#basically the colors are all the same between the three

[gray-ace-space]

bigenderfluid flag

for when you are bigender and genderfluid. it also handily contains a nonbinary flag.

[melonpond]

Me, first starting to build a redstone mechanism: "Wow I forgot how much I enjoy this. It's like a little logic puzzle!"

Me, after five hours of building this monstrosity: "I swear if I have to add one more And condition to this then I am going to murder a man. Why isn't it working properly. Is it the And conditions? IS IT THE AND CONDITIONS?????"

[flanaganfilm]

Good day Mr Flanagan. please what does "the rest is confetti" mean to you and in the context it was used in hill house??

Okay, here we go. Buckle up for a long read.

To answer this, I've got to explain a little bit about what was happening and where I was when I sat down to write episode 10 of The Haunting of Hill House.

Hill House was not a fun shoot. The picture above is from very early in production, when I was still chubby and happy.

It was my first foray into television. I was absolutely terrified that I'd mess it up. So I'd opted to direct all of the episodes myself, figuring that - if nothing else - I'd have no one else to blame if it went south.

It was the most grueling professional experience of my career. The shoot was by no means a smooth one, every day was an uphill battle from a budgetary perspective, and between the three giant production entities involved with the production, I spent a lot of time fighting over the creative and logistical elements of the series.

I began losing weight. I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

By the end of the shoot, I had dropped almost 40 lbs.

I was very depressed. Every day was a battle, and for the first time in my career, I wasn't excited to go to work in the morning. We were fighting for basic resources, fighting for the show we wanted, and even fighting amongst ourselves by the end. It was grueling.

We hadn't written all of the scripts when we started production. I believe we had finished through episode 7, but the rest of the scripts had to be finished while we were already shooting.

We'd mapped everything out in the writers room, and I had great support on the other episodes, but I was writing the finale solo. I'd thought I'd be able to juggle it with everything else. I quickly fell behind.

I finally got to the script about halfway through production. I'd work on it between takes at the monitor, and then get home to our tiny rental house in Atlanta, where Kate was waiting with our baby son. (One of the rare bright spots of this shoot came when Kate found out she was pregnant about halfway through production. We even named our daughter Theodora, in honor of her origins.)

I'd typically fall down from exhaustion when I got home, but I had to push through it and work on the script. My weekends were spent shotlisting and prepping for upcoming episodes. We didn't have enough time to stay ahead of prep, so every available day was used for that... I went three months without a single day off at one point.

I'd sit up late staring at the script. I was in a dark, dark place. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling like I lived in an eternal present. Each day bled into the next and it didn't feel like there was an end in sight. That feeling of unreality was heightened because we kept returning to the same sets, same locations, and even the same scenes throughout the 100 shooting-day production. Stepping back into the exact room we had shot in days or weeks or even months ago made the whole thing feel absolutely surreal. Making movies is always an non-linear experience, but this one felt particularly so... it was like the days of our lives were happening to us all out of order.

I remember feeling something like despair creeping into my daily experience on the show. And I remember dwelling on that when I got into the scene work of episode 10.

As I worked through the draft, I recall that despair coloring a lot of what was on the page. My filter was breaking down. There's a monologue at the beginning of the episode where Steven's wife Leigh (played by my dear friend Samantha Sloyan) spews out a torrent of eviscerating insults about Steve's value as a writer. That is just me vomiting onto myself. She was voicing all of my deepest insecurities about myself at the time, and of what I was doing with this series.

She says "Is anything real before you write it, Steve? The things you write about, they're real. Those people are real, their feelings are real, their pain is real - but not to you, is it. Not until you chew it up, digest it, and shit it out onto a piece of paper and even then, it's a pale imitation at best."

This was the mindset I was in for a lot of the shoot. The writing became a reflection of a lot of that turmoil, and I knew who I was referring to in that monologue - I was talking about my family. I was talking about how much of their lives I'd used as building material for this show. I was talking about the fact that I'd lost two loved ones to suicide, and seen what it had done to my mother in particular. And I knew I was using - possibly even exploiting - those people for this series.

There's a lot of despair in this episode. The Red Room, as we conceived it, was a place that would feed upon those emotions. Grief, sadness, loss... those were the real ghosts of our series, and where our characters find themselves at the start of the finale. They're being slowly digested - eaten alive - by those feelings.

So finally, it came time to write Nell's final scene with her siblings. I knew from the outline we'd constructed in the writers room what this was supposed to accomplish - she was supposed to be their salvation. She was supposed to take all of these feelings that we'd been wrestling with and finally provide catharsis... finally say something that would free everyone.

I remember sitting with a blinking cursor for a long time. The Crain siblings had just turned and seen Nellie standing by the door, and suddenly were able to hear her speak. But what should she say? What would I say? What would I want someone to say to me?

What she ultimately says lays bare a lot of what I was thinking about when it comes to grief. It exists outside of linear time, much as I felt I existed at the time. That sense of eternal present, that sense of a nonlinear eternity of moments and memories - it all came out in her speech to her brothers and sisters.

I remember feeling, looking at my insane present and looking back at my past, how strangely overwhelmed I was by memories. That I wasn't experiencing time in a straight line, and hadn't been for a while - for the better part of a year, I'd felt more like I was standing in a whirlwind of moments. "Our moments fall around us like..." Nell said, and I recall sitting back and trying to find the words.

"Rain," for certain, but there was something too uniform about that. The moments of life as I experienced them weren't that orderly, they weren't that small. They didn't fall the same way. Some sailed by, fast and unremarkable, while others lingered in front of me, twisting and stretching. So it was a good word, but not the right word. I left it on the page though.

"Snow" was my next attempt. Better, in that I imagined the snow blowing in the wind, swirling and dancing and feeling more organic. More chaotic. More like life. But for some reason, the word that stuck with me, the word I felt Nell Crain would connect with was...

"Confetti."

And that was because I was thinking not of Victoria Pedretti at this point, but of Violet McGraw.

Violet played Young Nell, and I wondered what she might have said if she experienced time this way. As an adult, Nell was despairing. Nell was overwhelmed. But as a child... there was an innocence to the word. There was a joy to the word.

I imagined moments falling around her, this little girl with the big smile and the wide eyes. Her moments would be colorful. They would be of different shapes and sizes, some falling fast and some falling slow, flipping and turning and dancing in the air, independent of the others. Sparkling, whirling, doing lazy summersaults as they sauntered down to Earth.

I thought of myself, and of the members of my family. I thought of those we'd lost. I realized what I hoped for them, and for us all, in the end... was to look upon that mosaic of experience, that avalanche of days and minutes and moments... and to smile with some of the joy we had as children.

And this, I thought, was something that gave me hope. This gave me a glimpse of some kind of salvation for them. This was also how I hoped my life might seem if I was a ghost - a cascade of color and light and shape and movement, something I could dance in.

So Nell smiled and said... "or confetti."

It stuck with me. The rest of her monologue gets heavy again, and gets to the real point of the show - the point of the whole series, if I'm honest - and that's forgiveness.

I figured the only thing that would let the Crain children out of the Red Room was to be forgiven. I thought of the losses in my own family, and I thought of what I wished for my mother and for my aunts and uncles and cousins and I tried to pour that into her final words.

"I loved you completely, and you loved me the same," she said, "that's all." And this was the point I wanted the most to make. That at the end of our life, if we can say this about each other, the rest doesn't matter. The rest is that rainstorm, or that blizzard, that fell around this one central truth, and maybe built itself in piles around it, to the point we lost sight of it along the way.

And I thought again of that little girl, and almost as an afterthought, wrote "The rest is confetti."

I liked the way it sounded, but I was insecure about the line. I almost took it out, in fact. I remember asking Kate to read the scene and talking about that last line with her. "Is it too cute?" I wondered. She was on the fence. "Depends on how it's acted," she said, and I figured she was right. We could always take it out if it didn't work. The scene could end with "I loved you completely, and you loved me the same. That's all."

Why not shoot it and see what happened.

I turned in the script, we published it quickly so that we could start breaking it down and prepping it. And the next morning I was back on set. I'd deal with episode 10 when it came down the pipe again, sometime in the coming months. We had a lot of shooting to get through before I had to worry about it.

I recall Netflix asking me to cut a lot of that monologue, and I remember them also having questions about the "confetti" line. I pointed out that it didn't cost us any extra to shoot it all, it was only words, and fought to keep the script intact.

Ultimately, they insisted I make a series of cuts on the page. I begrudgingly agreed, but left Nell's speech alone. I made superficial cuts around it, throughout the draft, and even considered changing the font size to fool them into thinking it had gotten shorter (I ultimately was told I wouldn't fool anyone and not to risk starting a war). But Nellie's final goodbye stayed intact.

It must be said - Victoria Pedretti SLAUGHTERED this scene.

By the time we got around to filming it, things had never been worse for the production. There was almost nothing left for a lot of us. Tensions were sky-high, resources had been exhausted completely, and we were all ready to give up.

Filming in the mold-ridden Red Room was depressing, morose, and led to a lot of arguments and unpleasantness. The room itself just felt gross, always, and we were in there for days at a time. The last thing we had to shoot in there was Nellie's goodbye.

Victoria came to set having to push through pages of monologue, and she did so with captivating bravado. I recall being teary-eyed at the monitor watching her work. And when we finally made it to the last line, I watched her deliver it with... a smile. A sincere, innocent, longing, joyful smile. A smile informed by the sadness, grief, and loss of her own situation, of her own life... but a smile that finds forgiveness and grace after all. Pedretti knew how to say the line, and how that word would work.

And as she said it, I knew it would stay in the show.

Over the years, that sentence has become something of a tagline for The Haunting of Hill House. I'm always a bit mystified and touched when I see people approach me with the line on T-shirts, or even tattooed on their bodies.

I started signing it with autographs back in 2020 after enough fans asked me to. Now it's my go-to when I sign anything related to Hill House.

The line, for me, represents a lot of things.

It's about the insane, chaotic, non-linear experience of making that show. It's about trying to find and hold onto joy, even in the grips of despair.

It's about the way the moments of our lives aren't linear, not really, and how we may be unable to understand them as we exist in their flurry. It's about finding hope, innocence and forgiveness in the final reckoning.

And it's about how, outside of our love for each other, the rest is just... well, it's fleeting. It's colorful. It's overwhelming. It's blinding. It's dancing. And, if we look at it right, it's beautiful. But it's also light. It's tinsel. It flits and dances and falls and fades, it's as light as air.

The rest is the stuff that falls around us, and flits away into nothing.

It's the love that stays.

[1427]

something to prove pt 2

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Every time your mom goes down to the city with Merle she lets Daryl stay behind and watch TV.  

Warnings: Very vaguely implied drug use, age-gap (reader is 20, Daryl is mid30s), smut, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation (both m & f), hand stuff, squirting. 

Word Count: 2k

A/n: sorry this isn’t as spicy as the first one but. Idk. I also feel like y’all are gonna kill me if I don’t make a part that has Daryl actually get some. But. Idk.

17+ mdni

\\part 1\\

masterlist

You touch yourself in front of Daryl almost every time he comes over and your mom leaves the house. Finding him in the same spot, the remote on his knee, waiting for you. Head turned to the side as he chews at his thumb, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. His other knee anxiously bouncing. Sometimes he’s smoking, other times he’s not. 

You notice all of these things because you notice everything in those moments right before you play with yourself for him. Every time you’re alone in your room you’d wish you had the courage to actually talk to him. Maybe touch him? Anything. Everything about him made you burn. And yet you kept an aching distance. Three feet away, and on the floor. Never any closer. 

Eventually Daryl and Merle lose whatever living arrangements they’d had and your mom invites them to crash in the living room. 

This doesn’t change anything between you and Daryl. There’s more lingering stares exchanged but you still don’t really speak. Especially in front of your mom and Merle. They never seem to notice the tension that’s wrapped itself around the two of you, hanging in the air. This very dirty secret you and Daryl indulged in every time they leave. 

Luckily you didn’t share the space with them often. Only ever escaping your room to eat, leave the house, or put on a show for Daryl when they’d inevitably travel to the city every few days. 

You’ve been gearing yourself up to do something more, but what? It takes you a week to decide and then another week to actually work up the nerve to do it.

You wait for Daryl to fall asleep. For some reason you know if he watches you come down the stairs, observes you walking up to him, you’d end up wimping out. So you wait for him to be asleep, 3am should do it, and then you wait a little longer. 

With every step down the stairs your heart beats harder. You feel out of your body, just barely there as your feet make small but deliberate steps toward Daryl, asleep sitting up in the arm chair. Until suddenly you’re back in your body, standing over him. 

You use your leg to jostle against his, causing him to stir. Waiting until his sleepy eyes open and meet yours. Too late to back out now, basically on top of him. But you’re frozen in place, you can’t make your mouth say the words that you’d practiced a hundred times. The words screaming in your head. 

You’re both just staring at each other. Daryl’s obviously waiting for you to speak, or do something. But he doesn’t mind just staring at you. He doesn’t mind the waiting. After all, his favorite times are when you’re in front of him - and you’re in front of him now.

He doesn’t usually get to see this side of you. The front. Your face. The light of the TV is all blues and pinks and something inside Daryl swells. A warm gush of longing from his chest into his throat. Prickling at his skin. Not just longing to touch you, but something more. Something else. He doesn’t even want to speak, he’s enjoying just watching the colors dance across your cheeks and nose and the almost tangible warmth of the moment. 

You’re out of your body again, but you hear yourself say it, “Will you touch me this time?” 

Daryl’s been waiting for this. He’s thought about it so many times, in so many different ways. Wondering, seemingly ever free second of the day, when you were going to take it further. And how. He’s grateful that this is what you’d asked for, instead of maybe asking him to fuck you. He couldn’t do that. He could, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to. Doesn’t think he’d be able to even pull his cock out in front of you without passing away, and going to hell. 

He swallows and nods while still looking up at you. His eyes move along with his fingertips, his right hand grabbing your left wrist and moving you to sit back in his lap. 

You perch on him. Leaning back to place your feet on either one of his knees. Spreading your legs like this felt more lewd than you’d imagined it would, but because he’s behind you you’re not embarrassed by it, and you’re not shy about it. It snares something deep inside you, that even though your t-shirt is mostly covering your wet heat you're still so very out in the open. 

Daryl snakes one arm around your waist and the other between your legs, but he doesn’t touch you there yet. He wants to feel all the way up your leg from the knee. To see how much and how far you’d dripped down your thighs while you were standing there staring at him. 

His fingers get slick about halfway up your leg and it takes everything in him not to put them in his mouth immediately. He’s been dying to taste you since that day. The first one. You never wipe your hand on him like the first time and he wants you to so badly, every time. And every time his voice gets caught in his throat and he doesn’t. 

And now your sweet tangy mess was coating his fingertips. Your muscles are tense, the feeling of his digits slowly creeping closer to your center. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, “Please. Help.. me.” You whine, edging your hips forward just a little, using your feet to leverage. But the arm he has wrapped around your waist pulls you back flush against him. That’s when you feel him for the first time. Hard and digging into your ass cheek. A low groan escapes his lips, and he holds you even tighter. 

Daryl leans his forehead against the back of your shoulder, trying to pull himself together a little bit. You asked for his help, for him to touch you. But he’s so nervous, what if he does it wrong? He’s watched you so many times that even if he hadn’t known how to get a woman off before, he certainly knew how to get you off now. Still, he worries. Afraid he’s going to fuck it up. 

Finally, his middle finger slides down the center of your arousal. Running over your clit, down to your hole, and back. You can feel the nervousness in his touch, the anticipation that’d been building up in him for months. You whimper, looking down your body to watch his hand as it gets acquainted with your cunt. God, is this what you looked like when he watched you? Your pussy swollen with desire, sopping wet, and visibly trembling? It was so deliciously vulgar. 

His fingers slip around your folds, like yours do when you’re too wet like this. You whine, even though he’s touching you it’s not enough. Or, rather, it’s only making it worse without the pressure to accompany such touches. He gives up on trying to spread your lips to delicately and masterfully work your clit, the way he’s watched you do, and instead rubs your whole messy pussy with three of his fingers. Pressing against your mound hard. This elicits a deep groan from you, one that you can already feel building into a scream. Nothing you’ve ever experienced has felt like this.

