this gorgeous 60s Corvette. It’s Tony Starks, actually.”

Brock looks almost impressed, and Bucky wants to leap with joy. He isn’t even lying.

“That’s so cool!” the blonde on Brock’s arm says.

“Congrats,” Brock comments, though it falls a little flat. “Who’s this?” he asks after a moment, gesturing to the Adonis of a stranger.

“Oh, right,” Bucky asks, like this isn’t an orchestrated part of the interaction. “This is my boyfriend. Darling, this is Brock. He’s an old friend.”

Brock’s face twitches like Bucky hoped it would. The ‘old friend’ bit always works like a charm -- Bucky’s been on the other end of it.

“Steve,” his fake boyfriend, Steve, introduces himself. “Pleasure.” He holds out his hand to shake because apparently Bucky looped a gentleman into his con.

A gentleman with a lame white boy name that Bucky somehow finds endearing when it melds itself to pretty blue eyes and a crooked nose.

Brock shakes the hand with a poorly disguised grimace.

“Right well,” he says after another short moment of awkward silence. “This is Emily.”

Emily gives them a dorky little wave that’s almost cute. Bucky notes that she wasn’t allowed to introduce herself and reminds himself not to hate her. She’s just Brock’s next victim anyhow. 

She doesn’t even get the girlfriend label. Classic.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky says as earnestly as he can.

Another silence stretches between them. The band has just started playing a Smiths song at a wedding, for some reason.

“Right, well,” Bucky’s knight in shining armor says before it can stretch too wide. “It was so nice to meet you both and I hate to interrupt, but I’d love to ask my best guy for a dance?”

He looks over at Bucky with a questioning glance, and Bucky takes the bait gladly. “Yes! Of course. Please excuse us, this is our song.”

If either Brock or Emily are perturbed by their song being Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want by the Smiths, they don’t show it. Bucky internally pumps his fist.

Steve loops his arm through Bucky’s as he leads them to the dance floor, and Bucky curses himself for noticing how solid and warm his arm is. He smells like a warm July evening.

When they reach the floor, Steve loops the same arm around Bucky’s waist and loosely holds his hand in the other. Bucky glances at Brock and Emily over his shoulder and makes a short moment of eye contact with Brock until Steve spins him around and Brock is well out of sight.

“Sorry,” Steve says suddenly, quietly. “I just thought we might want out of that situation.”

Bucky waves him off. “No, thank you. For that and for- the whole thing.”

“Sure,” he responds easily. “He seems like an asshole.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “He is.”

His beautiful knight-in-shining-armor Adonis stranger is even more beautiful under the twinkling lights of the dance floor, if that’s even possible. His hair falls into his face like a golden curtain. His eyes look like the stars.

“But really,” Bucky says. “You were amazing. I owe you one.”

Steve’s starry eyes crinkle at the corners. “No need. It was fun, honestly.”

Bucky tries to find a way to say that he wants to owe Steve one, wants the excuse to see Steve again, when he beats him to it.

“But, um,” he utters, looking suddenly a bit nervous. Bucky admires that he’s still smiling, that he looks unapologetic about his nervousness. He’s brave, Bucky realizes, and it makes him a little warm. 

“If you wanted to owe me one,” Steve ventures, “you could.”

Bucky can’t help the incredulous little laugh that escapes him. Steve isn’t real. He can’t be.

“Dinner?” he asks.

Steve nods.

When Bucky enters his number in Steve’s phone a moment later, he enters his name as Bucky :) before he can think better of it.

Steve frowns when he takes it back. “I thought your name was James,” he questions.

“It is,” Bucky says quickly. “Technically. But Bucky’s a childhood nickname and I just- I like it better.”

Brock always laughed at it, said it was juvenile and Bucky couldn’t expect anyone to take him seriously with it. But Steve just smiles. 

“Me too,” he says.

Bucky doesn’t mind the next wedding he attends so much. It’s hard to when Steve is holding his hand and clumsily spinning him around a dance floor and making him choke on his drink with laughter. 

And when Brock shows up dateless, Bucky’s too happy to even feel vindictive about it. Mostly.

[y2ksnowglobe]

Deep appreciation for episode 30 (Van on the Run)

This is a long post where I just ramble on all the moments that make me love this episode.

The dethroning of fleshlight tag as the worst thing that anyone ever said.

The "Hey Andrew" story

Big old butt crack down the middle of the orb

Terry Jr. asking why Ron isn't wearing pants

"I'd better write that down as a note. Terry Jr., easy to lie to."

Lark literally taking a note about how unpaid interns die sometimes. (This turns into my firm belief that Mae Hailes is a paid intern)

Ron insisting Paeden is his half-brother. "My dad is my dad too!"

just gonna weep and tear my hair out real quick over that one.

Ron's insights on the patriarchy

"My stepson is here, and I am looking at him in the eye right now and it's not weird at all. It's not weird. We're just making eye contact right here." "It's a little weird. You have not blinked in several minutes." "Now it hurts to blink, so I'm not going to ever…" "That's not how it works. You have to blink." "No. It's like my eyes are getting…" "Dad, blink." Like what a way to start normalizing Terry Jr. calling Ron "Dad"

Sparrow's stealth hug

Just...starting to really see the dead inside Grant is both heartbreaking and really funny.

Nick's shaky fist bump makes me wanna cry.

I am always there for a good low perception roll joke.

Reveal that Ron just carries to lure that killed Willy around with him.

"Yeah! Your dad is George Washington!"

THEORY TIME: Like this episode is where we get most of our information about the kids' time in Ravenloft, and like...I don't buy it. Looking at how the kids phrase things, I've been solidly convinced that the O-Dads have Geas'ed the hell out of these kids so they can't give any specific details about what was done to them, but I feel like there's a loophole where they can talk about things that weren't done. So, for example: Nick specifies that Bill ignored him. I'll keep coming back to this as we keep going.

Weird detail: Darryl is with Glenn on the murder Henry's dad train at the start.

God I love to hate Barry Oak so much, he makes me skin crawl and he is in top form in this episode.

"I AM DRIVING WITH MY FRIENDS, FATHER! I'LL TALK TO YOU LATER!" It's such a teenager-y thing to say and I feel like it really gives a snapshot into what their relationship was like back in the day.

I really wanna get a snapshot into Nick's mind as he hears his dad completely lose his cool about Barry. Like, my boy did such a good job trying to act unbothered and brave, and then Glenn just is deeply and visibly upset about Barry almost killing him (which is valid, I just feel like it's a new experience for Nick)

Lark and Sparrow jumping in to drive when Henry lets go of the wheel. Like, not sure what happened with Sparrow, but Lark has been an epic driver from the get-go.

ANOTHER THEORY: Sparrow is really interesting in this episode. He willingly covers his ears when asked by Henry, and he's the one who hits the brakes when Henry tells them to stop the car. He's also just weirdly chill and forgiving, and like...I do not buy this as love wolf shit, he is clearly under some kind of magical influence to make him more compliant. You do not get the Sparrow that looks scared in the drone footage in episode 28 to this remarkably chill and forgiving kid without magical interference.

Freddie putting his foot down that Glenn would not mess with firearms while drunk

Barry's "Oh kakaw kakaw" when he's shot is probably in my top ten vocal stims from this show.

Lark enthusiastically supporting Glenn shooting Barry makes me so happy

Henry going from trying to be firm and calm as Glenn loses his shit, and immediately shifting to "ooooh, I hate you so much" as soon as Barry starts talking to him is so funny. Just all the ideals fly out the window.

Find it super interesting how Henry cites "respecting his choices" as a thing here considering what happens later on with the bracelets.

I both do and don't want to know if Anthony already had the idea for the Lark and Sparrow homunculi when Barry offers letting Henry take his kids and run and giving up all the other kids. Like regardless of whether or not it was planned, I do love the idea that Barry is giving this offer because he knows he's got the real ones tucked back in Oakvale.

