#not main

[ask-ranma-and-ryoga]

[sweetsweetbumblebee]

Would you let a group of cocks surround you, piss on your body and in your mouth

whos 2 say rlly

[auyouni]

just say you won’t let go // septiplier

Jack doesn’t know why he does this to himself. 

Really, who else is this self-sabotaging? Asking the straight guy he’s in love with to be his fake boyfriend for Christmas Eve is crossing a line that he never wanted to cross, but, to be fair… He never expected Mark to say yes. He knows it’s for the money, of course, that Jack had just offered up a price that he simply couldn’t refuse, but the genuine excitement on his best friend’s face at the idea of finally meeting Jack’s family had been worth that small heartbreak. He feels guilty for not doing it sooner, hiding Mark away like some dirty little secret – which is kinda accurate, but he is in no way ashamed of being friends with him, or… anything else about Mark, really. The only shame he carries is reserved specifically for himself. 

It’s just so complicated to be around Mark. All sorts of emotional turmoil and their shared concerning past, and really, it was easier to just never properly introduce them than deal with those things in the light of day, where he can be ashamed of how in love he is with him, of how much he’d do or spend just to keep him by his side for a millisecond longer. He hasn’t even really told the few friends he still has – it’s just too much, always too much. 

And, oddly, never enough. 

His fingers drum rapidly on the driving wheel as he creeps along the ice slick roads, suppressing the urge to glance over at Mark as best he can. He’d surprised him when Jack picked him up, wearing a tux that fit him perfectly, hugging his body in ways that Jack really cannot afford to be distracted by tonight. 

Still, because Jack’s eyes are always drawn to Mark, he finds himself looking over when they’re at a stoplight. 

His hands hover over the vents blasting heat, trying to warm himself up as much as possible, head slightly bouncing along to whatever song is on the radio (Roses by The Chainsmokers, he thinks?), the streetlights illuminating him beautifully, with a small smile on his lips as he gazes out at the snow fluttering down around the car… Suddenly, Mark’s head turns a little, eyes catching his, and Jack can see just how excited he is, the genuine joy in his expression at being able to do this with him… He can’t help the smile rising to his lips in response, heart so full of his best friend in that moment that he’s sure he’ll cry. 

He doesn’t. 

It’s becoming easier and easier for him to hide strong emotions from Mark, burdens that only he has to bear, and he’s utterly thankful for it. If he knew… If he knew how Jack truly felt, he’d run the other way and never look back. The idea twists his gut a little, and he feels oddly ill, but he can’t dwell on it because Mark is saying something now, tugging him back down to reality with a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Jack,” Mark says, a barely concealed laugh in his voice, and the Irish boy is certain that his name has never sounded as good as it does coming from his lips, “the light’s green.” Jack blinks a little, surprised, and turns to see that Mark’s right. His cheeks burn as he hits the gas, wishing it wasn’t so easy for him to be distracted by his feelings for his best friend. It’s ridiculous, inconvenient, and… 

Wholly unrequited. 

“Sorry, got a bit distracted,” he says, a tad sheepish. Mark’s eyes don’t leave his face, and Jack wishes he could see his expression. Does he know? He has to by now. It’s not like you’re subtle… 

“Thinking about how hard you’re gonna fuck me tonight?” Mark asks, voice teasing and just a little bit lower – he knows how to get Jack riled up with ease. Jack splutters, blushing, and now that the words are out there, he can’t think of anything besides Mark moaning and wanton beneath him, begging for— 

“W-who says I’m fuckin’ you t’night?” he asks in lieu of answering, jumping onto the new topic. It may not be safe, but at least it’s far, far away from his real feelings toward Mark. 

“Oh come on, Sean,” Mark says in a sultry voice, leaning forward, and Jack can’t help a small shiver, “I know you by now. You were giving me serious bedroom eyes when I walked out of my house.” Oh, like he could’ve helped that - the beautiful boy had dressed up for him, suit and tie and just… damn.

“I paid for a weekend o’ bein’ my fake boyfriend, Mark – I don’t have enough money f’r sex,” he manages to get out, feeling guilty and disappointed in himself for not being able to afford it. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, the radio the only thing breaking the silence. Here we go again / I kinda wanna be more than friends / so take it easy on me / I’m afraid you’re never satisfied… Jack changes the channel quickly, hoping Mark doesn’t notice. 

“Well… doesn’t being a boyfriend usually involve that?” Mark asks, and Jack’s a little taken off-guard. His head whips to face him, eyes wide, but the other boy is staring straight ahead, looking deep in thought, teeth catching at his lower lip. Jack gulps, forcing himself to look back to the road before he drives them into a sign or something. 

“I-I… I guess, yeah,” he manages, voice coming out a little weak, waiting a little desperately for Mark to continue, though he’s certain that he wouldn’t actually be offering— 

“Well then, you… I mean, you paid quite a bit for the full boyfriend experience…” There’s something a little off about Mark’s voice, something almost kind of… worried? But then Mark’s lips are suddenly inches from Jack’s ear, murmuring, “So I want you to fuck me tonight, sweetheart. Feel your cock deep inside of me, while your parents sleep in the other room… Want you so, so badly, Sean...” Jack’s muscles are tight with the effort of keeping himself from jumping Mark then and there, car crash be damned, and it's the hardest thing he's ever had to do to keep his eyes trained on the road. It’s a familiar game, after all, but one that he’s probably never going to get used to. “My boyfriend.” Jack moans at that, turning a little too harshly into an empty parking lot and hurriedly putting the car in park. It’s all a dirty lie, he knows this – but he also knows that he’s never once stood a chance at resisting Mark when he does shit like this, especially with that one single word that resonates so deeply within Jack. His seatbelt hits something as he tosses it aside – like he cares – and then he’s on Mark, pressing him against the passenger door and kissing him. The boy beneath him wraps his arms around him easily as he kisses back just as eagerly. 