He rubs around in the mess while you still watch from above. It doesn’t take long for your hips to start shaking uncontrollably. Whimpering and groaning you start to feel that hunger again. The insatiable one, needing something inside of you. He waits until you say, “P-please.” Your hips trying to move into his hand, but he keeps his grip on you so tight that your stuck in place. On his lap and at his mercy. 

Daryl wants to make you wait, wants to ask you to say please again. Wants to hear you beg in every language so that he’d have more words to remember falling out of your mouth like this. But he can’t control himself either. He’s been imagining what your walls would feel like contracting around his fingers for so long. It’s all he fuckin’ thinks about anymore. 

White hot. You feel his fingers all the way up to the knot in your throat and you choke on it. Each time he curls his two fingers, you feel it like a pang in your lungs, knocking the wind out of you. Daryl can’t stop, pressing into that spot of you, your breath hitching in your throat over and over. Your pussy clenches every time, he scissors his fingers as he pulls them out of you, to see those juicy lips stretch out around them. He needs more. Wants to fill you up until you burst. “More?” Is all he can manage to ask. 

You nod feverishly, your muscles moving against every pressure, your hips practically vibrating on top of him. Daryl swallows and readies a third finger, shoving all three thick digits into your greedy cunt without any hesitation. 

“Sh-shit.” You choke out, completely overwhelmed by the feeling. Daryl has to hold onto you so tightly, that one arm isn’t enough.  With three fingers deep inside you, he closes his palm tight to your mound and holds onto you like that. Like the inside of you is a handle he’s latched his fingers into to lock you on top of him. And the way your ass slides back over his cock is too much. He has to do it again. 

He rocks you back and forth. Pushing you down by your pelvic bone with him hooked inside you and over his clothed rage. It’s amazing. The way his palm pushes and rubs against your clit again and again, the way he’s moving your body against him. Pushing you and pulling over his hard cock by your cunt. He’s afraid maybe he’s hurting you, but your body tells him that he’s not. He’s never seen someone so let go from their inhibitions before. No one’s ever shown them this side of themselves for him. He loves it. 

You think you're about to orgasm, the sight alone is enough, but it doesn’t come. It just keeps building. Deep in your stomach, all the way up your spine. Down to your toes curling into his thighs. And it keeps building. You’ve never experienced something like this, it almost scares you. 

Daryl can tell that you’re close, every single muscle is strained against him. He’s using everything he’s got to keep you on his lap, his arm muscles taut and rigid around your writhing body. 

Your orgasm pushes out of you in a scream, your pussy gushing. Warm squirt jetting out from your body and all over Daryl’s hand. All over the floor. Your legs shake, your feet bouncing into the air and spasming completely out of control. 

He just holds you for a moment, his muscles still flexed around you. He keeps his fingers inside. Relishing in and memorizing each time your pussy pulsates around him, until it stops. Finally he loosens his grip and pulls away. 

The emptiness almost makes you want to cry, especially after such an orgasm. You’d never done that before. You didn’t know you could. You don’t want Daryl to see you cry, to get the wrong idea. Plus, what? Were you guys going to talk afterward? You never had before. No… it was over. And you had to go lest winding up a sobbing mess on the floor in front of him. On top of your own cum. 

So you leave him. Falling away from his body delicately. Feeling the cold air on your legs makes you feel even emptier. You still bounce away, jogging up the stairs like you always do. 

And Daryl watches you go, no wiser to the fact that you were somehow upset. Not upset, overwhelmed. Over sensitive. Over… everything. Every emotion was too much. 

His hand that’s covered in you has been hanging off the side of the arm chair, waiting for you to disappear. He’s been trying to decide if he wants to lick every drop from his hand while he jerks off with the other, or to use your juice as lubricant. He decides to do the former. Savoring every tangy morsel he can until there’s nothing left; even though he came when he was on the second finger. 

A/n: actually nah, there’s gonna be another part prob. 

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus. 

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away. 

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance. 

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show. 

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again. 

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister. 

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick. 

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of  your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. 

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league. 

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol. 

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask. 

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you. 

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem. 

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut. 

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension. 

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving. 

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled. 

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion. 

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.  

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold. 

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig. 

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand. 

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses. 

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement. 

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache. 

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils.  His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad. 

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first. 

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions. 

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you. 

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy. 

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt. 

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble. 

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets.  A woman can only make so many sacrifices. 

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check. 

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth. 

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. 

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open. 

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth. 

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll.  You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air. 

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts. 

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning. 

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other. 

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him. 

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return. 

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess. 

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily. 

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal. 

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you. 

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment. 

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you. 

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work. 

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember. 

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t. 

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled. 

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky. 

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point. 

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t. 

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace. 

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged. 

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder. 

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time. 

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble. 

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway. 

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together. 

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me! 

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky. 

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole. 

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. 

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer. 

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost. 

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements. 

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right. 

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors. 

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response. 

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock. 

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?” 

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.” 

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer. 

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.  

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe. 

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.” 

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.” 

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern. 

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them. 

It won’t be happening again.

[hearts4renaa]

HE IS IN LOVE.

summary: things the bsd men do that show how in love with you he is. featuring atsushi, akutagawa, dazai, chuuya, ranpo, and kunikida

contains: fluff, gender neutral reader. based off of “you are in love” by taylor swift

a/n: ahhh bsd they could never make me forget about you. reblogs are always appreciated <3

you can hear it in the silence. you can feel it on the way home. you can see it with the lights out. you are in love. true love.

—

he says “look up”, and your shoulders brush.

ATSUSHI points out anything and everything that is even slightly related to your relationship. you could be walking down the streets together and he’d suddenly point at a restaurant sign while talking excitedly, “remember how we had our first date there?!” or he’d point at a mannequin in a window and go “the color of the shirt is like those shoes you wore at ___!!” he loves you so evidently that you seep into everything he sees. for him, the world has never been so colorful.

—

no proof, one touch. but you felt enough.

AKUTAGAWA squeezes your hand three times to tell you he loves you. he’s fully aware it’s cliche as hell, but that’s never deterred him. he squeezes your hand at the most random times too. talking to a cashier? i love you. watching a film at your place? i love you. cooking in your kitchen? i love you. he may not always tell you with words, but akutagawa never fails to remind you that he loves you. you are always his favorite thing to think about.

—

morning, his place. burnt toast, sunday.

DAZAI wakes you up with three things: a kiss, a coffee, and an attempt at breakfast. keyword: attempt. bro cannot cook for shit, and he knows it, so he ends up just making you toast. it’s either barely toasted or it’s burnt, no in between. but, your coffee is always exactly how you like it, and he makes sure to write you a cheesy little note no matter what. the giggles you have at the sight of his toast makes up for the tiny bit of embarrassment he feels for still not having the toast method down. he loves you, and he knows you’ll always love him, no matter how shitty his cooking is.

—

you keep his shirt. he keeps his word.

CHUUYA swears to you before every mission that he’ll come back home to you. and he never fails. you are always on his mind, no matter how much danger he is in. he makes sure to fight long and hard if it means that at the end of the day, he gets to be in your arms. it even works for simpler things, like if he was too lazy to fill out his reports. all he has to do is remember that you’re at home waiting for him, and that gives him all the motivation he needs. they say home is where the heart is, and his heart belongs to you.

—

you two are dancing in a snow-globe round and round.

RANPO spontaneously dances with you whenever he thinks the atmosphere is pretty. when the first snowfall hit, he brought you out to dance. when there was a soft shower of summer rain, he brought you out to dance. when the sun shone through the clouds, he brought you out to dance. he doesn’t care about the lack of music or coordination. you could step on each other’s feet a thousand times, but he’d still wear the same joyous smile. no matter the weather, no matter how bad his feet might hurt after. he always thinks you’re the most beautiful when you’re dancing with him.

—

and he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown.

KUNIKIDA has a little corner on his desk in the agency’s office basically dedicated to you. he has little trinkets you’ve given to him all laid out nicely, along with his favorite picture of you all framed. dazai teases him every time he walks by. kunikida tells him off each time, but he never removes anything off his desk. he glances at your picture every time he feels a little burnt out or tired. you keep him grounded, in a sense. you remind him about the reason why he’s doing all of this in the first place. there is good in the world. he knows that the world can be good because you were good to him. and he can only hope he’s been as good to you.

[dreaming-of-lu]

A/N: Cause I'm in a soft, gooey mood. I'm thinkin of the Links being married.

~~ Imagining Wild smiling so softly down at a letter, looking so love-strucked yet yearning at the same time. Of course, one of the boys called out to him in a teasing way, wanting to know what got him all head in the clouds like their fellow skyloftian knight. He huffs softly and replies with a voice filled with longing, "My spouse wrote me a letter, basically wishing me safety and sweet dreams of them to soothe me."

~~ First normally kept to himself about his s/o, wishing to keep them safe during his time in prison for 4 years. Pushing you away from Demise's grasp with one last kiss, as he headed off to fight hard and long til his last dying breath. Only to reawaken in a coffin, tumbling out and wondering where he was.

His first thought after was wonder of if you were alive and kicking. He rubbed his left ring finger in a panic, sighing in relief when the metal met his skin. The impression of your bright, sweet smile soothed him, made his heart beat fast until the sound of a screech reached his ears.

~~ The look on the chain's face when a body slammed into Legend was hysterical yet made him shy under their wide questioning gazes. He wanted to squirm out of your hold, only to halt when those eyes, filled with tears of relief and love made him melt on the spot. He softly sighed and rubbed their head while exchanging gentle words between them.

The ring on your hand made them choke in surprise; so those rings on his hands are for distractions, huh?

~~ Hyrule kept his ring on a necklace under his tunic, away from sight due to conflict. His head was always threaten to be on a pike, didn't help when he carried all three pieces of the triforce on the back of his hand. He was constantly hunted, he worried they would come to find you if they were to ever find out he was married to you. Yet alas, he would be found by Legend with him sitting there, idly messing with the ring around his neck, a far off look on his face and a gentle smile. Of course, the veteran was going to be curious of whom caught the dear traveler's heart.

~~ Four watched you idle around the living room, gesturing a flick of your wrist to who could lay where without the worry of stepping on somebody. He stares with his chin in his hand, smiling softly as you jabbered on about something to one of the Links. The colors laughed when you bickered and bantered with that Link before silencing at the sweet smile you quickly flashed over to him alongside a wink.

He covered his face with his hand, flushing red at the laugh that echoed in the home.

~~ Once again, he had his head in the clouds with a dreamy smile on his lips. Sky clutched the letter close to his chest and heaved a tranquil breath, his ears flapped wildly, almost imaginary hearts fluttered and popped around his head. Some of those groan, while the other laughed and shook their head at the lovesick expression on the skyloftian's face.

He raised the letter above his face, pressing a gentle kiss against the ink on the bottom of the page then one to the ring gracing his finger.

"I'll be home as soon as I can, my love."

~~ He was so giddy to be home. As one could be, he was always the composed and conscientiousness captain, but when given the opportunity to reunite with his love. Warriors is practically floating down the path to his shared home that the group is struggling to keep up with his rampant pace. He can't help himself! He needs to smooch his spouse! It's a crime to him to be away for this long from them.

The look on their face when he entered the house with a flourish yell of their name, made his heart soar.

~~ Time chuckled when you fussed over Twilight, tucking him in before glaring at the male when he tried to protest. His descendant looked at him with a silent plead for help, only to slump when the old man shook his head and made an 'x' symbol with his arms. He knew that butting in would not protect him from your glare too.

He rather walk straight into a pit of lava than face your glare head-on. Though he melts at the passing thought of you tucking your future child in, sternly telling them its bedtime and that rest is important. He makes his way over, pressing himself against your back, lacing his hand with yours and placed a kiss against your forehead.

~~ He was already suckered from the day you first played together when you were both children. From the shy glances to the shared giggles, to the sleepovers and to the shared secrets. Twilight knew he had to have you as his spouse when you jumped into his arms and kissed him without a thought after he saved Hyrule.

Even as he stared up at the night sky during his watch, he could still remember the sight of you walking down the aisle with a shy yet giddy smile on your lips. He rubbed the ring back and forth as the memories took over his mind, making the time go by fast til he was tapped out by the next watch. He falls asleep easily when his head hit his pillow, with a faint smile on his lips.

~~ He felt smug when the chain jaws dropped at the sight of him running towards his spouse yet ignores them as their squeals and giggles graced his ears. Fierce swung them around softly in the air before slowly lowering them in his embrace, holding them by their waist, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against theirs. He purrs at the hands that cupped his face, sweet yet butterfly like kisses gracing his skin that soothe the ache that grew in yearning for their touch.

He felt them move away the white strands away from his forehead, placing a kiss against the blue 'v' shaped mark there. He retaliates by placing one against the ring on their finger before opening his eyes to them. Feeling himself melting in their ever so loving and gentle gaze, "You still look radiant, my dear jewel."

[anundyingfidelity]

BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS — Billy Butcher, Soldier Boy

Summary: A normal night where Butcher and his new pal, Soldier Boy, fuck just their stress out with a new toy, you.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x female reader x Soldier Boy

Word count: 1.5k.

Warnings: porn without plot, dom!butcher, dom!ben, one thought of dub-con but not really, double penetration, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, unsafe sex (creampie and switching holes basically don't do it, this is just porn), squirting, dirty talk, blowjobs, facial, degradation (usage of whore, slut, etc.), cumplay, some dacryphilia, choking, hair pulling, blood, mentions of violence, Ben and Butcher being kinda jerks, normal misogyny coming from SB, some ego competition, hints to aftercare.

Notes: You already know english is not my main language, not betad and barely revised, lol sorry for the mistakes in here. The amount of horniness I have for these two I swear is not fucking normal. Normally I'd apologize for writing this, but I'm ovulating.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

A pair of rough hands held your legs open. Your empty pussy was throbing as Butcher knelt between your thighs rubbing the tip of his cock against your cunt.

You gasped, the man behind you spreading you further for his new team mate to get better access while he fucked your ass senseless. His cock reaching all the right spots. You moaned loudly, almost screaming when Butcher finally pushed inside you. Soldier Boy never seemed to cease his insane thrusts from behind.

"Luv, you're so fucking tight," Butcher grinned, your walls engulfing him perfectly.

They both soon set up a rhythm, one pushing in while the other almost slide out of your hole. Each stroke of their massive cocks inside you exploded something you never felt before. It was a new kind of spark eliciting from the deepest places, and you wanted to come undone there, over and over, forever, between their strong bodies.

"Oh, fuck! Yes right there, god!" you growled, screamed, and cried out incoherences as the two men continued fucking you to bliss.

A layer of sweat covered your skin and you rolled your eyes back, the familiar knot on your belly building up yet again. You didn't have an idea of how much time had passed since you arrived back to the dirty motel. All three of you arrived covered in blood, dirt and the weight of murder, and you still let them take you and you welcomed them the same way. You let them have fun with you however they pleased.

The last thing you remembered from that night was coming back from a mission. Your aching body begging for a shower and good sleep, but Butcher and the new supe found other ways to take their own stress out. You doubted at first. Of course you didn't know it could feel this good. They left bite marks all over your neck, nipped your tits, spanked your thighs open for their mouths to devour you while the other fucked your throat until tears streamed down your cheeks.

They continued bruising and marking your skin. Like a canvas, they left their prints, covering your flesh with different colors all over and used your mouth and pussy as they fucking wanted, granting access to the other, spreading your legs, manhandling you all over the disgusting, shitty room. Then Soldier Boy had the idea of using your ass, just for him, and at first, you were fucking scared. It was all too much. But once he had you ready and stretched enough with his fingers, you quickly fell for his rough touch and his dick, which was as huge as his ego. He was fucking addictive. Both were, in fact, fucking you amazingly hard.

One of Ben's hand wrapped around your neck, climax reaching its peak as Butcher rubbed your clit with his thumb. Your walls clenched around both of them and the vulgar sound of your pussy filled the place along with their skin hitting yours.