I love the word abscond, okay?

Love Barry framing his failure as a father as disappointment in Henry's choices. I want to kick him in the face.

Mr. Mustache calling Ron "Honey"

"No. You just exasperatedly asked why a bunch of times. A.k.a. the Henry Oak special."

Geas theory follow up: Lark telling them they forgot to feed them fits into the loophole of being something the granddads didn't do, so they're allowed to mention it. Also this part of starting to hint at what exactly went down is so just *chefs kiss.*

Freddie's "WHY?" When Matt asks if Darryl can perceive that Ron peed his pants.

Freddie being told the charm needs to be in an enclosed space and immediately going "What if we had an umbrella?"

Freddie picking the first audio result for Fantasy Tavern for the sound.

"Bring us your hottest moms!"

This next bit always slays me and I don't even know why:

The jokes about the level one adventurer group is beautiful. I hope things turned out okay for that fighter and four rogues.

Henry making up Mr. X only for Mr. X to be real.

Ron thoroughly describing the fake voice he's going to do, only to reveal it's just his normal voice.

Ron's whole exchange with the other rogues.

Henry describing Glenn's fantasy voice as Italian

Anthony trying to keep up with what the crew are trying to do as they're attempting to get a room.

Also, everything is in shillings now for no adequately explained reason?

The random bar patrons who are gonna be so disappointed when they make it to the other side of town to find out that Hi I'm Ron is not playing.

The start of the NPCs realizing they could have asked for more money gag.

Glenn almost going to see what's up with Mr. X but then getting bored.

Anthony doing a C3P0 impression

Geas Theory update: Grant phrases it as "they weren't nice" and the most detail we get from Grant is that "Willy's really mean" only for him to then say, "It was fine, I guess." Terry tops out at saying that Willy "shouted at them a fair number of times" and that's as intense as any of their descriptions get. Like this is sus as heck. Especially since at minimum, we know that Lark and Sparrow got homunclui'd and that somehow, Barry got the twins to sit quietly. The boys are underselling this and the only one that would be in character for would be like...Nick (who we already saw was super shaky). Darryl even prompts Grant saying it's okay if it was rough and they were scared and we still get no further information.

Ron's scary story is so good for so many reasons. Like the way he tries to make it spookier by making Willy a man with a fishingpole for an arm, by calling fish "food that breathes underwater" like that mixed with the realization that he's telling the story of how Willy died is just...an excellent combo of scary and not scary and it's just a baffling bunch of weird that is pure Ron.

Terry being baffled by Ron asking if they want to sing Rock-a-bye Baby, only for it to turn out Ron doesn't know the words.

"You find more knives than not knife in his pants."

The fact that Lark was smuggling knives for a breakout attempt is just so lovely, go off my murderous little weirdo.

Also seeing Henry taking weapons from his kids knowing where this ends up is just (collapses into a ball of sad)

Henry deflecting from the werewolf questions by just switching to the topic of puberty, only for Sparrow to be too receptive to wanting to learn.

Darryl overhearing Paeden saying that Grant's dad is cool only for Grant to not say anything in response.

"Did Ron kill his dad?"

Seeing Darryl be actually upset about the fact that he's the only one who'd want to see his dad, but his dad's not there. And seeing Darryl actually grapple with the idea that he doesn't understand Glenn, Henry, and Ron's relationships with their dads, and like the weird feeling of not being able to relate being isolating, but still realizing it's an isolation you should be thankful for.

Ghost football ft. George Washington and one of his slaves

"Dude, that was the entire snarling id of the American masculine psyche in one image…It was like football, George Washington, your dad, and the Sword of Damocles that is slavery."

Glenn in the dream space

Bill Close calling Glenn tiger is just like such a small detail but it's like one of those moments that we really can actually see him being a dad, I think?

The gut punch of "Do you love me?" and "You wake up." like God DAMN!!!!!

Like this episode is such a buffet of character dynamics, and jokes, and lore, and room for theories, and I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!! WHY DID IT TAKE ME SO LONG TO REALIZE IT'S MY FAVORITE????????

[itsbrucey]

hihi helloo brucey :D ik i have a LOT of asks in your inbox however- i’m trying to draw my dnd character rn and recently i realised he’d be more closer in body type to darryl wilson and I was wondering if you have any tips on drawing that body type? (I think you do a really good job at doing it so asking for some advice hehe also how do you draw faces/hj don’t have to answer all my questions sorryyyy) okok byeeee *falls over*

HEEEEELLLLLOOOOOOOO LARK listen man just keep them coming bc I'll check the mail eventually. Ok I'm not a professional artist + my anatomy tends to be pretty jank so first and foremost, I recommend using real life references for body types/muscle structure SO YOU CAN AT LEAST Y'KNOW,,, GET AN IDEA HOW FAT AND MUSCLE N SKIN MOVES.

Here's a super quick VERY ROUGH sketch page of like,, kinda bodies/faces?

I think my tips are:

Fat and muscle looks different on everybody, but build the basic skeleton/muscle shapes and put fat on top of that. Again, use refs, they help a lot!

I use a lot of rounded squares and have found them the most helpful for construction. I tend to avoid using direct squares or circles because I find that they don't give me the form I prefer, but it's also whatever you need to get the job done!

Fat drapes and layers TYPICALLY ( not always, depends y'know, REFERENCES) so typically I've found that the breast sits on a fat towards the bottom of the ribcage area, and that folds around the side/arm and goes into the torso, which can come out to lovehandles/hip dips. So keep in mind that it's usually all layering?

There's fat and muscle under the arms and inner-thighs! I don't always remember it but it can be helpful for drawing thicker/fatter characters

Stretch marks go a lot way!

For heads/faces, I tend to use a square or twisted plane and turn it into a fucked up cube, similar to old chunky computers? I only started doing this recently but I prefer it over circles bc I like the form better. I then tend to map out eyes with a guideline and put a little line nose but it depends on how complex I'm drawing.

I may make a more detailed guide thing but I'm not an expert, and someone who I recommend is @/officialspec ( whom I think kicks ass + has better guides)

[kissablelips-desireslure-vol2]

BOY CULTURE (2006)

DARRYL STEPHENS (as Andrew)

&

DEREK MAGYAR (as X)

Directed By: Q. Allan Brocka

Written By: Matthew Rettenmund, Philip Pierce and Q. Allan Brocka

Synopsis: A successful (high class) Male escort describes in a series of Confessions his tangled romantic relationships with his two roommates and an older, enigmatic male client.

My Synopsis & Short Review: X is a male escort and he costs a pretty penny with a very exclusive client list. He harbors feelings for both his roommates but very different feelings. For his teenaged roommate Joey he cares for like a little brother yet no so much that he is immune to X's (maybe list) or backup plan. But it's Andrew that gets under X's skin. It's Andrew that X finds captivating.

Andrew wants X just as much but wants X to want him as well. Both are stubborn. Andrew decides to pay X for his sexual services for a penny. Notice the penny jar.

Boy Culture is a cult classic. Perhaps not for everyone but definitely worth a try. I loved it.

[officialgleamstar]

what if. what if kiss prompt 43 rodie

girl what if i passed away and went to heaven

43. A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Jodie didn't think he was necessarily overly affectionate. He had never been much of a hugger growing up, was pretty withdrawn from his father and friends if anything. His mom was always physically affectionate, but she was gone most of the time, and so that trait never rubbed off on him. He loved that Morgan was so touchy with him, but it rarely dawned on him to initiate anything in return. Nicholas always took after Jodie in never particularly wanting a hug from his father - or maybe, retroactively, Nicky was just copying his dad's own hands off care. Nicky always did like to cuddle with his mom.

That didn't matter. What mattered was that Jodie wasn't a touchy guy, and so his clinginess with Ron was weird to everyone including him.

He blamed it on the demon bond. It had to be some supernatural force coming over him. Whenever the other man was in his vicinity, Jodie felt the pull to be all over him, draping his arms around his shoulders or patting his back or holding to his wrist like a worried child. It was like an itch under his skin. He had to be near him.

And, well, with their height difference, the head kisses just came naturally.

Jodie took a deep breath before he stepped into the room, scenting for Ron on the air. He always checked before he walked into any given room, because it was easier to hide his disappointment before being greeted by anyone else who might be around.

Henry, Ron, Glenn, Ron, Ron, Ron. He pushed open the door of the DADDIES HQ offices, eyes darting around the cubicles. Henry was staring blankly at a wall. Glenn was plucking at his guitar, feet up on a desk that probably wasn't assigned to him. And Ron was actually doing work, pen scratching at some papers, which was so uncharacteristic that Jodie almost stopped for a moment. Then he remembered that it was Ron and that familiar demon bond took over his body.

Henry and Glenn glanced up as Jodie swept across the room, Henry calling out a short greeting and Glenn rolling his eyes. Jodie didn't pay them any mind, eyes locked onto Ron. He was wearing clunky headphones, the little stickers on them probably indicating that they were stolen from his step-son, and he seemed blissfully unaware of the world around him. Jodie peeked over his shoulder, ignoring whatever Glenn was loudly grumbling. Henry laughed. Jodie ignored that, too, his tail flicking back and forth as he scanned the page Ron was writing on.

It was work, though utterly unrelated to anything that DADDIES was focused on. Ron was signing off on some sale confirmation for his and Darryl's beer company, seemed to be some local liquor store, and then Jodie's eyes started glazing over. His brain never liked technical terms, the ADHD tended to ruin any chance he had at properly processing it. Legalese was the worst part of his position in Hell. Legalese being in the way of him getting attention from Ron just seemed like a nightmare.

He reached up and, with a gentle touch, pulled the headphones down from Ron's head. He jumped, startled, and Jodie ducked to kiss the top of his head before Ron could turn around. Even while standing, Ron was a good height for it, but it was just so easy when he was sitting down. His hair was sparse but soft where it rested against his scalp, thinning out more and more as the years trekked by. Jodie was endlessly fond of it.

Henry and Glenn both made some goofy gagging noises. Jodie kept ignoring them, just straightening as Ron glanced up at him.

"Oh, hey, Jodie."

"Hi, Ron," he replied, all too aware of how smitten his tone was.

[angrelysimpping]

November Prompts Day 6: Star Gazing

Alex (they/them); Reader (you/your); mushy fluff

Words: 103

Darryl (they/them); Reader (you/your); also mushy fluff

Words: 155

Alex

“That one,” Alex points out the line of stars, “that’s Orion’s belt.” 

You nuzzle against the farmhand's sholder, humming in acknowledgment as they point out another cluster of stars. 

“I don’t remember what that one’s called but my Ma always looked for that one at night. She said those are the stars she first met my Pa under.”

You shift a little on the blanket, their arm around your shoulder flexing at the movement. 

“That one,” they murmur, pointing out a brightly winking star “is the one we met under.”

You can’t help but smile as you press a kiss to their skin. 

Darryl

Neither of you speaks as you sit on a blanket, both with your heads tilted back, gazing at the night sky. It’s nice like this, the silence. Normally, you’d only see Darryl at their club, so it was a rare treat that you got to hang out with them like this. 

You glance at their face as subtly as you can, taking in the expression of awe as they watch the stars, more and more blinking into existence as the night grows darker and their eyes adjusted.

You keep looking at Darryl out of your peripheral, slowly sliding your hand closer to theirs on the blanket. The tips of your fingers brush against theirs, and they jump. You stay like that, letting them have the option to shift away from you if they want to.

Darryl slides their hand over yours, thumb stroking the back of your hand as they keep looking at the stars.

[boricuacherry-blog]

One day they hoped to be able to be in contact with the people they loved, but for the moment they couldn't do that. They could give their address to very few people, and even that was a commercial mailing service, a "suite" that was really a locked mailbox in a mall.

Sheila Bellush was thirty-five. She had worked in attorneys' offices since she was eighteen, but was now a full-time mother taking care of the twins she had with her new husband. Sheila did what she had to do, hoping her ex-husband wouldn't find where she had moved to, under the cover of darkness.

And so November 7 was an ordinary day, but only in the context of Sheila Bellush's life. In truth, there were no ordinary days for Sheila; she had lived with fear so long that it seeped like acid into any fleeting serenity she might attain, corroding her thoughts, sending jets of adrenaline through her veins.

Her husband Jamie had begun the paperwork to adopt her two daughters by her ex-husband Allen. That day, Jamie was on the road, planning to visit several doctors' offices for Pfizer. He promised to be home before dark. They would have the weekend together. Sheila had no doubt they would spend the rest of their lives together. She was half right.

Stevie Bellush, thirteen, was petite and small-boned like her mother, although she had her father's facial features and his dark hair. She and her sister Darryl had always excelled in school, but they had been through a lot in their young life.

Today Stevie was in a good mood. She hurried home from junior high school shortly before 4 that Friday. "I heard that a boy I liked was going to ask me out," she remembered. "And I wanted to tell my mom."

The front door was unlocked, which was strange. Her mother was adamant that the doors remain locked.

Afterward Stevie would remember that she couldn't make sense out of the first thing she saw when she walked into the front room. All of the babies were standing in the hallway crying as if their hearts would break. Her mother never let them cry; she always picked them up and soothed them. For some reason they had no clothes on - nothing but the little life vests they wore when they were in the swimming pool in the Florida room. Their faces were swollen from sobbing. Stevie thought they must have been crying for a long time.

What made the least sense to Stevie were the funny pattern of dark red specks on the babies' skin, some in their hair and on their feet. Some of them had swaths of the same color, as if someone had dipped a brush in red paint and then daubed at their flesh. All of their little bottoms were bare under their life jackets. Her mother usually put their diapers back on after they swam, but she hadn't done that.

Shock and disbelief often block the mind from accepting what the eyes perceive. Even so, Stevie's dread was so great that there was a thunderous pounding in her ears. She went looking for her mother, calling out for her as she moved through room after room. She stared at the scattered clothing trailing through the kitchen from the utility room as if someone had just thrown it there haphazardly. In the kitchen doorway there was another mound of clothing. She looked closer and saw that it was a person, a person crumpled on the floor in a sea of red. Then she realized the person on the floor was her mother, lying motionless in the doorway, just in front of the dishwasher. Her face and arms and blue shirt were all covered with the same red. Stevie just stood there, trying to take in what she was seeing. She walked into the bedroom, and dialed 911 on the phone with numb fingers. But then she hung up. Had she really seen her mother lying in the floor with all that blood? She thought she was somehow imagining it. She walked back into the kitchen and saw her mother still lying there, then picked up the phone again.

As the 911 operator began questioning her, the horror of what she was seeing cut through her shock and she began to sob.

When paramedics arrived on the scene, they instantly could tell she was beyond saving, though it was clear she had put up a tremendous fight. Her pupils were fixed and dilated and she was covered in defensive wounds. Her throat had been cut and her shirt was soaked through with blood. The quadruplets might still be young enough not to remember what happened. They hoped that was true.

"Do you know who might have done this?" they asked Stevie.

"Yes. I know who did it, but he didn't do it himself. He probably hired someone to do it."

"Who?"

"My father did it. My father - Allen Blackthorne."

The crew checked the four toddlers who had dried blood all over them. There was evidence they had huddled next to her for some of the six hours they had waited alone in the house for someone to find them. It appeared little Frankie had clung to his mother's leg while she was still upright and moving across the kitchen to the phone, because he had blood splashed inside his life jacket. With her last breath of life and blood rapidly draining from her body, Sheila had managed to get the kitchen phone off the hook, but then collapsed and fell backward before she could call 911.