"Little slut, gonna cum for us?" Ben said, voice full of lust, pressing your back against his bare chest. You clenched again, his dark chuckle enhanced heaven down your cunt.

Wetness increased between your legs, and you moaned. Louder than ever. The whole place might already know what was happening in the room, but neither Ben or Billy made you shut up. In fact, they wanted you to scream your lungs out.

"Oh, she's definitely gonna cum," Butcher followed, a smirk on his lips. "C'mon sweetheart, don't be shy. Give us one more."

"I-I feel like- fuck!" with a loud cry you squirted all over them, their dicks sliding out of your holes. Shit, that was the harderst you came for the night.

Immediately you tried to close your shaky legs, but Butcher's hands held you in place, pussy clenching around nothing as your fluids coated their hard lenghts and thighs.

"Fucking hell. I'm gonna break you, sugar," Ben hissed, taking your legs and fixing your position on top of him, sliding you down his dick, but this time he claimed your pussy, pistoning in and out of you without any mercy. Even if your body still trembled and you were so fucking overstimulated. You moaned.

Butcher tskd as he watched you, tears streaming down your face and lost in pleassure. "That was mine, pal."

"Yeah, I don't give a fuck- Jesus, she's fucking tight!" Ben hoarsed.

He didn't care about Butcher, he just wanted to fuck you until you passed out and his name was the only thing on your mind.

You whimpered softly. "Please, please," you were getting there again, under the brunette man's dark eyes as the soldier fucked you insane.

But before you reached that sweet peak again, Ben pulled out of you. His strenght forced you to bend over the matress on your hands and knees, Butcher positioned himself right in front of your face. It was so fast and they moved quickly, like a dance already choreographed between them to take advantage of all you got to give.

"Open wide, baby" Butcher ordered. You complied happily, letting his cock touch the back of your throat smoothly.

Ben's rough hands gripped your hips, down your ass, giving a spank on one of your cheeks, making you jump slightly. He grabbed your ass cheeks spreading them to expose your hole, the tip of his cock teased your ass until he slid in a swift motion. You whimpered with your mouth stuffed. He filled you up perfectly and you fucking loved it.

"Such a good cumslut, taking my cock so fucking well," Ben praised, voice husky. He roughly gripped your hair, forcing yourself down more around Butcher's shaft. You gagged, he smirked. "Might just keep you around as my little, personal fuckdoll."

"Fuck- easy there, mate," Butcher warned, as you worked your tongue and lips on his cock as much as you could. "We have another deal, remember?"

Ben smirked cockily at him as you clenched around his cock. You let out a moan muffled by Butcher fucking your mouth. Both their thrusts harder than ever. "Still, I don't give a shit."

Ben's gaze admired you, hands on your hips, as he watched himself shoving into your hole. "You're gonna fucking cum again, you dirty little bitch," he ordered.

"Mmm..." You nodded as best as you could with the twitching cock on your mouth.

Butcher suddenly pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva leaked down your lips to the tip of his cock. He kept your head in place as much as he could and jerked himself off with his other hand. He came with a hard groan all over your pretty face. His white seed painted your cheeks, lips and your tongue sticking out as you shut your eyes.

"Bloody hell, don't you look ravishing," Butcher whispered darkly. His thumb collected his cum, now mixed with your tears and a small stain of dry blood on your face. He dragged it to your lips so you could taste it. Your plump lips closed around his finger with a moan.

"Insatiable slut, just how I like them," Ben hissed, pulling out of your asshole, making you whimper. "Now, I'm gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy."

He rubbed the tip of his dick on your slit and entered slowly. You felt every inch stretching you out and he slammed into you brutally, he was so fucking close. You could feel it. It surprised you how much they actually endured, their stamina was endless and you lost count of how many times they made you cum already. And yet, you felt that precious sensation anew, soft walls clenching repeatedly around him.

"C'mon whore," Ben gripped on your hair, pulling your back against his muscular chest, taking both your wrists with his other hand. "Cum around my cock."

Your cunt pulsed, he grunted. And you came, again, with shaky legs, shaky breath and the sight of a naked Butcher, who already had taken a seat on the couch in front of the bed. Your orgasm triggered Ben's, and he filled you up completely. You cried out when his fingers found your clit, the grip on your hair long gone now. He continued fucking his cum inside you, balls deep, until he started to soften inside you. His thrusts slowed down little by little.

Ben finally pulled out, letting go of your wrists and you collapsed on your hands and knees on the mattress. He spread out your pussy with his fingers and admired his white cum dripping out of you.

"Well, that was a fucking ride," he smiled. His middle finger wiped his seed and forced it back inside your pulsing cunt. "Fuck, where do you find these kind of women?"

Butcher shrugged. "I have my contacts."

"I'm still here, y'know," you breathed out, rolling on your back.

Ben hovered over your tired figure. Messy hair, cheeks stained with Butcher's cum, teary eyes, and some dry blood spots decorated your face. They did break you and put you back into pieces. He was damn proud of that. He leaned down and sucked into the skin of your neck. You moaned, your fingers tangled on his scalp as his lips carressed your neck, his beard burning on your soft skin.

"Ben, I'm tired," you said, and he stopped his kisses. He shared a suspicious look with Butcher and then locked his lustful green eyes with yours.

The supe winked at you. "Later, doll."

You rolled your eyes and heard Butcher standing up.

"Gonna prepare you a bath, luv," he said as he disappeared inside the bathroom. "Have to take good care of ya."

[berriwritertingz]

the summer i wrote | one

content: future smut, fluff, angst, basically all of it

pairing: milo manheim x afab!reader & ross lynch x afab!reader

summary: every summer, you travel to dahlia's beach to reunite with your mother's closest friend and her son. but this year he unexpectedly brings a friend along. caught in the gentle waves of affection and longing, you find yourself navigating uncharted waters where the boundaries of friendship blur.

notes: this is loosely based on the summer i turned pretty. i just watched the second season and lawwwd i wanted to make a ff soo bad. plus milo and ross have absolutely none anywhere.

masterlist

You loved Dahlia's beach. It always smelled salty with a hint of expensive barbeque if you were in the city. But near the countryside there was the sweet smell of honeysuckle. That's where you would rather be, where the tall grass met the sandy dunes. The sounds of hooves on pavement and bustle around the farmers market on a hot weekend afternoon.

This summer was no different. Your stomach churned, rumbling in excitement as you neared the beach house. It was huge. Five bedrooms with enough bathrooms. Too many patios surrounding it. Turquoise colored pool with a small waterfall. The house was a blueish gray color with white accents. Calm and minimalistic, much unlike the other grand colorful houses on the street. It sat like a diamond around other stones in a non normal way. The most priceless of them all. Placed directly in front of the beach but not close enough to tourist spots so it was always quiet. It was always such an amazing way to spend the three months in between school. You looked forward to it every year.

But that wasn't all you looked forward to.

Your mom honked as you guys entered the driveway. A wide smile plastered on her face. Your mom seemed to love this place more than she loved you, even if she denied it when you asked. You knew the truth. Summers at the beach house were the only time she got to see her best friend, Camryn.

"Hey!" A voice squealed from the porch. You shuffled out of the car, legs aching after a long 5 hours. As you stretched you were met with Cam, arms spread jumping for joy. Practically knocking you over. They were best friends from high school. Going to college together and even sharing a dorm room. With how they acted every time they met, you were convinced they had separation anxiety. They didn't get to see each other throughout the year. Other than here of course. For they lived states apart, Dahlia's being a quiet beach town that was located in the middle.

Camryn engulfed you in a bear hug first, gushing about how pretty you are. Making you do a spin in your dress. Once she pulled away she did the same to your mom whose high pitched voice could be heard from the beach. As they talked about how ‘different’ each other looked. You watched as they walked inside hand in hand when your eyes met his.

Milo.

He radiantly smiled as he trotted over to you. The classic hands in pockets, ruffled hair, and expensive glasses. It was like he had a glow up every year whether it was him dressing better or maybe getting a bit taller.

"Hi" He cooed embracing you in a tight hug. The smell of his overpriced cologne filled your nose. It reminded you of sugary trees and cool waves. Much like the beach house. He was another reason you loved the beach house so much. Without him you were stuck with two middle aged ladies whose celebrity crush was Liam Neeson and only watched tv shows made by Shonda Rhimes. He was fun. He never made you feel left out or alone. He was everything any girl could wish for. Tall, smart, rich, and incredibly good eye candy.

"Hello, Milo." You smiled as he let you go.

He ran a hand threw his hair looking down at you. Eyes trailing down your body strangely. His expression was unrecognizable. Your face heated up turning your head to avoid his gaze. He touched the bottom of your dress. Yanking the fabric gently.

"This is a little short isn't it?" He questioned eyes meeting yours. Lips curled up in a sly smile. Rolling your eyes you scoffed slapping his hand away. He acted like a big brother sometimes. Especially with your clothes. Every summer complaining about how short your shorts were or how revealing your bathing suit was.

"Oh shut up you do this every-" The sight of someone else on the porch caught your eye. "Who's that?" You questioned raising an eyebrow.

Milo turned around and nodded in acknowledgement as the boy made his way down the stairs. Bleached blond hair slightly overgrown and wide smile on display as he made his way towards you two.

"Y/N this is Ross, Ross Y/N. He's staying the summer with us this year." Ross reached his hand out to you. Clad in silver rings that looked a bit out of your price range. Does Milo have any Middle Class friends? It was unusual. No one ever came to the beach house from back home. It was like a unsaid rule between everyone. Written in big red letters 'No Strangers'. The dads didn't even bother coming even though Milo's paid for it.

"Nice to meet you." He looked you up and down a tongue swiping over his lips. "Milo didn't tell me how pretty you are."

"Dude!" Milo exclaimed punching his shoulder rolling his eyes.

"Thank you." You beamed softening your voice. Milo scoffed walking towards the trunk slightly bumping into Ross. But he didn't seem to mind, hazel eyes still trained on you.

"So where are you fr-" Ross was cut off by a slightly pissed off Milo. "Are you guys serious? C'mon Ross help me with these bags." Ross walked away backwards eyes still focused on you with that addicting smile of his.

"See you inside?" He whispered loud enough for you to hear him.

You didn't respond. Only nodding as you strolled inside.

a/n: soooo what do you guys think? im still trying to figure out this tumblr writing stuff im so used to just reading ive never written and posted anything on here lololol. pls be patient with me! a few tips and tricks would be greatly appreciated!!

taglist

[radiant-reid]

Angel

Summary: Based on 14x09 where BAU!Reader recounts how working the case reminded her of Spencer's addiction

a/n: tbh this is trash, just trying to get some motivation back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff)

Content Warning: references to Spencer's Dilaudid addiction

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | Navigation

There are flowers on the table. 

That's the first thing Y/n notices and the only thing out of place in their otherwise tidy house. Spencer's always been a clean person. 

The kid clutter- books, coloring pens, tiny shoes, the occasional Lego figure- that clutter, he's proud of.

Next to the vase is a bowl of pasta in a tomato-based sauce, and she guesses because of that, there's at least one child-size shirt soaking in the laundry with a stain on it.

"Hey, beautiful." Spencer makes her jump with his silent footsteps, followed by sudden voice. He touches her shoulders, massaging them softly. 

She turns around, placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Hey. Missed you."

He pulls her forward, resting his head on top of hers. "Missed you too. Glad you made it back safe." 

Things are different since the bureau mandated Spencer take time off as part of his reinstatement after prison. After the births of their three kids, Y/n stayed home, naturally, on maternity leave while Spencer continued going out on cases with the team. In between, and for most of their relationship and marriage, they worked at the BAU, spending almost every minute together. But this is different. Now, Spencer's the one that spends more time in DC, and in his 30 days not working at the BAU, he does an excellent job as a househusband. 

Y/n pulls back, admiring his features for the first time in days."Sleeping angels?" She checks.

He scoffs lightly. "Not so much." She raises her eyebrows, humored. "Water, bathroom, another story, you know how it goes."

She chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I've heard that song before."

"Love them, though." He adds. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." She turns to the delicious-smelling pasts on the table while his hands stay on her waist. Spencer's learned a lot while being a dad but his learning to cook has been very rewarding for her.

They move to the couch, needing to be closer than they would be if they were sitting at the table. 

Her smile dimmers after she's complimented his cooking, and he's called her beautiful again. It's an easy difference in demeanor to spot for Spencer as a husband rather than a profiler. 

"The case?" Spencer guesses. 

Y/n takes a deep breath in and shrugs. "One like that wouldn't get to me usually." She tries to dismiss her feelings.

He catches it, having used the same technique many times. If it's bothering her, they're going to discuss it. "It was Tara's ex-husband that discovered a pattern?"

"Mm-hmm, uh, Daryl, he brought it to her, thinking there was an angel of death unsub killing people in the recovery community." She recaps, although he already knows from their discussion on the phone. 

Technically, he's only allowed to know the basic details, not offer advice, but as long as Emily doesn't officially know that the occasional case-solving tip comes from Spencer, it's okay.

"What was his vice?" He asks.

Tara didn't want to spill all the details, but Y/n had made a few assumptions. "Alcohol, drugs later, I think." 

"So why was this one more difficult than usual?" Spencer asks, frowning then it hits him. "Oh." 

Y/n feels a pang of guilt in her chest at Spencer's expression contorting. "No, I don't mean-" She pauses, not knowing what to say. Neither can deny that her feelings are connected to what Spencer went through.

"Comparing the victims to me?" He guesses again.

Her selfishness feels even worse than her guilt. "No. Tara had to give a heart-wrenching speech. And we were in very different situations, her and Douglas and you and I, but it made me think about that time." She tries to explain it.

Spencer understands, and he nods solemnly. "We never talk about that in relation to you." He realizes that it's something he feels guilty about.

"I don't like to talk about it." She shrugs. "Just hearing what Tara said struck a chord." She could feel Tara's pain through Emily's repeated words, and it was all too easy to remember the heartbreak of seeing someone she loved struggling.

Spencer takes her hand, squeezing it lightly. "We can talk about it whenever you want, you know?" 

"Not now." She shakes her head. "I missed you." 

He smiles softly, resting against the couch and spreading his arms out. Y/n rests her legs over his and tucks herself under his arm. "I missed you too." He kisses her forehead and holds her closer. Things feel better when they're all under one roof. "Y/n, it's really important to me that you know how much I appreciate you staying through that. You're an angel, you know?"

"Spence." She coos, touching his cheek softly and momentarily getting caught in his eyes. "It wasn't a hard choice to stay with you and support you through that. I love you, and I'll always be here for you."

He takes a deep breath in. "I love you too. I could talk about how grateful I am for you forever, you know?"

"I know." She laughs lightly, having heard those speeches from him more than once. It never gets less heartwarming.

Spencer shuffles slightly, reaching out to take something off the coffee table. She raises her eyebrows until a look of recognition takes over her features. 

"A photo album?" She asks curiously. "Why's that out here?" 

"It's our first." He explains as he opens it, tracing his finger over the cover page. "Tillie wanted to see it." He finds the page he's looking for, showing her a photo of them. 

Y/n grins, looking at it, remembering the exact second it was taken. "You look so little." She coos, touching the glossy picture of them. They're not much older than 25, fresh-faced, innocent, and dressed nicely. Spencer's smiling the adorable smile he still smiles today. It's stayed the same through every challenge they've faced.

"You've always been so beautiful." He mumbles, stroking her hair with his spare hand.

Her cheeks heat as she taps him on the shoulder. "Stop." She whines. 

"Never." He shakes his head. "You're gorgeous, and I'm going to make sure you know it. I have no idea how I got so lucky."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "I'm the one that got lucky, marrying a genius."

"I married a genius too," Spencer claims, and he pulls her even closer to him like there's any chance she wants to move.

"Can we just sit here a while?" She asks as she relaxes more into him. 

He leans down to kiss her forehead. "For as long as you want, angel."

[innuendostudios]

new video about Edgar Wright's Cornetto Trilogy, and how everyone* keeps getting them wrong! this video is sponsored by Nebula, a place where you can watch the original version of this video before I had to tweak it for YouTube's copyright bots. (by clicking that link, you can get an annual subscription for 40% off.) or you can just back me on Patreon, which is also cool and good.

transcript below the cut.