Warning: Autopsy***

Lieutenant Ron Albritton inspected where the victim lay. It would take an autopsy to determine which of her wounds had killed her. There was a round bullet hole, rimmed with gunpowder, in the center of her right cheek, but there was also a bloodstained filleting knife, its tip bent, lying next to her. Whoever killed her had wanted to be sure she was dead.

A .45-caliber shell casing was on top of the dryer. The shooter had evidently used a white hand towel, now sooty with gunpowder, to try and muffle the sound of the gunshot, but the towel was black and burned where it had been sucked into the muzzle of the gun, making the weapon useless until someone managed to extricate it. With Sheila fighting back - as she apparently did, even with the bullet wound in her face - her killer would have had to look for another weapon. There was an empty spot in the knife rack on the kitchen wall. She had probably been stabbed with her own knife. The filleting knife had gone completely through her right hand and her throat had been savagely cut. The single gunshot wound that broke her jaw had bled profusely, but from the veins, not her arteries. It had taken awhile for bleeding out to occur. There were numerous nonfatal stabs and scrapes, but two heavy blunt-force blows to her head that had caused her brain to hemorrhage. These were consistent with blows from the butt of a gun.

*** End: of autopsy

As she lay now on the autopsy table, Sheila was still beautiful, her eyes clear and her face serene. Unlike some murder victims, there was no terror etched on her face. She had put up a tremendous fight, but as she died, perhaps she had seen another world - the Heaven she had always believed in despite the emotional pain in her life.

Nothing had been stolen from her home, but someone had kept stabbing and beating her long after she was fatally injured. And that someone had a heart icy enough to walk away and leave four babies alone with their bleeding mother. They were too young to be witnesses, but they had seen what happened. One of her tiny boys was already worrying about "Mommy's bad boo-boo," and another said, "The bad man hurt Mommy." Would they ever sleep again without nightmares?

Neighbors reported seeing a strange man in the neighborhood the day of the murder - a well-built, youngish man who was wearing what appeared to be fatigues with a variegated camouflage pattern, who owned a white Mitsubishi Eclipse. A run on the license-plate showed the registered owner was Maria Del Toro of La Pryor, Texas, a small town west of San Antonio, near Eagle Pass on the Mexican border. Maria was a woman in her sixties who had not reported her car stolen. They soon found out Maria had purchased that car for her grandson, José Luis, who was also called Joey. Maria and her husband had raised him as their son.

They found where José Del Toro, a.k.a. Juan Del Toro, had been - at a girl named Carol Arreola's house. Carol shared her apartment with two other girls, Olga Gonzalez and Keren Martin. Carol said she knew Joey but he didn't live in the apartment. He never had. But he had stopped there over the last several days. She had given him a key to the apartment - she knew him well enough to trust him, even though she and her roommates would be away most of the weekend. His sloppiness was a bone of contention between Carol and her roommates; they were annoyed when he left signs of partying in the rest of their neat apartment. Asked if he did drugs, they said he smoked marijuana and snorted cocaine. When searching Carol's room, they made a jarring discovery - a khaki duffel bag with heavy military boots sticking out.

Carol, who was a criminal justice major in college, said she had known Joey since the previous December, and they had dated, and were still dating, but only as "friends."

They didn't believe her, but didn't press her on that matter. Carol last recalled him asking her to get rid of the clothes and boots he left in her apartment, "and a duffel bag that was in his car. He said I should make all those things 'disappear.'"She said he had told her he'd done "something he shouldn't have done" but he wouldn't tell her what.

Frightened, Carol kept adding to her statement, before revealing, "He told he had done something like a hit man would do" and that the victim's ex-husband had ordered the hit. She said she had withheld this information out of fear for her own safety.

He had also confessed to her that he now "knew what it was like to look into a woman's eyes that you're about to harm."

The former South Texas high school football star, dressed in a long-sleeved electric blue Tommy Hilfiger shirt and khakis, sang about the mercy that he is under the impression that God has given him, though some inside sources state he's actually going to Hell.

[thedivinemsem]

In a bit less than two months I’m taking a cruise that takes me back to a place I haven’t been in almost 40 years.....Mykonos.  This was back in the 80s when we didn’t worry about skin cancer.....and credit for my hair goes to Sun In (if you remember that stuff you are probably old too). I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry remembering how I was sure I was too fat back then. 

Anyhow it was my first international trip (if you don’t count Canada with my parents), and I took it with a student/young adult group called AESU which apparently still exists.  I was in love, and after I booked the trip my then-boyfriend decided to come along.....proof, I was sure, that he truly loved me and we would be together forever.   That didn’t happen, but it was a lifechanging trip for sure, back in the days of no internet/cellphones and so little, if any contact with the world back home.  We wandered Athens and Delphi before heading out to some of the islands.

To give some context, in 1982 the movie Summer Lovers came out.  It starred a very young Darryl Hannah and the premise was that she and her boyfriend went to Santorini for the summer and over the course of the summer they explored breaking conventional relationship boundaries.  Mykonos figured prominently in the film as a place where the young and beautiful and rich went to play.

And it was definitely a place to play.  Although we weren’t rich, we were a young and energetic group who had no problem drinking Amstel and dancing literally until the sun came up.

Some people find that scents bring back memories....for me, its often music.  There were two songs that played over and over (and over) again in every single club we visited...One was “Ride the White Horse” and the other was in Spanish, with a melody I never forgot, but could never find again.

Until one day, I was listening to Pit Bull’s Globalization.  (Depending on your taste in music that could be a good thing or just a guilty pleasure).  One of the things I love about the station is that so many of the mixes involve songs that I attach to good times in my past - a lot of disco, for example.  Even so, I was shocked to hear the melody of the song I’d loved but was never able to find again.  Thanks to the magic of Google, I found out what it was.....and unlike so many things from the past that didn’t age well, for me this song did....It brings back late nights dancing with friends and strangers under the stars, ouzos all around, and telling stories of our life....which at that time were short enough that we could generally get through the basics in a few hours.  These days I’m sure I’ve forgotten much more than I remember.

So I never forget it again, I bring you La Colegiala, the song that brings me back to a magical place and a magical time when I was young. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeyL_1FJ8dU

[inkyquince]

Which NPCs would jerk off under their desk while looking at or talking to the PC? Relatedly, which NPCs would take secret upskirt pics of the PC to add to their spank bank?

Under Desk

Kylar.

My anon in christ, I know what inspired this ask. Can't help themselves, whether they're in the canteen or in English, or just sitting opposite you at the cafe. For christ's sake, at the Arcade he's pressing his erection against the machine and rolling his hips just enough to elevate some pressure. He can't help it. Usually just rests his hands in his lap and uses the heel of his palm to press against his lap slowly, looking more like he's massaging his thigh than anything else. Kylar has only managed to cum once from this and it was from sharing a milkshake with you, with your feet touching just a bit. He isn't totally shameless, he does wish that his dick was so interested every single time you two hung out but hey, what can you do.

Sydney

Look, they aren't trying to! It just... It feels good when they rest their hand between their thighs and press their crotch against their forearm while you're hanging out together. While pure, Sydney gets a dizzying rush when they do this, connecting the feeling overall with you, instead of touching themselves. For instance, they wouldn't feel so elated if anyone else was in front of them. Corrupt Sydney does it... Because it feels good. You help them discover how good it feels and sometimes they want to bask in the fact that this pleasure exists. Doesn't wanna bother you, just don't mind them.

Sirris

Yeah, Sirris isn't proud of this one. But sometimes, when you fully just strip bare in front of the class, or when they're playing one of their tapes and seek out you in the class, wanting to see what you're thinking of the footage, they can't help themselves. Just needs a moment behind their desk, not to cum but just to rub themselves just a bit. Leaves the actual masturbating till the end of class and tries to make themselves cum as quickly as possible but you hang around to ask a question. Sirris hopes you can't see their hand tucked into their underclothes from the angle you're sitting on their desk.