I adore Edgar Wright’s Cornetto Trilogy. I flirted with making a video about it ages ago, had a draft of a script, but ultimately decided it wasn’t about anything except “here’s a thing I like, and here are its (I thought) very obvious themes.” So I shelved it. But, in the years since, I have seen multiple video essayists on this here website claim that these movies are about growing up and taking responsibility. (I say “multiple.” It’s not a lot. But it’s more than one! And that’s enough.)

These people are 100% wrong.

Lemme lay it out: the Cornetto Trilogy is not about growing up. It is not about taking responsibility. It is the exact opposite, and that’s not subtext. It is three movies about stunted manchildren thrust into extraordinary circumstances, and each, in the end, is saved - is redeemed - by abandoning his character arc and failing to grow or change. It is a three-part love letter to immaturity.

And I guess I have to set the record straight.

Sometimes making a video about a thing you love is an act of appreciation. And sometimes it’s out of spite.

The Cornetto Trilogy is three movies: Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and The World’s End. All three are written by Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright; Pegg stars, and Wright directs; all three center on a relationship between Pegg and real-life best friend Nick Frost, which makes each film a reunion of the core team behind Spaced (excepting, but for a small role in Shaun of the Dead, Jessica Hynes). The three films span three genres: zombie apocalypse, buddy cop, alien invasion; each features a Cornetto ice cream cone: strawberry to represent blood, original blue to represent the police, and mint to represent little green men; this is a joking nod to Krzysztof Kieślowski’s Trois Couleur films, Bleu, Blanc, and Rouge, which were based on the colors and themes of the French flag (I don’t care what you say, Emily: #TeamRouge); that nod is funny because Trois Couleur is high-art drama and these are comedies. All three are parodies of, tributes to, and actually surprisingly good executions of their respective genres. And the hook, the gag at the center of all these movies, is that Simon Pegg plays a character wholly unsuited to be starring in this kind of film.

Shaun, the burnout, is the wrong person to survive the zombie apocalypse; by-the-book British bobby Nicholas is the wrong person to lead an American-style bombastic actioner; and alcoholic asshole Gary is the last person to save the world from aliens.

And I think that’s where people get stuck. Because “schlub finds himself protagonist of a genre film” is the elevator pitch for like a dozen Adam Sandler movies. The genre trappings may be as mundane as parenthood or mandated anger management classes, or as high-concept as action movie, whodunnit, or time travel It’s a Wonderful Life if Clarence were Christopher Walken as the angel of death (that… that makes it sound good, it’s not, don’t see Click; leave Frank Capra alone, Adam). But all these movies have the same basic shape: an extraordinary situation forces a guy to confront his shortcomings, which always stem from having never grown up. And you probably haven’t seen all of these movies, but if you’ve seen any, I bet you have assumptions about how the rest end: even though “Adam Sandler acts like a child” is generally the selling point of an Adam Sandler movie, they all end with some lip service toward becoming an adult: hey man, grow up a bit; appreciate your family a little more; square your shoulders; clean your room. This is so standard, it was parodied mercilessly in Funny People.

And this was a formative microgenre for my generation! Whole universe turns itself upside down to teach some shitty dude to, like, do the dishes and pay his wife a compliment now and then - Liar Liar, Bruce and Evan Almighty (all directed by the same guy, by the way). So I don’t blame people of a certain age for seeing the first act of Shaun of the Dead and thinking “I know where this is going.” And when, at the last minute, it swerves and goes someplace else, you could read that as a gag, a final subversion of expectation, still the same basic shape. But no! No! Once is a gag - thrice??? Thrice is a thematic statement!

So lemme make my case. I’ma take you through these movies one by one - we’ll talk about the manchildren and the expectations set by the genre, and then we’ll talk about that last-minute swerve and what it means. And then you’ll tell me I’m right and apologize!

Shaun of the Dead:

Shaun is a man in his twenties. What kind of manchild is he? He’s the slacker.

What is his problem? He needs to sort his life out. Shaun doesn’t know how to take action. He hasn’t advanced since college - he’s been working the kind of job a teen takes over the summer for like a decade, lives with the same best friend, has the same petty fights with his stepdad, goes to the same pub every week with the same group of people. He can’t make a reservation, he can’t manage a calendar, he’s a washup. This makes his girlfriend, Liz, feel stifled, trapped; he is a weight around her ankle, taking her on the same date week after week, keeping her from living her own dreams, having her own adventures. She gives him one last chance to prove he can sort his life out, and he blows it, and she dumps him.

And then: a zombie movie happens.

The genre forces him to confront his shortcomings: to survive, and save his loved ones, he’ll have to take action, make plans, be decisive. This is a common fantasy: when you feel ground down by the mundanity of life, you might imagine, oh, if only a crisis would happen, like a zombie virus outbreak, where my normal-life problems like “am I gonna make rent,” “is my girl gonna take me back,” “is my roommate gonna kick out my stoner buddy who’s crashing on the couch” become meaningless, and it’s immediately clear what’s really important, what matters. Then I’d know exactly what to do. It’s why disaster movies work as escapism: a necromantic plague - or at least the fantasy of one - is sometime preferable to normal life.

Hot Fuzz:

Nicholas is a man in his thirties. What kind of manchild is he? He’s the hall monitor.

What is his problem? He can’t switch off. He is a hypercompetant police officer with a rulebook where his brain should be. He’s so good at being a cop that he’s spotting and unraveling crimes even on his day off. He can’t maintain a relationship, has no friends, all his coworkers hate him because he keeps finishing their work for them, and his stats show up the rest of the force so badly that they scuttle him out to the country.

Now you might be thinking, “Mmm. A fastidious police officer who can’t have fun? How is that a manchild? Sounds pretty grown-up to me. You’re reaching, bud.” Ohhhh ho ho, smartass, do you remember this scene? [bar scene] Yeah! Nicholas Angel has a five-year-old’s notion of law and order. He’s still playing cops and robbers.

And that’s a problem, because then: an action movie happens.

It doesn’t happen all at once: he goes out to the country and finds they do things a bit differently there. They are (ostensibly) less concerned with rules than what than the rules are for: if the purpose of drinking laws is to keep the streets safe and orderly, and letting some people off with a warning or allowing kids drink so long as they do it inside achieves that end, the rule can be bent. That’s a judgment grown-ups can make; I mean, they’re the ones who wrote the rules in the first place. So be lenient with shoplifters, don’t hassle people for speeding; this isn’t the Big City, you can use your better judgment. But Nicholas never got past doing whatever Mom & Dad said; obedience, and trusting whoever’s up the chain, is his entire moral framework. He can’t accept that bending the law could be more righteous than following it.

But also maybe there’s a criminal conspiracy murdering people and writing it off as accidents and the police chief might be in on it. Or maybe Nicholas is so desperate for a big case with no moral ambiguity that he’s seeing things where they aren’t. 

The genre forces him to confront his shortcomings: either there’s nothing going on and he needs to chill out about procedure, or the department is corrupt and he’ll have to go rogue like it’s Point Break - and this is how he experiences Point Break. [“paperwork”]

No matter what, he’ll have to bend the rules, which he constitutionally cannot do.

The World’s End:

Gary is a man in his forties. What kind of manchild is he? He’s the delinquent.

What’s his problem? Pfffft. What isn’t his problem? Gary is a manipulative, narcissistic, lying, self-destructive, ignorant, violent, thieving, shit-talking, unapologetic asshole who peaked in high school when being all those things was still kind of badass. The greatest night of his life was the drunken pub crawl after graduation he and his friends didn’t even finish, and he’s been tumbling downhill ever since. He’s spent his life ruining everyone who knows him until there’s no one left to ruin but Gary King. So now it’s time to bully the old gang into going back home with him to relive that night by finishing the pub crawl, because, in his own words, it’s all he’s got. And he and his friends have to confront how home has changed since they left - the bars have gentrified, not everyone recognizes them; the defining, epic deeds of Gary’s youth have been forgotten. You can’t actually go back because that place doesn’t exist anymore.

And then: a sci-fi movie happens.

Turns out the town’s been taken over by aliens, and all the people who couldn’t conform to their new order have been replaced with robots! That’s why no one recognizes them! And that’s why the pubs all look the same: the aliens are homogenizing everything! And it’s clear, if they can’t get Gary and his friends to play ball, they’ll roboticize them as well! The obvious move is to get the hell out of town, but Gary keeps inventing excuses to stay and finish the pub crawl, and they sound pretty sensible because the group’s already five pints in. The genre forces him to confront his shortcomings: sooner or later he’s gonna have to give up on recapturing his youth and do what’s best for him and his friends now, even if it means running back to the city where all his problems live.

So there we have it: the characters cross the threshold into an unfamiliar world where an external conflict cannot be addressed without resolving the tension within. The slacker will have to get his shit sorted, the hall monitor will have to break the rules, and the delinquent will have to do what’s good for him. And, to an extent, all three know this! The movies Wright and Pegg pay homage to exist in these stories - Shaun knows what a zombie is, Danny keeps Nicholas up watching Point Break and Bad Boys II, and Gary and friends know bodysnatcher movies so well they have philosophical debates with the robots about whether “robot” is the PC term.

So, yeah, if you turned the movies off there, I could forgive you for thinking that’s where they’re headed. But you goofballs watched them to the end and then made content about them, what is wrong with you???

What actually happens in the second halves of these movies?

Shaun twigs that he’s in a zombie movie and, at first, tries to play the part - his survival plans are miniature hero’s journeys with him as protagonist, wherein he’ll save the day by neatly confronting all his flaws. He’ll resolve parental conflict by saving his mom from his zombified stepdad, resolve romantic conflict by showing his girl he can come through when it counts, and resolve internal conflict by being a man who saves the day. And all his plans suck! It’s just the same plan he always comes up with! Dragging around the same useless liability of a bestie, collecting the same group of people, and holing up in the same pub! He doesn’t save his mom: his stepdad apologizes, resolving their conflict for him, and then survives in zombie form but Shaun’s mom gets killed; most of the friend group gets killed because the crisis does not actually suspend but in fact amplifies their personal grievances; and he doesn’t save the day, just manages not to die long enough for the military to show up.

But… well, Liz wanted adventure and now she’s had enough for a lifetime, so… she’s down to just be boring with him for a while - sit on the couch, watch TV, hit the pub. Beats running for your life. Tensions with the roommate are gone cuz roommate died, but rent is covered cuz Liz moved in. Zombies don’t get eradicated, just folded into normal life, so Shaun can mindlessly play video games with his bestie forever, and it’s not a problem that bestie doesn’t have an income cuz he doesn’t need food or shelter.

The zombie apocalypse doesn’t make Shaun sort his life out, it changes the world til he doesn’t have to.

When Nicholas discovers that, yes, there is definitely a murderous criminal conspiracy inside the police department, he recognizes the only way to bring about justice is to become what Danny has always wanted and go Dirty Harry on the town. It’s either that or just swallow the crimes. But he does neither. He and Danny go on an epic shooting spree, recreating famous movie scenes, taking out the entire criminal organization against all odds, and spouting badass one-liners… but everyone who helps them is a cop, they don’t actually kill anyone, all perps are formally arrested, and they fill out all the paperwork. I think he even properly signs out the weapons. He never switches off, never breaks a rule, does absolutely everything by the book, only… louder. And this violent showdown saves him from the chill town with lax rules he thought he’d moved to. Now he, with his five-year-old notion of right and wrong, is in charge of the police department.

The buddy cop actioner doesn’t make Nicholas bend the rules, it changes the world til he doesn’t have to.

Gary knows exactly how a movie of this sort is supposed to go and spends the whole movie running from it. Friends and secondary characters keep sharing these poignant moments with him, because they know this story, too: yeah, he’s gonna reject help at first, but sooner or later he’ll hit rock bottom and then someone will get through to him. And, as the night goes on, and the characters get drunker and drunker, and Gary passes up more and more opportunities to abandon the pub crawl and go home, these moments take a tone of desperation. They start to sound more like interventions; like, Gary, we all know you’re going to come to your senses but could you hurry up with it??? How many of your friends need to literally die for you to shape up? Are you gonna get them all killed?

And the answer is: Gary will never shape up! To Gary the Human Dril Tweet, his friends trying to save him, psychiatrists trying to treat him, and aliens trying to assimilate him are all the same thing. He doggedly makes it to the end of the pub crawl and confronts the alien overlord who tells him all the technological advancements of the past few decades - all the efficiency and homogenization that’ve changed the face of his home town - are their doing. The Information Age is an intervention on behalf of Earth, a pan-galactic effort to save humanity from itself. And the reason they’ve been replacing people with robots is some people are too fucked up to go along with it.

And here’s Gary, King of the Fuckups, brashly declaring that fucking up is what makes us human. There is no freedom without the freedom to ruin your life. We are endowed by our creator with the right to be drunken, ornery pieces of shit.

He tells the aliens to piss off and he’s so fucking annoying that they do, and they take the Information Age with them.

Now… I know… ugh… I know a lot of people love this movie, say it’s the best of the three. Some friends who’ve struggled with mental health or just being an adult under late capitalism really identify with Gary, and the valorization of being a mess. I see you, you’re not wrong, I get it, I really do. But can we just… not “but” but “also” can we… can we also admit that this ending is… this is Space Brexit.

Like, literally it’s an alien invasion but symbolically this is Gary rejecting the adult world of rules and authority and doing what’s best for the community and that’s how Brexiters view the EU. And people keep telling him “Gary, this is in your best interest” and Gary says, I don’t want my best interest! I am registered in the anti-Gary’s Face Party and I will cast my vote by cutting my nose! I choose to do what’s bad for me.

And, like a true Brexiter, he chooses for everybody.

Now tell me that’s a movie about growing up. Gary collapses human civilization in its entirety rather than change, and in the world that follows, he thrives… by being an immature, irresponsible bag of garbage.

To Wright and Pegg, growing up is death, and these are movies about being alive. These characters don’t cross the threshold back into the ordinary world with the ultimate boon of character growth; all three stay in the extraordinary world. The zombies remain, the robots remain, Nicholas is offered his London job back and chooses to stay in the country. These are stories about normal life spontaneously turning into a genre film, and they are made with deep love for those genres; why would they end with leaving those genres behind? Because it’s what Adam Sandler would do?

So there you have it. I rest my case.

“Okay Ian. Why does this matter?”

…what was that?

“You’ve made your point: these movies aren’t about growing up or taking responsibility. So what?”

Uhhhh.

“Bring it home for us.”

…

“Why do you care so much?

[breath]

I wrote the first draft of this script when I was around Shaun and Nicholas’ age, and “so what?” is why I shelved it. Now I’m Gary’s age, this video’s been in the back of my brain the whole time, but I got this far and “so what” is where I got stuck, again. This is why the CO-VIDs came out quicker, cuz I let myself end with “so that’s interesting!” and got on with my life. But there’s clearly something sticky here, more than “someone is wrong on the internet.” (Also, to the YouTubers I’m vaguebooking, who said these were movies about growing up - I’m way more annoyed at the folks I’ve argued with on Twitter about this, you just made a better rhetorical device; you do not owe me an apology!) (Also, to the commentariat: I am not extrapolating this from like two data points, this is chronic and recurring and has been bothering me for years.)

There are a few directions I could take this to give it some “cultural weight.” I could put on my social justice hat and talk about how the “crisis of adulthood” doesn’t play as broad comedy unless you look like Adam Sandler or Simon Pegg, or put on my class analysis hat and talk about how signifiers of adulthood are, traditionally, ways of spending and accruing capital which are, today, often inaccessible to people under 40.

And that’s all legit, but here’s the real deal: I’m just mad at Gary. The world changed around Shaun such that he could stay a child. And Nicholas ended up somewhere he could stay a child. If you missed that, you’re wrong, but whatever. But to say that Gary grew up grinds me, because Gary chose this. The whole movie is people telling him to grow up, and he says no! He says it out loud! He says it to the literal end of the world. To walk out of the theater and say “that’s a movie about growing up” is more than a mistake, it’s a refusal. It’s trying to “fix” the movie by fitting it into a more familiar shape, so it doesn’t say what it says, so Gary isn’t who he is, who he chooses to be.