River

It was an accident! When Whitney strips you of your shirt, River sends him out, utterly shocked but apparently they like it more than they want to admit they do. They awkwardly settle some books on their lap and begin to pack up when the bell rings. But they can't help the way their thighs squeeze together, the pressure of the books. They don't touch themselves at all but do guiltily use the pressure to rub themselves a bit.

Darryl

They nearly cry doing it. They don't want to do it. You're in the shoes they were in, and they know they'd hate it if someone was talking to them, only to be jerking off out of sight. But they can't stop looking at you, dancing. It kickstarts a sleeping libido that hadn't been active since... Ever. They don't rub, they guilty squeeze the heat between their thighs and blush intensely the entire time. They won't do it again. Darryl doesn't want to ever take liberties like that again, even if you wore the skimpiest thing on earth. They just need to do it this once.

Relaxed Guard

Hey, you're cute. And you misbehaved.

So while the Veteran and Methodical Guard strip you, they might as well kick one foot up on the desk and cup their crotch, rubbing slowly as more of your skin is revealed. Fucking hell, you're attractive. Shame you're in here. If they were on their day off, then they would have sought you out at the pub, or at the club and touched you all nice in the bathroom. They know they could make you squeal, but the Relaxed Guard sighs and decides to keep it to the Laundry room, where you can part those lips and properly take care of their arousal.

Upskirt

Whitney

Yeah, duh. They do it when you're not wearing underwear and wants to take a snap. Its both a power rush, its because of them that you're not wearing any and they just... C'mon, Whitney loves your body, they're gonna enjoy collecting pictures of your bare skin. Doesn't really get off to the pictures, just likes to collect them of their slut.

Briar

It's about ownership, doll. You did something wrong, you have to double your clients for the day before you're allowed to trot out but before you can, Briar stops you. Slips their phone underneath your clothes and takes a pic, keeping eye contact with you all the while. Checks the picture and smiles, more of a sneer than actual pleasure. Puts it up in their office, to remind others not to let them down. Does it for other workers, but they like collecting yours more. Because you're their loyal little bitch, aren't you?

Landry

Look, they don't like it either. Yes, they know that they can just go online, ask around, meet up with Niki. They can and it would be less hassle to get those pictures they want of you. But other's took them. Landry prefers their own pictures of you. Odd angles, shaky images, they prefer it all. Because that's their own pictures, ones that are unique and no one else has seen them of you. Yes, others have seen your bare ass, but not this picture of it.

Leighton

Big surprise. Has their collection, has their cameras and their film reels and what not. Prefers films, but they aren't gonna miss the opportunity to sneak a quick shot on their phone, just to have, y'know.

Niki

It's disguised as posing for your photographer. They ask it in such a flat way, all professional that you don't even question it. Peel your clothes away, but don't bare all to the world, or in this case, Niki. You'll be paid more anyway. But little do you know, that Niki keeps this one. Pays no mind to the ones of you totally nude. These ones they keep, because they asked you, not as their photographer, but as them, not that you know the difference. Asked you to peel that shirt back just a bit, hitch that leg up, maybe shyly flash them. Loves those. Feels more intimate, so when they develop them, they silently put them up in their own apartment,

Remy

It's just to keep records! They do this for all the cattle, taking pictures of their bodies to see which one needs to put on a bit more weight, needs to have a bee sting checked out, if a mole is worrying them or something. All for health reasons. Well, that doesn't stop Remy from going back to the folders. Blank face, flicking through your pictures, ranging from a random farm hand professionally raising your hips for the camera to check out your skin around your extremities, to the latest, Remy's hands on your chest, checking your nipples, spreading your ass.

It's canon that Remy likes a hung bull. Does pause on those pictures, eyes trained on a hefty cock being squeezed near the tip to urge out some pre-cum by their familiarly gloved hand. Heavy balls being cupped, thumb running along the skin. They exhale slowly and slam the binder shut.

Both

Harper

Well okay, see here, its for medical reasons- Someone already used that excuse? Remy used that one? Bastard.

Yeah okay, Harper just likes having pictures of their favorite patient. After their appointment with you, they will sometimes walk you to the entrance, still chatting. In the lift, they will dig their phone out and try to take stealthy pictures. They take more when you're in a physical check up with them, but they pretend they feel some swelling they don't like, or a worrying mole, or a scar.

Doesn't touch themselves under the desk to you until the asylum. You have to get used to being the town mount, so why not watch your doctor stroke themselves to you? Maybe you should come closer and watch as near as you can. It's not just to cum on your face, shut up.

Scarred Inmate

Weirdly soft but hear me out. They're already always touching themselves openly to you. Loves having you strip and they rub themselves while you touch yourself. Your reactions are cute and sometimes they get extra shark teeth letting another inmate hump you, but they always insist on watching. You're their bitch after all, and fuck you're cute.

The pictures though? Well, your release date is coming up so they dump almost three year's worth of shark teeth into Wren's hands. Next Friday, Wren returns with a polaroid camera and waves you into a secluded corner. Spends the next thirty minutes photographing you, from a simple sitting down picture, to you inmate clothes stripped and bending over.

Just because you're going to be out soon, doesn't mean that the Scarred Inmate doesn't want to keep on seeing you. And they never regret the pictures they keep, even if they never see you again.

Masterlist

AO3

Kofi

[bisexual-thoughtss]

Tim LaFlour x Reader

In the words of James Acaster, “started making it, had a breakdown, bon appétit”. Can’t tell you how many times I rewrote this before I like it, but I finally finished this request! 😅 I hope y’all like it!

~

“Hey,” Tim calls halfheartedly as he enters the apartment, the familiar thud of his hockey gear hitting the floor following after.

“Hey, you’re back earlier than I expected,” you reply, gasping when you turned to face him. You hurry over to him, inspecting the cut and the bruise that was rapidly forming on his cheek.

“Oh Tim, what happened? Where was your shield?” you ask, gently turning his face to get a better look.

“I wasn’t even on the ice when it happened. Darryl was carrying too many sticks and someone yelled at him and he turned around too fast and hit me,” he explains, rolling his eyes.

“And then my nose started bleeding so they sent me home for the day,” he complains, gesturing to the remnants of the nosebleed on his shirt.

“Darryl is such an idiot,” you sigh, making Tim snort as you move to grab some ice from the freezer and put it in a baggie.

“Here, hold this on your cheek,” you tell him, handing him the bag that you’d wrapped in a towel.

“C’mon,” you said suddenly, pulling him along with you.

“What are we doing?” He asks, following you towards the bathroom.

“Gonna take care of my boy,” You smile as you turn the water on to warm up. You gesture for him to sit on the edge of the tub as you poke around the medicine cabinet, finally pulling out what you were looking for. You nudge his knees apart, stepping between them to tip his chin up and begin to work on cleaning up the small cut.

“Sorry,” you murmur as he gasped at the sting, pressing a little kiss to his forehead just to watch him smile before putting a small bandaid over the cut. You carefully rubbed some soothing gel onto his forming bruise and as you finish, Tim wraps his arms around your waist, pressing the clean side of his face into your chest.

“I love you so much,” he smiles up at you, the vibrations of his words making you shiver.

“I love you too. Now take your clothes off,” you laugh, making him giggle as you both began to strip. After tossing your hair up, you follow him into the shower, closing the curtain behind you. You both warm up under the water before grabbing some soap, beginning to lather him up and wash the remnants of the bloody nose away. He took some soap himself, lathering you up in return. You relax into his touch as he leans down to kiss you softly. Your hands rub up his stomach and you gently thumb at his nipple piercings, making him moan into the kiss, his hands reaching to squeeze your ass. You gently push him until he was pressed against the wall, kissing and nipping at his neck. He whines, his hips bucking into yours in search of friction, a pang of lust shooting to your core.

“Come on, let’s get this soap off,” you smirk, pinching his nipples playfully, making him groan when you move away so the water can wash you off. You got out of the shower, Tim rushing to rinse himself off and follow. You dry yourself off, moving to pat down Tim as well. He smiles goofily as you pull him back to his room, both wrapped in towels.

“God it’s cold,” you whine, making Tim laugh.

“Let me warm you up, eh?” He tosses both your towels aside and pulls you into bed with him.

“How is getting rid of the towel making me warmer?” You complain jokingly. He brings the blankets up over you, curling in behind you and wrapping you in his arms.

“You know, body heat, skin to skin contact,” He murmurs, pressing little kisses all over your shoulder blades, his hands coming up to squeeze your breasts.

“Yeah? Seems like you’ve got a pretty good idea of how you’re going to warm me up,” your laugh turning into a gasp as he hitches your leg up over his. His hand teases up your inner thigh, dipping into your folds. You feel his smile against your shoulder as he finds you already wet enough to easily curl a finger into you. After a couple pumps his fingers move to swirl around your clit, making you gasp before he returns to your entrance with two fingers. His fingers curl with a practiced ease that has you crying out his name.

“Tim please,” you whine, unsure at this point what you’re even asking for. You whine at the loss when he takes his fingers out to grope around the bedside drawer and fish out a condom. You grab it from him, making him laugh as you hastily open it to move him along. He rolls it on and rubs his head through your folds teasingly, his piercing catching on your clit making you gasp and clench around nothing. His hand underneath you continues to grope your breast while the other guides his length to finally press into you. He starts a leisurely pace, letting you feel every inch of him inside you as he kisses and nips at your neck, leaving little love bites in his wake. You breathe shakily against the mounting pleasure, quickly turning your brain to mush. He tucks his arm under your knee, pulling your leg up and back towards him for a better angle. The shift opens you up more, feeling him even deeper, his piercing rubbing against your g-spot with every thrust. He picks up speed, letting go of your leg to reach down and rub your clit. Your leg flops over his hip, giving him that much more access to fuck you deeper. Your hands scrabble to find something to hold on to, one hand grabbing your breast, the other entwining with Tim’s. His pace becomes more frantic as you both near your ends, your walls’ constant clenching around him letting him know that you’re close. He changes his pace suddenly, fingers on your clit speeding up as his thrusts become slow and deep. The sudden switch pushing you over the edge as he continued rolling his hips into you. A stream of curses leave your lips, stars dancing on the back of your eyelids as you feel him empty into the condom, little half thrusts working you both through the aftershocks of your orgasms. He presses sweet kisses around your face, making you giggle as you both calm down. Once your heartbeats return to normal, he lets himself slip out of you, making you protest as he begins to get up.

“Come back,” you whine, reaching out to try and pull him back.

“Gotta clean up a little,” he laughs, throwing the condom in the bin and grabbing a wet washcloth to clean you up.

“Come on, put on some clothes, you’re gonna get cold and you know it,” he laughs, looking down at you still spread out on the bed after he’d found some shorts and a t-shirt to slip on.

“Can’t, you fucked the bones right out of me, I can’t move,” you sigh dramatically, making him roll his eyes fondly. He finds something comfy of his for you to wear, finally pulling you out of bed, a blush flaring on your cheeks as your legs wobble. You swear you catch a glimpse of satisfaction on his face when he notices. He helps you into the soft clothes before pulling you back into bed and tucking the covers back up around you both. You shuffle in closer, tucking your head into his chest as his arms circle around you, promising to get up in a few minutes as your heavy eyelids flutter closed.

[ginnyweaslays]

65 LGBT Books by Black Authors

In honor of Pride Month obviously, here’s my next list! Please continue to add authors and books to this list! 

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

Another Country by James Baldwin

Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone by James Baldwin

Invisible Life by E. Lynn Harris

Just as I am (Invisible Life #2) by E. Lynn Harris

I Say a Little Prayer by E. Lynn Harris

Hood Witch by Faylita Hicks

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson

Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

By Any Means Necessary by Candice Montgomery

A Dream so Dark by LL McKinney

The Stars and the Blackness Between Them by Junauda Petrus

Build Yourself a Boat by Camonghne Felix

Little and Lion by Brandy Colbert

Skin Deep Magic by Craig Laurance Gidney

The Summer We Got Free by Mia McKenzie

Juniper Leaves by Jaz Joyner

Queer Africa - Selected Stories

The Yellow Brownstone by Lisa K. Stephenson

Freedom in This Village by E. Lynn Harris

Black Like Us: A Century of Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual African American Fiction by Devon W. Carbado

In Case You Forgot by Frederick Smith and Chaz Lamar

Mogul by Terrance Dean

Potomac University Series by Rashid Darden

The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode

Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann

Growing Up Girl: An Anthology of Voices from Marginalized Spaces by Michelle Sewell

Talking at the Gates: A Life of James Baldwin by James Campbell

Black Lesbian in White America by Anita Cornwell**

If We Have to Take Tomorrow by Frank Leon, White Roberts, and Marvin K.

Brother to Brother: New Writings by Black Gay Men edited by Essex Hemphill

In the Life: A Black Gay Anthology by Joseph Beam

Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde

Real Life by Brandon Taylor

Here for It by R. Eric Thomas

Romance in Marseille by Claude McKay

A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James

Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta

The House You Pass on the Way by Jacqueline Woodson

Black Deutschland by Darryl Pinckney

A Visitation of Spirits by Randall Kenan

Crossfire: A Litany for Survival by Staceyann Chin

The Other Side of Paradise: A Memoir by Staceyann Chin

Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde

Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender

How We Fight for Our Lives by Saeed Jones

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde

Don’t Call Us Dead by Danez Smith

Lives of Great Men by Chike Frankie Edozien

Burnt Men by Oluwasegun Romeo Oriogun**

She Called Me Woman edited by Azeenarh Mohammed, Chitra Nagarajan, and Rafeeat Aliyu

B-Side and Other Misheard Lyrics by L.M. Bennett

For Sizakele by Yvonne “Fly” Onakeme Etaghene

Black Power Barbie Volume 1: Love Lives of Heroes by Shay Youngblood

Loving Her by Ann Allen Shockley

No Telephone to Heaven by Michelle Cliff

Something Better than Home by Leona Beasley

Here Comes the Sun by Nicole Dennis-Benn

Yabo by Alexis De Veaux

Fragments that Remain by Steven Corbin

Vanishing Rooms by Melvin Dixon

Blackbird by Larry Duplechan

B-Boy Blues Series by James Earl Hardy

The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez

**I could not find links to buy both of these books, so if anyone is able to please add them to the post!

[shinysnek]

I BELIEVE IT ALL IS COMING TO AN END OH WELL I GUESS WE’RE GONNA PRETEND!

MY GOD... I can’t believe that this funny dad podcast is over... it has brought me so much joy since my friend recommended it to me, and I’m so grateful to Anthony and the Players for creating such a wonderful stoy and characters! I’m so proud of the way they’ve grown, and so happy they managed to get out alright in the end!