I’m being cheeky when I say this because he’s a fictional character, but saying Gary grew up is enabling.

Gary says there’s no freedom without the freedom to ruin your life, which is the problem with alcoholics and libertarians: it’s not just your life, Gary! You live in a community, a culture, and an ecosystem! Your actions - everybody’s actions - impact other people! That’s just the way the world is! You can’t shit yourself at the bar without other people having to smell it. We’re all fuckin’ connected, man! You don’t want anyone’s will imposed on you; you spend the whole movie imposing your will on everyone else! You say humans don’t wanna be told what to do, and then you decide humanity’s future by yourself with no input or consent from anyone!

People point to Gary ordering water in the last scene instead of beer as evidence that he got sober, like that’s proof that he did grow up in the end, which are you fucking joking??? Getting sober is a shorthand for maturity the way buying a house is, it doesn’t signify anything in and of itself! Gary drank to escape the adult world of rules and responsibilities! So, yeah, under normal circumstances getting sober would mean he’s made peace with that world and is ready to integrate. But that’s not what happened! The thing he was escaping doesn’t exist anymore! He literally destroyed it!! People died! Probably millions! Now he lives a happy life LARPing as Omega Doom - no I don’t expect you to catch that reference! He doesn’t need to drink! He is literally reliving the best day of his life forever. And even if it did mean personal growth, the idea that a person could make what would be, unequivocally, the most selfish decision in human history, and then spend his life celebrating the outcome, oh but if he overcame a personal demon in the process then on balance that’s maturity? That is lightspeed solipsism! Who are you if you think that way? Are you all Adam Sandler???

And none of that makes this a bad ending, or Gary a bad character. I mean, he is the reason The World’s End is my least favorite, and I don’t like the ending, but I don’t think it’s bad that I don’t like the ending. Rather than watch another addict pull his life together or destroy himself, we watch a downward spiral with so much gravity the whole world self-destructs alongside him. And that’s why The World’s End is the most interesting of the three: it is a bold choice, and I think we are free to feel however we want about the conclusion Gary engineered for himself. I don’t think it’s valid to pretend it didn’t happen.

In the context of the trilogy, we see that Shaun’s immaturity is mostly a problem for Shaun: he would be, at worst, a footnote in the lives of the people who love him; “yeah, I liked Shaun a lot, but I couldn’t carry him through life anymore.” Nicholas is the kind of overachiever that is useful if pointed in the right direction; juvenile code of ethics aside, he is, empirically, helping the community (within the entirely fictional framework where that’s a thing police do). If the world hadn’t changed to turn their flaws into strengths, they would still be relatively harmless. Gary is what happens when immaturity isn’t harmless, and shows us how a world built by that immaturity would look.

There is an appeal to Gary King, a wish fulfillment. Letting your id fully off the leash because you no longer care what anybody thinks - it’s why some people drink, and it’s why some people would like to drink with Gary. But if that’s not just your Friday night, not just your twenties, but that’s your life? There is a destination at the end of that road, and it’s Gary doing something truly ugly. And we see that ugly thing the way Gary sees it: as awesome. But then you see the reality: the Monday morning after the Friday night. We went out with Gary and he did something terrible.

And I’m not telling you to hate Gary for it; I’m not saying Gary can’t be forgiven. In fact, seeing it for what it is is the only way Gary could be forgiven, because, if he “grew up and took responsibility,” there’s nothing to forgive.

I think this is the only way the trilogy could have ended. I mean, you make stories about boys who get older and older and don’t grow up, it eventually becomes a problem. There’s only two ways to resolve it: you either end with a guy actually sorting his shit out, or you go for broke and show what happens if he doesn’t. And I think some of us boys saw that and said, “no, noooo, they did grow up! all three of them!” rather than say, “haha! hahaaa! ……………shit.”

[mauesartetc]

A while back I got a comment that demonstrated a misconception as to what the character design process actually entails, and I thought it had real "teachable moment" potential. So let me make this perfectly clear:

Drawing a character is NOT the same as designing one.

Let's say I wanted to draw a guy. No backstory, no defined personality traits or preferences, no details about his current life, just doodling some random, generic guy who popped into my head.

That's just a drawing.

But what if I decided to flesh him out more? What if I wanted his appearance to reflect his lifestyle and inner life as well? Here's where the note-taking comes in.

And now for the visual research:

I thought the bodybuilding angle would provide a fun contrast with this guy's profession. The mental image of a huge, burly dude working on a clock or watch with tiny, precise movements just makes me smile. Perhaps I could give him small, nimble hands that would suit his line of work.

Now that I have a better idea of how Mikhail's face and body will look, it's time to establish a pose.

Of course, I never expected to employ all the personality traits I started out with inside this single pose; those were just a jumping-off point. No one drawing will ever be able to encapsulate every single facet of a character, unless they're extraordinarily flat and generic (see also: random guy I doodled at the start of this post). If I wanted to write a story with this guy, I'd have to figure out how all the traits play off each other and how they'd cause him to react to different situations. There would be a lot more note-taking and development involved, but for the sake of keeping this post (somewhat) brief, let's just focus on visuals for now.

On to color!

I decided to give Mikhail a carnation in his pocket (for its round shape), specifically a red one, which represents deep love and an aching heart. Thus, the flower needed to maintain its red color for the symbolism to come through.

For some reason I initially pictured this guy wearing a pink shirt (perhaps as an offshoot of the "romantic" angle), but I wanted to try some different colors inspired by the 70s catalog pages I found. I ended up really liking the contrast of the cool blue shirt with the warm red pants, and that option made it into my top three as a result. I lined them up next to each other to compare them, and in the end, blue won out over pink. I think it also reflects the "colder", more cerebral, less-emotional parts of his personality well (namely "systematic", "stern", and "callous"- one from each column!). Just goes to show that you shouldn't get too attached to your first draft, as better ideas are just around the corner.

I then lightened the blue of the shirt so it wouldn't compete so much with the rest of the outfit, and wouldn't be quite as loud and "in your face". Mikhail strikes me as a bit of an introvert, so the calmer, quieter blue is a better fit. I added a darker belt and watchband and de-saturated the flower just a bit to make the values feel more balanced, and I think we've got it!

Let's see the final result!

Y'all, I was not expecting this process to make me emotional, but there's something special about fully realizing a little guy you've spent hours working on. All of a sudden you look at him and go, "Oh my god, there he is. That's him." This man wasn't even a twinkle in my eye a couple weeks ago and now I'd protect him with my life.

And the thing is, the only reason I'm calling this design "done" for now is that I basically just brought it into existence to make a point. But if this dude were attached to a larger story, he'd be nowhere near finished. I'd have to make a ton more iterations and go a lot more in depth with my research than I did (especially with the Armenian cultural stuff). Overall, though, I hope this quick project properly highlighted the difference between a single drawing and a more fleshed-out character.

Later!

[lustspren]

La notte delle rose nere. ft Mina & Sana

length: 10.5k words ✦

Mina, Sana, Male Character & Male Reader.

genres:  sub! Mina, anal, hard sex, foursome, spitroast, DP, blowjob, squirt, oral sex, lesbian, voyeur, creampie, public sex, facefuck, facial, slight daddy kink✧ 

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The day had begun peacefully for you, it was Saturday, and you had gotten up early to go to the supermarket to do the month's shopping. The week was somewhat exhausting at your job, as was every week that coincided with a nominal payment, paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork, especially considering that you were the human resource’s director, but luckily everything went as expected, and right now you had no other concern than spending a nice weekend with the girl you loved the most in the hole world.

"Honey! I made a list of things we should take home, I don't know what you think," said a sweet little voice behind you as you walked into an aisle with the shopping cart still empty, you turned your body, walking now sideways so you could see her.

"Oh yeah?" you smiled seeing the enthusiasm on her face, "let me see, sweetie," she handed you a small notebook, in which the list was written, it caught your attention that it was perfectly colored and decorated.

"Well? What do you think?" she asked shyly, her hands clasped on her belly as she played with her fingers.

"Do we really need that much ice cream?" you raised both eyebrows, "and snacks?"

"Hmm, yeah?" she tilted her head, looking at you with tender eyes and blinking several times. You took a few long seconds to ‘think about it’, you even narrowed your eyes, but in the end her tenderness overcame you.

"Ugh, that's cheating, you know? But okay, you win," you stopped, only to place a small kiss on her lips, which brought a smile to her face.

Myoui Mina looked as radiant and beautiful as ever, she was a girl with simple tastes, delicate, elegant, and above all, a tender and shy person. She was wearing a purple cotton shirt, baggy jeans and her cream-colored clutch, a basic outfit, but one that she knew how to wear perfectly with her charms.

It hadn't been an easy process to get to where you two were now. You had met about three years ago when you arrived in Rome, your friends were practically non-existent there, but even so you decided to go to the cinema to see a movie you had been waiting for a long time, coincidentally, she was going to the same movie as you, accompanied with a small group of two other friends, Minatozaki Sana, and the architect of everything, Hirai Momo.

Momo was responsible for welcoming you between them. She and Sana made you feel comfortable throughout the night, they were fun, kind, and above all, exaggeratedly beautiful, but despite that, neither of them caught your attention as much as Mina did. She was quiet all night, enjoying the movie and later your conversations, laughing, nodding, and speaking only when someone asked her something or involved her, but strangely enough, her reserved, delicate and pretty aura made you fall in love from the first moment.

You exchanged numbers with all of them that night, but the only one you started talking to every day was her. The months passed, and the connection between you was formed every day until you began to forge a special bond, she was very attentive, kind and nice to you, and you made sure to reciprocate all those good feelings. It was clear that you  liked each other, but neither of you managed to take that small step forward. You asked Sana for advice for many days, meditating on what would be the best way to declare yourself, but absolutely everything terrified you. The day had arrived, and you two had met in a small cafe north of the city, the conversation was difficult for you to carry, but you ended up telling her, with a long talk explaining your feelings for her included. Lucky for you, the feeling was reciprocated, and the two of you had a very nice date that day, but anyway, things didn't become official until months later, when at the most special and fun birthday party you've ever had your life, you two kissed in your room, completely alone, while Angel by Aerosmith was playing outside.

Since then your relationship hasn't changed much, she was your girlfriend now, but everything was exactly the same, with the difference that things were much more special for both of you, and you could express your love for each other in any way you wanted. You were very happy with her, and you could tell how happy she was with you, everything was perfect.

"Oh, you said you wanted a box of tea sachets, right?" you remembered, when you were passing by in front of the shelf. The cart was already half full, and a few things were missing.

"Yes! White tea," she grabbed the box of tea and dropped it on the cart, just at that moment, you and Mina received a message on your phones at the same time.

"Huh?" you took out your phone at the same time as Mina, and then you exchanged glances when you saw who the message was from.

"God, I really can't believe she's going to do it for real," she said, looking back at her phone.

"What? What thing?" You looked down at the screen, opened the message, and saw the photo she had sent you. It was an invitation to a masquerade party, too well designed in your opinion, but suspiciously worded, "did you know about this?"

"Yes, she's been planning this all month, but she didn't want to give me too many details," she put her phone in her back pocket, "what is she supposed to mean by 'a perfect night to unleash all your instincts and carnal urges'?"

"I can get an idea, but I don't want to jump to conclusions..." you replied, staring into space and touching the inside of your cheek with your tongue, "shall we go?" you turned to see her.

"You want to go?"

"I don't know, do you want to?"

"I want to go if you want to go, silly."

You looked at nothing again, but this time thinking very carefully about what decision to make, going meant taking a big risk, you didn't know what you were going to get into, and especially what you were going to get her into, but hell, no you could miss out on a potentially amazing night.

"Okay, we'll go, but that doesn't mean I'm not dying of anxiety right now."

"I know, I feel the same way," she sighed, as she looked at the products in the shopping cart, "let's finish getting everything and go home honey."

You nodded, and then set off again with the cart.

—-----------------------------------

1 week later.

The week went by much faster than you could have imagined, this was a product of the anxiety that still caused you to think about what could happen in a few hours. You and Mina bought clothes exclusively for the occasion, with nice accessories and masks included, of course, and everything was ready to go, but the feeling that you were walking into the lion's den didn’t go away even if you tried to suppress it.

You saw yourself in the mirror for a few long seconds, analyzing every possible angle; you had opted for the easy option: pants, jacket, shirt, tie, and shoes, all black.

"Oh my gosh!" Mina exclaimed as she came out of the bedroom hallway, "Darling, you look amazing! And so handsome," she smiled at you, as she looked you up and down.

You turned to meet her gaze, but yours quickly shifted to the rest of her body; Mina definitely had a fashion sense far superior to yours, you could tell by the spectacular choice of dress that she had made; it was a short, long-sleeved black dress with protruding shoulder pads and a silver-trimmed belt that encircled her waist. You looked entranced by how beautiful her body looked, but that wasn't the only thing that caught your eye.

"Baby, do you have hair extensions on?" you asked innocently, taking a few steps towards her with a smile.

"Do you like it?" she cocked her head from side to side to show you the full length of her hair now perfectly ironed and styled.

"God, you're going to be the most beautiful girl in the place, I'm not even exaggerating," you took her by the waist and brought her closer to your body, to gave her a small peck on the lips, "hey, we have to go, the party started at 9 and it's almost 10 o'clock."

"Let's go then!"

-------------------------------------

All the way you couldn't do anything but wonder how the hell Momo had managed to rent a villa in Olgiata, one of the most prestigious areas in all of Italy, you knew the place only from photos, and you never thought that you could visit it one day, but it was a truly beautiful territory, no matter which way you looked, there were meadows adorned with beautiful houses and vineyards that, despite being at night, completely dazzled the landscape.

"Damn, do you have any idea how much the cheapest parcel should cost?" you said, one hand on the wheel and the other on Mina's hand.

"I don't know, but I'm concerned about the means by which Momo got a place here," she replied, looking out the window.

"Her parents?"

"She doesn't keep in touch with any of them, bad relationship I guess," she sighed.

"Oh… that sucks."

"But," she continued, turning to look at you, "she loves her sister, who does have a good relationship with her parents."

"Do you think she got it for her?"

"Who knows, I know her father is a wealthy businessman here in Italy, but nothing else," she shrugged.

"Well, great," you looked straight ahead, when a few meters ahead you saw the villa whose address was written on the invitation, "it's here, put on your mask."

When you parked next to all the cars lined up along the narrow road and turned off the car, the first thing you noticed was, of course, the blaring music coming from inside. The villa was surrounded by tall, perfectly trimmed bushes, and adorned on the inside by some tall trees.

"Well here we go, are you ready?" you said, after putting on the mask and turning to look at her, "wow, that mask really enhances your eyes, you look like a... what do they call it here in Italy? Oh yeah, un cigno nero."

"A black swan, huh?" she giggled, "alright, I'll act like it then, come on."

You and Mina got out of the car and went to the sidewalk, skirted the bushes and found the entrance to the villa, which consisted of a couple of stone steps that led to a small roundabout with a tree in the middle, it was there when you both could see in all its splendor the spectacular mansion that stood a few meters from the garden through which you were entering.

"This is amazing, what the fuck..." you said, genuinely impressed.

The two-story house had a beautiful Mediterranean architecture, which immediately reminded you of a Renaissance painting that you could perfectly see in a museum, only with a slight contemporary touch that achieved a perfect balance between historical eras.

You walked with Mina down the stone path, past a circular pool and a few ornamental pieces placed at random spots in the garden. She held your hand, and despite the fact that before she seemed confident, you could see out of the corner of your eye how she saw the place like a little scared puppy.

"What? Why are all the windows covered?" Mina pointed with her finger.

You hadn't noticed it at first, but she was right, all the windows were covered from the inside with what seemed to be black curtains, you had never seen such a thing in the house where a party was taking place.

"Okay, this is beyond suspicious, it's strange and creepy," you said somewhat worried, letting out a sigh. Mina squeezed your hand harder, while you stood in front of the double doors.