Right? (extra under readmore below IDs

[id: two images of the four PCs from dungeons and daddies. from left to right: Glenn, Darryl, Henry, and Ron. The first image depicts the dads at the start of their journey, standing in front of the Honda Odyssey. Glenn is squinting, holding his hand above his eyes and staring into the distance. He’s amuscular man with tan skin, dark brown eyes, long dark hair, and facial hair on his chin. He’s wearing a black and red leather jacket. Darryl is confused looking at a map over his shades. He’s a large man with tan skin, and brown hair/beard. He’s wearing a beige tee and an orange ball cap. Henry is staring anxiously over Darryl’s shoulder at his map. He’s a blond, skinny man with pale skin, dark green eyes and patchy facial hair. He’s wearing glasses, a jean jacket, and green flannel. Ron is looking concernedly at his phone, scratching his thinning hair. He’s a short man with light brown hair/mustache, and pale blue eyes. He’s wearing a pale blue button up and a striped blue tie. The background is a strange landscape, pink bushes under a golden sky. The glowing outlines of three purple hands reach towards the dads

The second image has the dads in the same order, now smiling and hugging. Glenn’s reaching across Darryl to grab Henry’s hand. is now a christmas demon with six red horns, a wreath around his head, holly shaped wings, and a long tail. The arm reaching to Henry is buff, red, and scaly. He’s older, with a beard and longer silver-streaked hair. His right eye is red, and his left has a red sclera and a white four-pointed star pupil. Darryl has shaved his beard, having a 5 o’clock shadow and longer hair, silver around the temples. He has one arm around Glenn’s shoulder and one on Ron’s head. Henry is leaning against Darryl’s shoulder, looking up at him. His hair is longer and he’s grown out a beard. His elven heritage has turned his eyes bright green and his ears pointy. His hair has leaves and branches in it, with two rounded leaves looking like bear ears. Ron is holding onto Henry’s arm. His mustache is a little larger and he’s greyed around the temples. All the dads are covered in scars, dirt, and blood. They’re bruised and battered but nonetheless alive. A halo of purple light shines behind each of their heads. /end id]

gone gone, baby it’s all gone...

[id. The four dads in the same order, only this time they’re drawn in sketchy white outlines on a dark background. They’re gathered around Henry, faces full of fear. Henry is clutching his mouth and the wound on his chest, staring with wide black eyes as dark blood drips through his fingers. Glenn, Darryl and Ron are all holding onto him, shocked and terrified. Tentacles surround them, their suckers replaced with eyes that stare at the dads. The world is filled with static. /end id]

[bodyhopper-files]

"Absolutely perfect."

“These are looking great, Dillon,” the photographer rapidly snapped another series of images under the soft light of a professional studio, “Can you arch your back up just a bit more for these next few?”

“Whatever you need,” the young model responded in an eager voice, “I’m all yours.”

The model propped himself up on one slender arm and positioned the other arm in a clean line behind his back, flexing his biceps as he did so. He twisted toward the camera so that the pose accentuated his totally lean and sculpted torso.

“Excellent,” the photographer snapped another series of photos, “Perfect!”

“Mmm… it is perfect, isn’t it?” Darryl thought to himself from inside the body of his son, Dillon.

He altered the pose slightly and soaked in every moment of the photographer capturing his youthful form with the camera. He had taken quite a liking to having his son’s life and body ever since he’d stolen it for himself. Getting to play model today was like a dream come true.

“Wow!” the photographer exclaimed, “This might be some of your best work yet, Dillon. I’m telling you. You’re on fire today!”

“Don’t I know it?”

Darryl’s wicked smirk appeared on his son’s face as a sultry stare. He ran his hands across his soft skin and gave the photographer everything he wanted and more.

“Now how about we get a few with you lying on your back…?” the photographer suggested.

The real Dillon had always been a bit shy whenever the shoot turned in this direction, but the new Dillon had no trouble at all flipping over onto his back, throwing both arms over his head, and looking right into the lens with a look that begged for sex.

“How’s this?” Darryl asked the photographer with his son’s gentle tenor.

“Excellent,” the photographer said once again, “Absolutely perfect.”

[shtern-and-art]

In The Dark – a cryptid AU about Bad and Skeppy – part 2.

All text is captioned under the cut!

THE STORY

Bad told Skeppy that he is- he was a human, a long, long time ago. And Skeppy didn’t really suspect this, no. But, when the rare rays of sunlight snuck under the canopies, and danced across Bad’s features… sometimes, in those flashes of light Skeppy did see a human face. It happened just a few times before. And if after that conversation, at times of silence and comfort with just the two of them, the white eyes faded out to green more often, Skeppy didn’t mention it. He just collected those moments, like his pretty shards of glass – dark on first sight, but shining brilliantly, when you look through them at a sunny day.

Skeppy keeps them close, and doesn’t ask yet, doesn’t pry in too deep at first. Because he knows even more about this town’s story now. About all the animal attacks many years ago, about woodcutters killed and thrown out of the forest, or hanged up on the trees by “the mafia”. About how quickly the tree logging business was shut down after the big “accident” on one of the forest stations. About the photo he saw, in the little museum near the closed factory, with families of the major business owners of the town. And one of the faces he saw on that picture was the same that shined with gentle kindness, between the flickering of shadows, when Bad sneakily tangled wildflowers in Skeppy’s hair.

Bad never speaks about his past, and why he despises people of the town so much. And with trial and error Skeppy learns that asking doesn’t get him anywhere. It only gets Bad to fuss up, and disappear to nap in the deeper woods for a few days. It is a long way to where they can talk about it directly, without someone freaking out.

Anyway, the woodcutting business is slowly coming back to town, and more and more people and workers are wandering around the forest. So Bad has plenty of reasons to be irritated already, and they both have so many fun pranks to pull on the locals to get distracted and pleasantly pass the time.

THE PAST

The trick of it all, is that the forest is old. And the forest is alive, like an animal in its depth might be. And a while back, in the 40-50s, the wood logging company started cutting way deeper into the woods than before. Going to far, not letting the land recover, chasing that profit on increasing sales. The business was doing amazing – by destroying the calm existence of the forest, hurting it’s body and mind, and not giving anything back.

And in many places, they could’ve done all this and more without immediate consequences. But this land was old. And this forest was alive. And, when scared and hurt, living things can bare teeth and lash out to protect themselves.

The forest was in distress, and angry, and its feelings were feelings off all the living things inside of it. Over time, the animals started getting sick, and more aggressive, venturing into the town, possessed by the shared pain and fear. That pain and fear seeped through the land, and in the town, too, distrust and crime rates started rising up. All was unwell. And, of course, it was very bad for business.

Said business was run by several prominent families in the town. The tree logging factory and the adjacent businesses were all tied together economically and through the reliance on the forest being there on their doorstep. And the people running those businesses more or less knew about what this forest was, how it was. Everyone from the town who was around long enough understood – at least in some way – that these woods are more alive and dangerous than many others. And with several years of disturbing happenings occurring more and more, not many of these business owners could deny the supernatural element of their troubles.

And so, they began looking for the ways to make it better. To appease and calm down the spirit of the forest. It was a real group effort, a whole ass multi-family project. Even if some family members and younger kids didn’t fully believe in all this “occult pagan stuff” – they still tolerated it, and went along. Because families and communities stick together. And what harm can come from building some altars in the woods? Or a few chickens spilling blood on the old rocks near the abandoned trails? They will go on the grill same afternoon anyway.

The spirit of the forest is just, well. A spirit. It’s not exactly sentient, it’s more like a mushi, or a very smart animal, or a thunderstorm – half-personified, semi-aware, just a force of nature taking form and prominence. It just exists, and lives, and it is not human. So, taking leeways with appeasing and calming it down should be ok, right? It’s not like the forest spirit would care, if people will make even with the land by taking care of it, and letting it heal with time… or just perform a cool ritual, and give the forest an equal sacrifice in return for its pain.

Replanting the trees and reworking the business is way too expensive and time consuming anyway. So, they try, and research, and try… And the forest barely takes note of their efforts. And the creepiness, and all the bodies keep piling up, all the bad press is getting harder to contain… It starts to seem, that to really break equal the sacrifice should be of an equal or a greater value than the hurt they’ve caused.

So, in a tragically escalating turn of events, several heads of the families came to the conclusion, that the proper sacrifice, the one that will hold, should be one of their own. A human sacrifice – a life of-, and from people connected to the land, those who caused the forest distress.