You took a few seconds to take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves, and finally you rang the bell; long seconds passed, but no one opened, so you decided to ring the bell a second time, another long seconds passed, until the doors were opened wide by a voluptuous sexy woman. Hirai Momo herself, wearing a long-sleeved red dress made of fine silk, it was long, but had a side slit that allowed her to fully show off her creamy toned left leg.

"Damn! You guys are arriving so late, I thought you wouldn't come," she said smiling while biting her lower lip a little.

"Can you explain to us why the windows are boarded up and how you got this place?" Mina asked without even saying hello, she wasn't upset, but she was really puzzled.

"Oh come on, relax princess, I'll answer all your questions, but let's move on first," she replied, as she only gave you a quick wink before turning around for the two of you to follow her.

"Gosh, really, this girl," Mina snorted.

"Calm down honey, come on," you took the lead and walked in with her, closing the doors behind you. You three were in a corridor that led to a second and this time the final entrance, Momo standing in front of it waiting for you. The crystals blurred what was happening behind, but you saw movement, a lot of movement... and skin.

"Momo... what's going on-" Mina started, but Momo interrupted her.

"Honey, there won't be anything you haven't seen before, it'll just be a little… ingrandito" she turned her back on you, and opened the door to reveal what was going on inside. 

Ingrandito meant magnified. And it certainly was.

It was a sex party.

In front of your eyes was what you thought was the most bizarrely lascivious scene you could witness in your entire life, there was no other way to say it, there were people fucking everywhere, many completely naked and with only the mask on, and others with different items of clothing still on their bodies, but after all they all had the same thing in common. You had no idea where to look, since naked people weren't just fucking and that's it, they were also walking freely around, chatting or dancing. Of course, not everyone was completely or half naked, there were people still dressed, just enjoying the scene, among them you could see a girl dangerously similar to Sana, watching a guy fucking a girl against the column in front of her.

You simply didn’t have words to say at that moment, it was so much the shock of the moment and the different focuses of attention that you couldn’t produce any sound. You saw Mina out of the corner of your eye, and the poor thing had only managed to bring her hand to her mouth while she saw everything, her eyes wide open.

"So? What do you think? Wonderful, isn't it?" Right next to Momo, a man in a suit passed by with a tray with glasses of what seemed to be pina coladas, she didn't hesitate to grab one.

"Hirai Momo… you better… have an explanation," Mina said, not looking at her, but at a couple of girls kissing a few meters to her right.

You had already assimilated the initial shock, but that didn't make you less upset about how she had deceived you and Mina.

"What? Don't you guys fuck? Come on!" She laughed out loud, then took a sip of her pina colada, "Besides, you need to break that shyness a bit, sweetie, it was the perfect opportunity."

"You fucking b…" you clenched your fists, but swallowed the insult, "I mean, of course we… fuck," you said with slightly hot cheeks, "But this is going too far! Who says she wants to do that?!" you finally claimed.

"Well I don't know, she doesn't seem to be complaining," Momo pointed her chin at her.

You turned to look at her, realizing that her breathing was agitated and that she looked a little uncomfortable, but above all, you found her biting her lip while she was watching a girl being face fucked.

"Baby?" you said, and she turned to see you with eyes that you rarely saw in her. She was horny as fuck.

"Well, I have some things to put in order for the rest of the night, I'll see you guys in a bit!" she winked at you again, and left you two alone there.

"Honey..." Mina hugged your arm tightly, looking around, "let's go to a room, please, I need to calm down."

"I… fuck, sure," you swallowed, noticing that a few meters to your left Momo was handjobing an unknown man when he was close to cum.

Mina broke away from your arm and grabbed your hand to start walking out of the main focus of people. Staying focused on looking for an empty room was a stupidly difficult task, there were at least 3 couples fucking per square meter of the house, and if that wasn't enough, many of them stared at you as if they wanted you to join. Neither you nor she made eye contact, but the temptation to peek was always there.

On the ground floor you found nothing, all the rooms were either occupied or closed, so you had no choice but to go up to the second floor, where apparently there were far fewer people; in the corridors you did not find anyone, all the noise came from inside the rooms; you walked and walked for a while, until you put your ear to a door to make sure there was no one inside.

"This one is free, let's go," just as you put your hand on the knob a female voice foreign to Mina's suddenly spoke to you from behind.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

You and Mina probably got the scare of their lives, both of you turned around startled to find yourself face to face with the woman you had seen a few minutes ago.

"S-Sana?" Mina asked.

"Hi Minari," she tilted her head slightly with an innocent smile. The mask did little to hide her identity, the shape of her body and her smile gave her away.

"Were you following us? You almost gave me a fucking heart attack, Minatozaki," you rolled your eyes, shaking your head in denial.

"I just wanted to see what you were up to, sorry," she shrugged.

"You knew about all this? Minatozaki Sana, why didn't you tell me?" Mina was hardly ever violent, but this time she gave Sana constant little nudges on her arm.

"Hey hey! That's enough," she grabbed her wrist to stop her, "yeah, of course I knew, but if I had told you, you'd never come."

"Ugh! I hate you so much!" Mina complained with a small growl, "now I'm in a house full of strangers having sex everywhere, and I'm horny as fuck!"

The three of you looked surprised at her own words, Mina quickly realized what she had said, so she put her hand to her mouth while her cheeks turned red.

"Oh, is that so?" Sana's innocent smile turned somewhat mischievous, and her eyes began to cover every part of your bodies, without even bothering to hide it.

"U-uh... no! I mean, ugh!" Mina shrieked, covering her face with her hands.

"But that's perfectly fine, sweetie," Sana took a step forward, taking advantage of the fact that Mina wasn't looking to bring a finger to your parted lips, and from there slowly lowering it down your torso until it reached your crotch, where without any warning she gave your cock a firm squeeze.

Your eyes widened and you took a small step back to get away from her hand, but seeing her face flushed with malevolence and mischief, and her curvaceous sexy body, you gave her no sign that you hadn’t liked that.

Sana giggled looking at you, then stood behind Mina, put her hands on her waist, and approached her ear.

"Wouldn't you love to choke on your very, very handsome boyfriend's cock?" she said quietly, followed by another giggle.

Mina was startled when she felt Sana's voice in her ear, and she took her hands from her face to turn around, her face was completely flushed.

"Hey! W-what are you doing? What are you talking about?" Sana was still holding onto her waist, so the two of them were now face to face. Mina watched Sana's face and lips, and a few quick glances at her neck and cleavage.

"Is there something wrong? I mean, I don't think it's something you haven't done before, right?" Sana had a constant innocent smirk as she took it upon herself to turn you both on, and she certainly was getting it. You didn't know how far this was going to go, but you decided to let things flow.

"I… no!" Mina bit her lip, already desperate and avoiding Sana's seductive gaze.

"Come on cutie, let's fuck…" Sana broke away from Mina and came to stand behind you, her chin in your shoulder, "Don't you think we deserve this big, juicy, throbbing cock inside our tight Japanese pussies?" she said as she squeezed your cock through your pants again, this time making it rock hard.

"W-What are you doing grabbing my boyfriend's cock? That... that's not right!" Mina exclaimed with fake annoyance, but you and Sana both knew that underneath all that edgy, icy facade, was a soaked fucking pussy.

"I know it's not right, but you like how I do it… don't you?" Sana was now constantly squeezing and massaging the bulge in your pants, "And I can do this too," she placed her tongue on your neck, giving it a long lick that sent shivers through your entire body.

"Can you… suck his cock?" Mina asked in the most tender way she could for a question like that. Your heart skipped a beat, you didn't expect your girlfriend, all innocent and pretty, to turn into this. Seeing so many people fucking in different possible ways woke up something in her that you didn't know existed, and it was all the fault of a certain Japanese woman who wasn't with you at the time.

"Do you really want that, Minari?" she asked, as she placed little kisses on your neck, "I have no problem with that, but we should know what your pretty boyfriend thinks."

You went blank for a moment, part of you knew that the right thing to do was to grab Mina and get out of there as quickly as possible, go home, and see how to handle the situation, but damn, an opportunity like that one wasn't going to appear twice.

 "I… let's go inside," you finally decided.

Sana broke away from you and opened the door behind her, motioning for you to enter the room. So you did, and the one who closed the door again was you. The lights in the quaint bedroom you had entered were already on; it was one of the two rooms that you noticed from the outside that had a balcony with two chairs and a small table, and it was also full of pretty plants and perfectly cared vines, a double bed, and a nightstand next to it with a bottle of wine, two glasses, a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Wow, what a nice view," Sana mentioned, looking at the scenery through the billowing curtains that led to the balcony, they certainly were, you were at a height where you could see acres and acres of beautiful countryside. She took her phone out of her handbag for a moment, and you could see that she was texting someone, but you couldn't see who. When she sent the message, she put the phone away again and placed it on top of the dresser, "Oh yeah, where we were?"

Mina had sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed when Sana fell to her knees in front of you, her face right in front of your bulge.

"And tell me, do you like messy or slow blowjobs?" Sana asked, biting her lower lip, undoing your belt and then unbuttoning your pants.

"Suck that cock any way you like, I don't care," you said, looking at her and then at your girlfriend, who had already pushed her dress up above her waist and had one hand tucked inside her black panties.

"As you wish," Sana lowered your pants and boxers to your ankles, freeing your throbbing cock and smacking her cheek with it, which made her giggle, "God… look at this perfect piece of meat, I wonder how it will feel inside my pussy," she licked her lips and took you right into her mouth, with a nice deep moan that made you gasp.

Her mouth moved just a few inches beyond your tip, giving you slow sucks and licks around it; she took her hand to your balls, squeezed them very delicately and began to massage them while she was taking more of your cock. When she reached the middle of your shaft and her head pumps became ever faster, you could hear Mina's unmistakable sweet moans as she rubbed her own slit, you glanced at her, and noticed that her panties were now on the floor, and she was spread-legged on the bed as she did it.

Sana's hand went from being on your balls, to now holding the base of your cock with two firm fingers, this to hold it in place and to be able to move her head at whatever angles she wanted; She teased you by slowing down her blowjob, then began pumping her head hard, her lips moving from your tip to almost touching her own fingers.

After a few seconds giving you a messy blowjob, Sana stopped abruptly when she reached your base, pushing a little more until her nose rested against your pubis. You couldn't help but let out a moan, close your eyes and purse your lips, wishing she would never get away from your cock. But you couldn't always get what you wished for. Sana took you out of her mouth and took a deep breath, as she quickly jerked you off.

"Hey, Minari, why don't you come over here and have a taste?" Sana said to Mina, her mouth all spittle, which she then spit back onto your dick.

Mina didn't even think twice before getting off the bed and kneeling next to Sana.

"Honey, I want you to fuck my mouth, please, I need it," Mina begged you, holding onto your thighs with her hands.

"Yeah, fuck her mouth, daddy, your little princess is so in need of it," Sana teased, placing small kisses on your balls and on your inner thighs.

"Do you want me not to be too rough with you dear?" you asked Mina, cupping the side of her face with your hand and caressing her cheek with your thumb.

"Oh no, please don't hold back, I want you to make a mess of me," she replied, slowly removing your hand from her face to open her mouth wide and stick the tongue out.

You were going to do the honors yourself, but Sana took the upper hand; she took your cock between her fingers, and guided it directly to your girlfriend's mouth; your shaft slid inside her, slowly and halfway, where Mina already had a little struggle in her throat until she coughed.

"Oh baby, don't you know how to take it to the throat?" Sana asked, as she caressed Mina's hair out of her face, "You just have to get used to it inch by inch, come on, you can do it."

This time you introduced your cock into your girlfriend's mouth, and repeated the process until you reached the middle, Mina closed her eyes and clung to your thighs while you pushed as carefully as possible, you felt that she was forcing herself too much, and she soon proved it when she let out some choking sounds. Sana kept caressing Mina's hair, but when she tried to back away, she grabbed the nape of her neck and held her in place.

After a few seconds your cock slid a few more inches, almost reaching your base, but that was more than enough to give her what she wanted.

"Sana, baby, could you hold her hair? And take off those masks, I want to see your faces well," you ordered with a slight imperative tone in your voice.

"Sure daddy!" She seemed to be looking forward to it for a long time, because she took off her mask in a matter of seconds, and also Mina's. After she threw both masks away, Sana grabbed all of your girlfriend's hair in a messy ponytail, giving you the green light to start moving your hips slowly.

You didn't dare to go faster than you were going, not while it looked like she was going to vomit every time your tip touched her uvula, but as time went by her throat adapted to the constant harassment of your cock, that's when you started moving your hips faster and faster.

It was a matter of seconds before her eye makeup began to smudge from the little tears that spilled out of her eyes, and the saliva in her mouth began to spill as your cock slid in and out of her warm mouth. Sana didn't lose her grip on Mina's hair, not even when she brought her free hand between your girlfriend's legs and slipped two of her fingers inside her. Mina went crazy between moans that were muffled by your cock and by the constant gag sounds that emanated from her throat. But just when you were closer to your peak, and Mina was about to cum all over Sana's fingers, the bedroom door was flung open.

The fright made you jump out of Mina's mouth, and you instinctively covered your crotch. Mina also covered herself, she seemed even more scared than you, but when she saw who she was, and who she was with, her face softened, but still seemed uneasy. The only one who was neither surprised nor scared was Sana.

"Momorin! Finally!" Sana applauded with a smile, "Oh, and he's…?"

Hirai Momo was standing in the doorway, still dressed but her dress was a little out of place, and showing more cleavage than usual, and next to her stood a man about 5.4 feet tall, short brown hair, short square beard, and a robust, muscular and hairy body, completely naked.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't join you, I have to make sure nothing gets out of hand down there," Momo said with a ragged breath, then glanced at the man next to her, "But, I'm sure that my friend Piero will be a very pleasant company."

When she said that she didn't even give you time to answer her back, she just pushed Piero into the room and disappeared from there by closing the door. Now you were locked in with a stranger.

"I'm going to ask it just once and I want you to tell me the truth, Minatozaki," you warned, looking down to meet her gaze, "it was you, wasn't it? The one who told Momo we were here."

"Yeah, it was me," she shrugged, "but my intention was for Momo to join, not him. Nothing personal," she clarified, looking at the man.

"Non preoccuparti" he said, just standing there. He seemed like a respectful and nice guy, since he didn't try anything weird without anyone's permission.

"Very good," you nodded, then sighed. Mina gave Piero discreet glances, especially at what he had between his legs, "Parlare inglese?" you asked the man.

"I can understand you well, but I can't answer you that well," he replied with a thick accent.

"Okay, you can join, but please don't do anything I don't tell you, okay?"

"Understood," he agreed.

"Baby, you're okay with this, right? I must say I'm overwhelmed by all of this, but I'm only concerned about you," you asked Mina with total sweetness, as if you weren't making her choke on your cock until a few seconds ago.

"This is the first and last time we'll do this, so we better seize the moment," she winked at you.

"Got it," you smiled at her, then turned to Piero, "Undress her, please" you pointed your chin at Sana, "I'll take care of my girlfriend."

"Oh hello handsome!" Sana said with a giggle as she stood up and saw that Piero was walking towards her, when they were face to face, their lips met in a passionate kiss, and Sana grabbed the man's cock while he took his hands behind her back to begin to take off her dress.

You grabbed Mina's hands and helped her getting up, putting your arms around her waist and crashing your lips against hers. As you kissed her your hands went into action, quickly unzipping her dress and removing it from her arms and then from the rest of her body, the only vestige of clothing left on her was her black strapless bra, which you removed as well.

"Now let me help you honey," Mina murmured against your lips, putting her hands on your jacket and beginning to unbutton it. It was a bit of a slow process, but after a few seconds, you and she were completely naked in front of each other. You glanced at Sana and Piero, realizing that Sana was already on her knees and naked, sucking on the man's cock. Your gaze indiscreetly roamed Sana's voluptuous and fleshy body, her tits were round, firm and perfect, creamy legs, and an ass even more perfect than her tits.

"Hey Sana," you called out to her, and she stopped to look at you, her face flushed with pleasure, "why don't you come over here and share our cocks?" Sana's eyes seemed to light up like two streetlights.

"Yes daddy! I'd be delighted," she nodded, then stood up.

"Can I call you daddy too?" asked Piero, trying to create a fun atmosphere, and he certainly succeeded, because Sana and Mina let out a little laugh.