It wasn’t the main plan, of course. Probably. Not from the start, for sure. Things just turned out this way, you know. It was just an option on the table. And it just happened that things were going especially terrible, down the drain so fast, and it just happened that they had a good option, a person who was there, and-

It was just so convenient. The accountant in their clique, the newer guy who just recently joined old wealthy families in running the town, build his own business from ground up through the years. He had a son, 20-something. That quiet but loud one, that they barely noticed. And it’s sad, of course, that it had to come to this. And tragic, yes. A real sacrifice. But, really conveniently, no skin of the main businessmen’s back.

They can even keep the distance, and ask their kids/grandkids to mark him for the ritual. None of them really liked the guy anyway. They all were just forced to hang out sometimes, because of status and all that.

So, they’ll gladly go on to make the special paste, or whatever, and make sure the guy touches it. Even if the kids may not believe in all this ritual stuff fully – it’s still fun, and creepy, and that guy was so-o-o stuck-up-ish anyway. Always pretending to be so perfect and proper, you know. Didn’t even partake in all their fun ritual stuff all year. Fuck him, draw a little mark on his raincoat with old herbs and dirt, on the soles of his shoes too, and the inside of his jacket. All 6 of kids got to draw a little finger-painting on something of his, and they all watched him leave to visit his grandma in a cabin deep in the woods.

By the time Darryl got to the grandma’s house, late at evening, the bouquet of flowers he brought her was overgrown with wildflowers.

The voice coming from the dark bedroom, asking him to come in was ever so slightly off grandma’s usual stern tone. So, Darryl didn’t go in, of course. He had his hands full with the pastry bags, and the sweet smelling flowers, spilling out from their paper raping. And when grandma came out – moving just a bit too smoothly for her age, staring at him just a tad more intense than any human would – Darryl excused himself to go chop more firewood behind the house.

And standing there, under the light rain and weak backyard light with only the old, dull iron axe for himself, he knew that his grandma always had a distant, and a bit scary presence, but… The creature in the house was not her. And he knew that something was watching him from the forest – and from the window of the house – dozens of inhuman eyes staring right at him. Waiting.

He tried to run, of course, to get back to town. But the car started to die halfway. And the other kids, the 6 that followed him into the woods, to make sure he stays put… They were right there to take him deeper through the trees, away from main roads. Perhaps, they, too, were scared, and saw the glimpses of white fur far off in-between all other animals following them. But it was too late, they were too deep, and Darryl lost his glasses, struggling on the way to the clearing they decided to stop at.

There was no going back now. The ritual was in motion, gears turning, and the forest took the offer that was promised – the blood of the youth that was tied to the earth. All 7 of them, who partook in the offering, and touched the herbs and blood, and the sigils made with them – because this is how the ritual works, if you really, actually read through and research it.

The kids, or, more likely, their parents, didn’t. And so, after that night, none of them ever came out of the forest. Well, not in one piece, at least. Six badly mangled bodies (some partially eaten by wild animals) were recovered couple days later, and it was blamed on the mafia taking revenge on the local businessmen for some dealings going bad.

The tree logging company and the adjacent businesses didn’t really had a chance to recover after that. Not after several years of lawsuits and bad rumors, and not after loosing most of their kids – one of the bodies was even never found!

And with that tragedy and the following scandals, no one really noticed at first, but the animal attacks quieted down, and people stopped disappearing in the woods. But, in retrospect, it made sense – with mafia moving on from the totally defeated and bankrupt rivals.

THE FOREST SPIRIT

So, yes. The ritual kind of worked, the forest took what was offered, like water running down the newly dug out path. At that time, going down that path, the forest was angry, and hurting, it felt helpless and betrayed. And so did Darryl – just as strongly. And here they were, getting dragged down the same path, connected through it, unable to stop it all. In that shared intensity, being so similar in the moment, tangled through the flow of the ritual, they… kind of became the same thing.

Its normal for the forest spirit to have a vessel – an animal from that forest that carries out it’s will. And over time, those vessels can change, when the time comes, or something big happens with the forest. And there, at that moment, close to death, and merging with the forest spirit, Darryl became it’s next vessel, too.

It’s normal for the forest spirit to possess other forest life sometimes – they act out it’s feelings, if they get too strong. This is a natural prosses, easy like breathing, happening purely on instinct. Usually forest spirits do not possess fully sentient beings (or don’t do it for long). Because people and thigs similar to them, they have more self-awareness and recollection. They can not follow the impulses of the forest so blindly.

What happened here was a freak accident, an accidental turn of unexpected events… Because even after dying, and coming back to life no longer human, even connected to land and the forest so deeply now, being literally a part of them. Even with all of that… Darryl couldn’t get too “possessed”, like other animals or vessels would. That could probably happen, but only if those feelings would be really big, all encompassing, and – matched his own. If they shared them fully and strongly, with the forest, like at the time when for a few minutes they became one.

BAD

When Bad’s sense of self slowly came back to him, he was no longer human. And, after being connected to supernatural world so deeply, he knew of many non-human things just on instinct. He knew what happened with him (what was done to him). Knew that the people who did it paid for it right after, and will be doing so for the years to come. Bad knew that he, himself, will be here, in the forest, for all the years to come. That he’ll never be able to come back to his old life, or even say proper goodbyes.

Not that he’d want to, though. Most people in the town, and especially from his family’s newer circle didn’t like him. For his dad finally making it big and “forgetting the roots”, for Bad being too perfect of an example to compare other not so helpful sons to. And, of course, for Bad being too close to not fitting the perfect example of what a proper young bachelor should be. But the Darryl they whispered, and spread crude rumors about was dead. And Bad didn’t have to try to- or pretend to like them back.

He didn't have to deal with it anymore: with all the greed, maliciousness and distrust of the people and “the business”, all the lies. He was no longer part of them – now outright – didn’t have to deal with them, or pretend to be anything he wasn’t.

They could just. Stay out of each other’s way.

It was pretty easy to do now, since Bad had lost most of the human cravings due to his supernatural nature, and his pain. Pain, and anger, and- So, yes, sure, he could keep people out, just like the forest spirit wanted, and have everyone leave him alone, like they both wanted.

RAT

Forest was already not as seething, and the tree logging business was shutting down, and Bad’s restless, half-dazed wandering between the trees was at least somewhat calming. At some point, Bad found a small wolf puppy deep in the brush. It was really small, weak, and completely alone. Its fur was as white as Bad’s new hair, and its eyes glowed, exactly like the ones Bad saw watching him from the shadows, back on the last day he was human.

This was the previous host of the spirit of the forest, Bad saw it now. He knew that it was born in these woods, and took on the spirit of them just after being born, and carried out it’s will for many, many decades, until Bad came along, and took this wolf’s place. And now its job was done. And it was dying. Slowly fading away to become part of the forest again.

There was some sort of solidarity between them, stumbling into each other between the gears of nature and time. Or, at least, Bad felt it in the moment. And, well, he didn’t have much to do, and fussing over and taking care of a little pathetic puppy the size of a rat was way more pleasant way to pass the time, than just endlessly feeling all the things Bad felt all the time.

So, he took care of Rat (yes, the Rat) for a while, took on hunting for her, and learnt to sleep in the minds of the forest creatures, while she rested. Time lost nearly all of it’s meaning for Bad, but it did pass, more and more of it. And Rat got better, and grew back into a full wolf, and lived past the life-span of all other wolfs born after the ritual. She went on to live on her own, but stayed close by, always keeping Bad in her sites. She joined him on the hunts, and watched over Bad, while he slumbered in the shadows.

Bad had no idea why, but her fur still rippled under moonlight, and her growl rumbled the earth, like some of the power of the forest remained in her still.

Masterpost / first meeting /part 1 / part 2 / part 3