"No, now come here."

You stood facing him, and he walked to stand in front of you. Mina and Sana understood the message, and they knelt one on your right side and the other on your left side, respectively. Neither of the two girls wasted any time, Sana took your cock, Mina took the man's, and they both took you straight into their mouths. Sana was pumping her head at a not so fast and not so slow pace, hardly anything messy like a few minutes ago, but this time, the way she used her tongue to explore and stimulate every part of your shaft was driving you crazy every time she she took you into her mouth; plus you had another added attraction, and it was her delicious naked body in all splendor, which you had to admit that you wanted to be able to contemplate since you met her.

Mina on the other hand was putting into practice everything she had learned from Sana a few minutes ago, replicating exactly the same kind of messy and sloppy blowjob, but you couldn't pay much attention to her, not when Sana demanded your eyes on her as she took you to deep down her throat for a few seconds, then let go of your cock to take a quick breath and plunge almost immediately into it again.

It wasn't long until Mina moved away from Piero's cock and turned to kiss your balls, Sana took you out of her mouth too, and they both coordinated to start kissing and licking the sides of your shaft until they reached the tip, where they shared a momentary passionate kiss before Sana now began to focus on Piero.

Now the one who had a free hand to do what she wanted with your cock was Mina, who didn't hesitate for a moment to treat it for what it was, a treasure of hers and for her, she kissed your shaft all over, with slow licks from your balls to your tip to then give you small suctions on it. When she was sure that she had adored your cock enough, she plunged straight into it, bringing her nose directly to your pelvis; a moan escaped from your mouth as you felt your tip brush against her throat. She couldn't hold it there for more than 2 seconds, but you still appreciated the effort, as she was doing amazing.

"Fuck, I'm so close honey," you warned Mina, who started pumping her head to the perfect rhythm that you loved.

"Me too," Piero told Sana, his hand on her head.

"Make her swallow it, we don't want them dirty yet," you ordered between gasps.

The wet sounds of their blowjobs were the only sound in the room for the next whole minute, the two girls were locked in their work, both with different ways of doing it but with the same goal, a goal that wasn’t long in coming. Both you and Piero held the girls by the neck, taking control yourselves to explode inside their mouths. Mina clung to your hip with one hand as you continually rocked it back and forth, sending multiple streams of your thick load straight down her throat.

You gave her one last slow thrust, reaching down her throat once more before pulling your cock out of her mouth. Mina looked at you with a restless breath, to then meet Sana's gaze, they both stared at each other for a few seconds, before opening a space for them to kiss.

You dedicated yourself for the next 30 seconds to watch as the two girls dedicated themselves to sharing saliva and doing a dance between their tongues, still filled with some of your cum.

"Now, who wants to be spitroasted first?" you asked, caressing the necks of both girls.

"We must please the little princess, right?" Sana replied as she separated from her kiss with Mina, who seemed even hornier and wanting more.

"What about you?"

"I don't mind waiting as long as I can help," she winked at you.

"Fair enough." you nodded.

You grabbed Mina's hands and helped her stand up to surround her body with your arms, you kissed her for a few seconds, until you made her move back towards the bed; she sat down on the edge of it, but immediately scooted further towards the center of the mattress and lay on her back, legs spread wide so the three of you could see her juicy pussy in all its glory.

"Sana, would you help us get them up again?" you asked her, while you held her chin and caressed it with your thumb.

"Of course daddy," she grinned, highlighting her tender cheeks. An interesting contrast.

Sana reached out with both hands until she took both of your cocks in her fingers, squeezed them firmly, and then began to move her arms slowly at first in case either of you were still sensitive, but soon she began to jerk you two off aggressively, until you were hard again.

"You know what to do, mate," you nodded to Piero, pointing at Mina with your eyes.

"Oh, do I?" he asked as you got on the bed and positioned yourself between Mina's legs.

"Don't make me repeat it."

You leaned forward, planting a few kisses on Mina's neck and jaw until you reached her mouth, where you also gave her a few small kisses as you rubbed the tip of your cock against her slit. You noticed that Piero had stood on the opposite edge of the bed, and he made a sign that you understood immediately. You held your girlfriend's body firmly and moved her forward on her mattress, so that her head was dangling off the bed, meeting Piero's balls and cock.

With everything ready, you didn't want to make her wait any longer, so you aligned your cock with her entrance and with a slow but firm thrust of your hips you were balls deep inside Myoui Mina's pussy. Your girlfriend let out a nice long moan, but the ability to make any sound was deprived of her as Piero also pushed his cock into her mouth, Mina instinctively stuck her tongue out, as he slowly began to slide in and out of her mouth, and you fucked her without applying much speed from the beginning.

The sensation of being inside Mina's hot and soft pussy wasn’t new to you, obviously, but you still wanted to dedicate yourself to feeling it completely with each thrust you gave her; it would have taken you longer, if it weren't for the fact that Piero wasn't having any mercy with your girlfriend's throat, he had his hands resting on her tits, and he moved his hips between gasps and grunts.

To balance things out, you decided to follow the rhythm he was using, fucking her pussy with equally strong and aggressive thrusts. Mina went crazy trying to hold on to something, her moans didn't produce any sound, so they stayed as simple grunts. Sana on the other hand, had climbed on the bed as a simple spectator, but all of a sudden she got up and knelt next to Mina's torso, bringing her two salivated fingers to your girlfriend’s pussy, to rub her clit while you continued pounding her.

"You want to make her cum fast so your turn can come, don't you? Fucking slut," you growled, glancing at Sana with the corner of your eye as her fingers rubbed quickly over her clit, making Mina shake wildly between tremors.

"Oh of course not! How could you think that?" she faked, not caring how fake it sounded tho.

"Come here..." you reached out a hand to grab Sana's neck and pulled her towards you, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that lacked any finesse, and rather was caught up in the intense and agitated moment.

You kept moving your hips as fast as you could, giving your girlfriend's body a strong shake with each thrust, inevitably you moved her place, but Piero kept a tight grip on her neck to hold her so she wouldn't fall. You were both giving your all to fuck both of Mina's holes with the dedication that she deserved, not to mention the extra stimulus that Sana was applying to her pussy while the two of you were still kissing, all this led to a sudden explosion of pleasure in Mina, who jerked between violent spasms as her walls tightened around your cock. Her muscular contractions made Piero come out of her throat at will, allowing her to moan as much as she wanted. Mina's moans weren't especially loud, but they were pretty and sexy, perfect with her personality.

Short and leisurely movements were the only thing you kept giving your girlfriend while she was still having her orgasm. You let a few seconds pass waiting for her body to relax, until you finally pulled your fluid-soaked cock out of her pussy.

"Rest for now darling," you told Mina between hectic breaths when you separated from the kiss with Sana, "it's time to give our little friend what she deserves," with the help of Piero himself you moved Mina to the side of the bed, near the pillows, in a way that she could be comfortable while resting. Her face was flushed, and her gaze was lost in what seemed like an attempt to assimilate what was happening, you only left a small kiss on her lips, and when you looked back at Sana, she was already in a perfect and hot doggystyle pose, with her face on the edge of the bed and her ass perfectly arched for you.

"You're going to cum inside me right?" Sana asked you with a voice full of mischief, "I want to feel daddy's hot thick load inside my slutty pussy," she rocked her butt slowly from side to side for you.

"Keep quiet and choke on that cock like a good girl," before she could reply Piero unkindly grabbed her by the hair and plunged her fully into his cock, going right down her throat in one thrust. Sana tried to free herself to speak, but her failed attempts were reflected in loud gag sounds.

You took advantage of the moment to position yourself behind her and raise your hand, letting it fall in an exaggeratedly strong spank that came loaded with a combination of anger, frustration, revenge and passion. Sana immediately stopped trying to break free to moan in response, but you weren't going to let her do that either; you made a sign to Piero, and he started fucking Sana's mouth once more, and this time he was being even harder than with Mina.

With that problem solved, it was time to focus on the main attraction. You licked two of your fingers, running them up and down repeatedly through Sana's slit, testing how wet her pink pussy was; You couldn't help but insert your thumb a couple of times inside her just to tease, but you couldn't resist the temptation yourself. You took your cock and quickly lined it up, then slid all the way into Sana's pussy.

The sensation was completely different from being inside Mina, Sana felt a lot tighter and wetter, and it felt like your cock was being engulfed by her silky folds. It didn't take long for you to start moving your hips with strong thrusts, her ass crashing against your pelvis every time your cock went in and out. 

A long but low moan escaped you as you clung to Sana's waist, using it as a support to keep your pace. It was satisfying for you to know that not only her pussy was being well filled, but also her mouth and throat. Piero was completely destroying her face, she wasn't wearing too much makeup, but the little that she had began to stain due to the tears and the huge amount of saliva that spilled from her mouth. Your thrusts didn’t stop for a single moment, you gave Sana another strong spank on the other buttock, and then you stretched out your arm so you could grab a handful of her hair and pull it towards you, forcing Piero to bring one foot up on the bed to be able to move comfortably.

You were already very close to your final peak since the session with Mina a few minutes ago, and of course fucking Sana so hard and well didn't mitigate that tingling feeling in your tummy. You had to really stay focused not to cum at that precise moment, but it was fucking complicated, not even the most mentally strong man in the world could have resisted filling that tight Japanese pussy all at once, but for some reason there you were, putting all your effort to last just a little longer so that Sana could continue to be well fucked.

Your luck with willpower couldn't be replicated by Piero, who only managed to hold on for a few more seconds before once again burying Sana completely against his cock to cum straight down her throat. He held her there throughout his orgasm until he finally released her from his grasp, you quickly seized the moment to grab her once more by the hair and pull her upright, so that her back was now almost resting against your chest, she hadn't even managed to close her mouth when you did that, so a good part of the fluids inside her mouth fell directly to the mattress.

From that position you were finally able to let go of her hair, to take your two hands to her neck and firmly squeeze your fingers around it while you fucked her with all your might. Again, Sana's moans didn't quite come out of her mouth, they all seemed muffled and compressed in her throat like growls. You had her sweaty back now right against your chest, and her soft brown hair filled your nostrils with the rich smell of chocolate. Soon your willpower would be of no use at all, the explosion of pleasure came to you suddenly and violently, held back for a while but finally released. You gave Sana a strong first thrust, shooting the first spurts of your load into her wet walls; you released her neck, letting her fall face down against her mattress, for you to firmly squeeze both of her buttocks as you continued to fill her. A few more hip movements were enough for Sana's pussy to be completely filled with your cum.

You pulled out your cock, letting all the cum leak out of her pussy and slowly spill out through her slit and then onto the mattress. You felt exhausted, all the energy was drained from your body in a matter of seconds, but you still had a job to do.

You took one hand to Sana's buttock, while the other went straight to her pussy to introduce your index and middle fingers inside her. You started moving your wrist as fast as you could, turning Sana into a quivering mess between loud moans. The extremely wet sounds of your fingers pumping against her pussy filled the room together with her screams of pleasure, and it took just under a minute to make the girl have her long-awaited and intense orgasm.

Her spasms were so intense that she could no longer keep her butt up, now she was completely lying on her stomach as she came on your fingers. You moved the wrist for a little while more until you felt her orgasm had passed, and with Sana already satisfied and fulfilled, you finally let yourself fall against the mattress, your head just falling on the abdomen of your girlfriend, who had been watching all.

"Did you have fun, honey?" Mina asked with the tenderness that characterized her, looking at you with a little smile and caressing your hair.

"Oh fuck yeah," you replied, still gasping, "and you?"

"Of course..." she paused for a few seconds as she looked at you and then at Piero, who was lying on his back next to Sana's ass, "but I'm still not satisfied, you know?"

"No?" You raised both eyebrows in surprise, "Are you telling me you want to get fucked again?"

"Why not? I'm your girlfriend, your  sweet pretty princess, you can't say no to me," Mina sat up so she could look down at you, "besides, none of you have fucked my ass yet."

Hearing that, Piero suddenly turned to look at her like a dog that has just heard a whistle, and you couldn't even assimilate that it was the same Mina who was shy even with the waiters in restaurants.

"Honey, just say what you want, and we'll give it to you."

"I want you both to fuck me… at the same time, I don't care who has which hole," she said biting her lip.

"Shit… uh, very good," you sighed, "but please give us a little break, my man and I can't even bear our souls right now."

"But I'm fine," said Piero.

"Shut up. You're exhausted and your very body weighs you down," you replied back. Mina could only laugh.

"You have to understand, Minari," Sana said in a weak voice, looking at the three of you face down, "he could barely resist my pussy, it's normal for him to feel like he ran a marathon."

"Zitto, slut."

"Is that so, darling? Don't you have the energy for your pretty baby anymore?" Mina teased, caressing your face with the back of her hand.

"Agh fuck, come here," you settled horizontally on the bed, but not before grabbing a pillow and resting your head on it. You subtly motioned with your eyes for Mina to climb on top of you, and she did, squeezing her strong, smooth thighs on either side of your torso, her pussy now brushing against the back of your shaft.

"Piero, Momo told me that in all the bedrooms there are things to use in the drawers," Sana intervened, "you know what to do."

Piero disappeared from your range of vision, but at that moment you could only focus on Mina's deep and charming eyes, full of desire for what she was about to go through. She reached between your bodies to take your limp cock between her fingers and begin to rub it slowly for a few seconds, then simply pressed her slit against it and leaned on your shoulders, rocking her hips back and forth until your manhood got hard again.

The direct contact between your cock and her pussy made her impatient too quickly, and without a second thought, she lifted her hips and grabbed your cock with one hand to set it straight, taking you deep inside her once more with a strong smash against your pelvis.

The smash was so strong that it even made you lose your breath for a moment, but she had quite enjoyed it judging by her long moan as she felt you fill her pussy again. Your girlfriend began to move her hips up and down, with slow strokes that made your cock go in and out completely; she put her hands on your chest, but they moved little by little until they rested on your neck, her pretty face infused with pleasure hovered just above your face, and it didn't take long for her to close that distance when she crashed her lips against yours.

While you and Mina were wrapped up in an intense kiss full of passion, all between the smashes that her round and big ass gave against your pelvis, you felt a greater weight climb on the bed again; You separated from the kiss to see what it was about, but you only managed to see how Piero positioned himself behind Mina's ass with his knees bent, and his feet on the mattress each one on the sides of your torso.

"Peach-scented lube? What a coincidence," he said, then placed a hand on Mina's lower back to stop her from moving, "is this the first time you're going to get fucked in the ass?" he asked her as he poured lube over his cock and a little over Mina's hole.

"Ah… yes, please be good to me," she gasped, looking over her shoulder at him.

You stood completely still as you looked at Mina's face, wanting to see how she would react. Piero flexed his knees even more, until he reached the perfect height where he could align his lubricated cock with your girlfriend's ass; Mina held her breath as he barely inserted his tip inside her, that alone made her face wrinkle, but as her ass was filled inch by inch with thick meat, her face distorted with pleasure at now having two cocks buried deep inside her.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," she murmured under her breath between small moans, she somehow clung to your face without hurting you, since her eyes were closed, and that was the precise moment when you and Piero you coordinated to start fucking her.

You planted your feet on the bed, and began to move your hips up and down at the same speed with which she was moving before; Piero did so too, slipping in and out of her ass with ease but careful not to hurt her as she got used to the sensation.

Your hands went to her waist, which was the only possible place on her body where you could hold on while you kept the pace slow and leisurely, but it was enough for you to feel how Piero began to pound harder and harder against your girlfriend’s ass so that you could dedicate yourself to catch up the pace, driving Mina completely crazy on top of you. Her moans were like music to your ears, and to see her face completely submerged in ecstasy, a splendid work of art, you knew that your body at this point could no longer give more of itself, but somehow you drew out an energy reserve before unknown to you; the situation ignited faster than gunpowder, Mina was now taking two cocks through different holes, at a speed that did nothing but make her shake like a rag doll.

Mina had the urge to drop her face to one side of yours and hug to your head tightly, now you could feel her moans and gasps right against your ear, which served you as gasoline to continue fucking her with the same intensity you fucked Sana with a minutes ago. Your arms surrounded your girlfriend's torso in a warm hug that kept her still in her place. Piero on the other hand had already lost his fear of doing her any kind of harm, so he was pounding her big ass like she deserved it, strong and deep.

Fucking her obviously wasn't feeling great just for her, your thrusts up and down were between gasps and low moans, her pussy was extremely wet, and it felt more fucking amazing than ever. You wished you could be grabbing her ass right then, but for the moment you'd given the privilege to Piero, who was holding onto both of her buttocks as he filled her ass with thick throbbing meat.

"Look at the innocent and sweet princess Myoui Mina," Sana said from the side of you in a seductive voice, followed by a giggle. Amidst all the excitement you hadn't noticed her presence again, but she was just watching, her legs wide open and the fingers of one hand rubbing her pussy, "Who would have imagined that she could enjoy so much like two cocks filled her."

It was clear that none of the three of you could respond to her taunts or even give her your full attention, but you could still hear her. Mina was the only one who managed to turn her face to be able to see her between intense whimpers.

"Are you enjoying it, cutie?" Sana asked, "You love how they fill you up, don't you? And how they use you like a pretty fragile sex toy. I bet deep down that's what you've always wanted, to be completely torn apart while being fucked."

All of Sana's dirty talk to Mina escalated her pleasure even more, and within seconds, your girlfriend exploded in an intense orgasm that did little to even compare to the first; her pussy contracted violently, and her body spasmed, shaking her as electric shocks from a taser gun, while her fluids shot towards your cock in a slight squirt, something you never thought she would be able to do so far; you had no choice but to let your cock out of her pussy while it kept dripping and she kept shaking between intense cries of pleasure. You and Piero gave her a little rest, until her spasms were now controlled and her orgasm had passed. You were about to continue, but Sana interrupted you.

"Daddy, I don't think she can take it anymore for now, she must be very sensitive," Sana wailed, looking at all the mess your girlfriend was made, "Why don't you cum on her face? It would be a waste not to paint a canvas that expensive and pretty."

You and Piero listened to Sana for some reason, both coming out of Mina to help her kneel on the bed; Sana jumped to her aid as well, kneeling behind her to hold onto her shoulders so she wouldn't fall off. Your girlfriend's face looked completely different from what you were used to, full of lust, red with pleasure, her mouth parted and her eyes somewhat weak. You both stood in front of her, your cocks floating together over her face as you began to quickly jerk off.

"That's it, give all your load to this pretty and innocent princess," Sana grabbed Mina's hair in a ponytail to push it out of her face and then gave her a peck on the cheek, "she's been a very good girl this night," your girlfriend managed to nod, sticking out her tongue.

Mina could only look into your eyes and you into hers, and with the passing of the seconds you exploded first, followed by Piero a few seconds later; the cum began to paint Mina's face in all possible corners, long thick strips of thick load falling on her forehead, her mouth, her tongue, her nose and her cheeks from both directions, even Sana received a little unintentionally, which made her let out a mischievous giggle. Your girlfriend's face was now almost completely covered by white, which you would have found funny if it weren't for the fact that your legs collapsed, making you fall sideways on the bed.

"Oh shit, I think I'm dead now," was the last thing Piero said before staggering out of bed until he fell face up on the floor.

You were the only one who stayed there to watch your girlfriend pick up the cum that had fallen on her tongue to swallow it, while Sana helped her clean herself, holding her by the neck to run her tongue all over her face, picking up everything  she could and then spit it back into Mina's mouth. They repeated that hot process a couple of times, until Mina's face was clean, sticky, but clean.

You didn't have the energy to say anything else, you just settled in the middle of the bed and rested your head on a comfortable pillow. Sana and Mina joined you, each one on one side of your body, both of them raised one of their legs to your body, and then they hugged you.

"I hope you enjoyed this," Sana said quietly, looking at Mina and then at you, "You don't hate me do you?"

"No, Minatozaki, I don't hate you, now shut up and let me rest," you sighed.

"You didn't ask me," Mina replied now, her eyes closed.

"Do you hate me?"

"Nope, but I do want to kill Momo right now, I hate being tricked like this," she snorted.

"Save that for later, cutie, maybe the four of us can… you know, talk in private," Sana brushed her knee against your already dead cock for a moment when she said that.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, close your eyes and rest. Bye," you said quickly to muddle through, before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

——————————————————————————

Spren Notes:

I almost died writing this thing bro lmao. I thought that Erinyes had been my most "ambitious" work so far, but I think that without a doubt this piece surpasses it by far. I must say that I am quite proud of the result, as I also hope that the user who bought this commission from me and gave me the main idea is too! Thank you very much bro, I hope you enjoyed it <3.

If you, dear reader, are also interested in buying me a commission, do not hesitate to go through my inbox, I’ll be delighted!

[sillyprettyfairy]

Thinking about how in Scaris a mediocre white woman hits up three teen girls of color with unique styles influenced by their respective cultures because of their clear talent and passion for their craft.

And instead of encouraging it, she makes every attempt to squash it. She is, at least from the perspective of the ghouls prior to her shady shit being found out, giving them the opportunity of a lifetime. A famous designer in one of the world's fashion capitals is offering to put them on her level. She'll give them exposure and resources and connections they would've likely never gotten otherwise.

But the trade-off isn't equal. This random woman who only wears black dresses tells these young girls with actual creativity and new ideas and a perspective she can never get, that in order to get on her level they need to abandon those things. The very talent they were scouted off of should be tossed aside in favor of producing the same kind of outfits she already makes over and over until the day they die.

And yet Clawdeen, a Black girl from the states, with her dreams aligning with her reality before her very eyes, is willing to make that trade.

Clawdeen second-guesses herself. Clawdeen, as she is on her way to meet a famous designer who hand-picked her, questions if she's worthy.

Madame Ghostier is successful. Of course she's right. I should just give in and do what she asks. She's the one with the expertise.

But one of my favorite scenes is when Jinafire and Skelita take Clawdeen's sketchbook out of the trash and ask her what she designs for. That if she does it as a means to express herself then why is she expressing Madame Ghostier's vision instead of her own.

All that to say the solidarity between Jinafire, Skelita, and Clawdeen in the movie is really nice to go back to. A very basic kid's movie "be yourself" theme that I find to have (likely unintentional) themes of poc solidarity and rejection of the "white way" of doing things.

[catnip-kitty]

Why Gay Sex is Dialectic, an Essay

As a petite proletariat (twink) who reads theory, I was pondering the nature of homosexuality in terms of dialectical materialism, in particular, how gay sex fit into Engel's three laws of dialectics.

Just as Engels posits that internal contradictions or tensions drive change in the law of unity and conflict of opposites, the same could be said for the homoerotic tension of a top-bottom relationship. While tops and bottoms appear to exist as binary oppositional roles, they coexist internally within a relationship. While the duality may give rise to differences in preferences, desires, and dynamics these differences can be resolved through negotiation between the partners. The act of say gex, is thus, the ultimate act of such negotiation, a synthesis of contradictions.

Furthermore, the law of the passage of quantitative changes into qualitative changes could be seen the complications to that top-bottom dynamic. The roles of tops and bottoms can be redefined through the process of negotiation. In fact, surveys from Autostraddle [1] show that the majority of people in a gay relationships are switches, not strictly tops or bottoms. This indicates that the physical designation of top or bottom is thus the result of an accumulation of decisions and preferences, culminating in the qualitative dynamic. This is exemplified by the ways in which masculine-feminine attributes or sub-dom dynamics play a role in gay sex — these attributes, which can be seen as mostly qualitative assignations are the result of the accumulation of quantitative changes.

I would further propose that, through the collaborative dialectic process of negotiation, the social dynamics of gay relationships can change, including that top-bottom dynamic. Engel's law of the negation of the negation captures these changes precisely. The traditional associations between masculinity and feminity, subordination and domination are, to an extent, being subverted in many 21st gay relationships in contrast to the strict gender roles seen in Greco-Roman times [2] or the Tokugawa period [3]. For example, I want a femboy to top me. Whether through the process of resolving contradictions in homosexual intercourse, the top-bottom dynamic or between other qualitative attributes, the process of negation and transformation dialectically results in a more egalitarian understanding of say gex. This is the socialist means of reproduction.

In conclusion, gay sex is praxis.

[1] Riese. “Tops, Bottoms, Switches: One Last Look at All the Survey Data.” Autostraddle, 7 Aug. 2018, www.autostraddle.com/tops-bottoms-switches-one-last-look-at-all-the-survey-data-424953/. Accessed 3 Mar. 2024.

[2] Hubbard, Thomas K. Homosexuality in Greece and Rome : A Sourcebook of Basic Documents. Berkeley, Univ. Of California Press, 2010.

[3] Leupp, Gary P. Male Colors : The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan. Berkeley, University Of California Press, 2011.

[miwtual]

PHOTOPEA GLITCH TRANSITION TUTORIAL by kai @heroeddiemunson​​

howdy! so i’ve recently come to realize that i haven’t come across any tutorials for creating a glitch transition on photopea. as someone who has done this transition many times in photopea, i figured that i should create a tutorial to show how i personally do this effect!

what you need:

photopea (basically photoshop in your browser, completely free!)

basic giffing knowledge, because i won’t cover it in this tutorial (other tutorials: tutorial by @benoitblanc​​​​, tutorial by @ashleysolsen​​​​)

i also recommend watching this youtube video for a real time visual of what i’m going to be describing in this tutorial. this video is what taught me how to do this glitch effect, so if how i’m describing it is at all confusing, check out the video to see it in action!

without further ado, make sure you save your psds regularly and let’s begin the tutorial :)

step one: making your gifs

before we do anything, you have to first make the gifs that you are going to doing the glitch in between. for the sake of this tutorial, i will be transitioning between two gifs, but this tutorial works for however many gifs you want to glitch between for your edit. here are my two gifs that i will be transitioning between:

i highly recommend keeping these individual gifs small in their frame count to make sure your final gif doesn’t go over tumblr’s size limit. the gifs i am working with are both 22 frames; you dont have to make the gifs have the same amount of frames, but i do it because i think it looks cleaner.

with your two gifs, edit them however you would like. if you have a specific order you’d like the gifs to look/a way that your finished product will look like (ex: black and white with a transition to fully colored), then you should color them accordingly. here are what my gifs look like after fully editing them:

once you’re happy with your editing, go to file > export as > GIF and save your gifs. now that we have our gifs to transition between, let’s make our canvas!

step two: making your gifs’ canvas

now that we have the gifs we’re going to be transitioning between, we need to make a “canvas”, or place where we put these two gifs in order to transition between them. so, going to file > new…, create a new canvas. here are the specifications for my canvas (size of your canvas may vary, depending on your cropping for your gifs):

the background for this canvas doesn’t really matter like it does when you’re blending two gifs, but i still made my canvas’s background black because it contrasts the brightness of the gifs i’m placing onto it.

with your canvas now created after clicking “Create”, open up the two gifs that you will be transitioning between. right click the gif’s folder in the layers panel on the right, and select duplicate into… and choose the canvas you just created. once your gifs have been duplicated into the canvas, your layer panel should look something like this:

if you didn’t duplicate your gifs in order, arrange your gifs however you want them to appear. from here, we can now get to the purpose of the tutorial, creating the glitch effect!

step three: creating the glitch effect

generally, with any transition effect, i like to make my gifs seem like they are endlessly looping. while this is a little more work when it comes to giffing, i do think it gives the gifs a nice polish and doesn’t make it feel like there’s a harsh transition between the gif’s looping cycle.

click the eye next to your top most gif(s) in order to make it invisible, as we will worry about it later. scroll down to the layer titled “_a_frm0,50”, right click, and select “duplicate layer”. this should create a new layer, “_a_frm0,50 copy”, on top of the original layer. double click on the copy, and you should see this pop up:

below the fill slider, you should see something titled “channel” with three checkboxes with R, G, and B next to each checkbox. you can uncheck any one of these checkboxes for a different effect; unchecking the R box creates the stereotypical red/blue glitch effect, unchecking the G box creates a green/pink glitch effect, and unchecking the B box creates a blue/yellow glitch effect. for my transition, i have chosen to go with the blue/yellow glitch effect by unchecking the B box. however, you can play around with whatever effect you prefer for your gif.

once you have chosen what checkbox to uncheck, click “OK”. with the “_a_frm0,50 copy” still selected, make sure you have the move tool selected (the curser at the top of the left toolbar), and choose the direction you want your glitch to go and move the layer using the arrow keys on your keyboard. it can move as much or as little as you want, whatever looks good to you! i chose to move this first layer 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up, which creates this effect for my first layer:

which looks cool, right? now, you could stop here with the glitch effect, but me being me, i’m extra, so i’m going to include the next half-step that you don’t have to follow unless you want to.

step 3.5: the glitch effect, advanced

with “_a_frm0,50 copy” still selected, go to the left toolbar and find the rectangle select tool (right under the move tool from before). this part is a bit tedious, but i like the results, so i feel that the work is worth it.

using the rectangle select tool, make a shape around part of the layer, and then go back to your toolbar and select the move tool again so we can move the selected section. do you remember how many clicks you used to move your layer and in what direction it goes in? well, now, do the opposite; since i moved 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up, my selected section needs to go 10 clicks right and 5 clicks down. below is what this looks like before and after moving the selected area:

once you’re happy with the moved selection, go to the top bar and go to select > deselect so that you are no longer selecting the section you just moved. repeat this step however many times you like; i tend to do this about 5 times for each layer of varying sizes/lengths to allow variety. here is what the final product looks like for this first layer:

and viola! your fully glitched layer one. now we can move on with the rest of the tutorial.

step three, continued: creating the glitch effect

now that you have finished this layer, make sure you have selected both frames “_a_frm0,50” and “_a_frm0,50 copy” by left clicking while holding down CTRL on your keyboard. with both layers selected, right click and choose the “merge layers” option in the popup; this ensures that the glitch effect that you have created stays as one frame.

now we get to do this many more times! make your next layer, “_a_frm1,50”, visible by clicking the little box next to it in the layer panel, and repeat the before steps. i personally alternate between what direction my glitches go in to add more variety and interest for my gifs. so, for example, with my “_a_frm0,50” frame, i moved it 10 clicks to the left and 5 clicks up; this means, for “_a_frm1,50”, i’m going to move it 10 clicks to the right and 5 clicks down, so on and so forth.

i do this for the first 3 frame layers and the last 3 frame layers for both gifs. when your gifs are finished with their individual gif transitions, they should (individually) look like this:

and together, they should look something like this:

and that’s the hard part done! congratulations, you just made a glitch transition!

step four: finishing touches

now, this entire step is optional, as if you already did stuff like add text to the individual gifs you are using this transition with, you’re probably already done. however, if you’re like me and you’re making a gif where the text remains stationary on top as the gif itself transitions underneath, take this time now to do so.

i will also note that if you want your gif transition to match with the rest of your gifs, you can do that in this layer. for example, i want the blue in the transition to be purple like in the rest of my gif; to accomplish this, i will use a combination of a hue/saturation layer and a selective color layer to make the blue be purple (which does change the purple a little from how it was originally, but i don’t mind). i would put these layers on top of both of my gif layers so that the transition layers in both gifs get the same coloring. doing so creates this effect:

(that isn’t a step that’s required by any means (nor do i do it all the time), but in case you wanted to do that, now you know!)

now that i am fully happy with how the gif looks, i will add my finalized text and end up with this as my final product:

now, if you run into the problem of your gif being a little too large for tumblr’s size limit (for example, my finished gif was 10.7MB, and the limit for 540x540 gifs is 10MB) and don’t want to redo all of the process of doing the glitch effect after deleting some frames, i recommend using ezgif’s gif optimizer. it helps shrink the size of your gif without costing you the quality of your gifs. :) i dont normally recommend that for other types of gifs where it’s easier to delete frames, but in this case i know that deleting frames and having to recreate the glitch effect may be annoying!

other than that, this is the end of the tutorial — congrats, you know how to make a glitch transition in photopea! good for you! :) if you ever need any help with photopea, or have a request for how i have done an effect, please feel free to shoot me an ask and i’ll do my best to explain or make another tutorial to help!