He always knew how to put on a good show, make it so believable that Jack’s certain that Mark wants him just as much as the Irishman always has. When his lips press against his, devouring him whole, Jack can forget that this isn’t real, that he’s not actually allowed to want this. 

But for one whole weekend, he is. For one weekend it’ll be real, Jack will be able to hold his hand, fix his hair, compliment him, tell everyone and anyone who will listen just how much he adores this boy with the beautiful brown eyes and the ridiculous levels of charm, who throws marshmallows at him whenever he wins at a game and tickles him in the worst possible settings and sits with him in his car and has long, deep chats with in the middle of the night, leans against him as he drifts off to sleep… 

It’s all allowed. 

Mark is, for the weekend, only his, and the idea alone is enough to make Jack want to cry. Instead, he just kisses him harder, holds him closer, and tries to let himself believe it. 

“J-Jack, we’re gonna be late,” Mark says a few hickeys later, top few buttons of his shirt undone and hair a mess, still squirming under him as Jack’s teeth scrape along the sensitive skin of his neck. He’s not an idiot – none of these will actually be visible, except for maybe the edge of one, but it’s enough for him. 

“Mhmm?” he hums as a reply, nipping softly at a sensitive spot just below Mark’s jaw. Nothing in the world matters as much to him in that moment as the beautiful sounds spilling from his lips. 

“We n-need to go,” he tries again. “Don’t wanna g-get there after everyone e-else…” 

Jack doesn’t respond for a few seconds, lips meeting his in a deep kiss, taking the moment to just taste him. When he finally pulls away, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he smirks down at him, eyes hooded. “Even if I, say… sucked y’r dick?” Mark bites back a moan, squirming more (he couldn’t help loving the Irish boy’s blowjobs, often trying to figure out casual ways to ask for one – though Jack always seems to offer, anyway), and Jack’s smirk grows, hand sliding down Mark’s side. 

“Fuck.” Mark shuts his eyes briefly, seemingly at war with himself, and then he's peering back out at Jack, pupils blown too wide. “We can't. I wanna make a good first impression on your parents.”

Jack sighs, trying to be upset, but really, he's biting back a smile. “Fine, I guess. But I'm definitely suckin’ you off later t’night, first chance I get.” It looks like Mark blushes at that, but it can't be, right? It's just the lighting, he's sure.

Mark leans in, pressing a short kiss to his lips - and despite its brevity, it's still enough to leave Jack breathless.

“You may also wanna fix y’rself up a bit… ya look a bit sexed up,” Jack tacks on teasingly, winking at Mark, and the other boy rolls his eyes, grinning back at him.

“Hmm, I wonder whose fault that was?” he replies, pushing at Jack's shoulder with a small laugh.

“Um, fuckin’ yours!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

“Really? And who was th’ one whispering in my ear like a damn temptress??? Can't fault me f'r givin’ in, I'm just a man.”

Mark snorts softly, eyes flickering with amusement, and god, but Jack just wants to spend the rest of the night in this car with him, joking and chatting and letting the rest of the world pass them by beyond the fogged up windows.

Let everyone else take the world, Jack just wants Mark.

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Some spins on the "mostly male team with a token woman" trope:

The woman is trans and stayed in her old circle of bros even after transition

The woman is the only one in her circle of "girls" who didn't turn out to be a trans man

[shining-sphinx]

So I got into dungeon meshi and i’ve been telling everyone who I talk to. I love everything about the world, characters, the art, etc.

BUT

People are not kidding when they say that senshi will manifest in your head to tell you to eat better. Like I have a hard time remembering to eat but my brain would be like “you haven’t eaten in some hours, you need a meal” and I would be like you’re very right internal senshi I’m gonna see what I can make. Then I make food??? Honestly Gods sent senshi for helping so many people eat better

[seagiri]

when she draw on my pile

[bisexualvader]

what my notifs look like currently

[eastgaysian]

[astrid-beck]

This is my unethical polycule. The nonmonogamy is consensual and negotiated we're just evil in other ways.

[likegoldintheair]

when i say i wish people started using the reblog button more i don't mean it in a 'i want more notes' kind of way i mean it in a 'i want to read about your thoughts on this particular thing' and 'i want to have conversations in the tags' and 'i want this to feel like a community again and not like any of those boring social media platforms where artists are content creators and interactions never goes beyond a like'

[ask-ranma-and-ryoga]

[throesofincreasingwonder]

"A story doesn't need a theme in order to be good" I'm only saying this once but a theme isn't some secret coded message an author weaves into a piece so that your English teacher can talk about Death or Family. A theme is a summary of an idea in the work. If the story is "Susan went grocery shopping and saw a weird bird" then it might have themes like 'birds don't belong in grocery stores' or 'nature is interesting and worth paying attention to' or 'small things can be worth hearing about.' Those could be the themes of the work. It doesn't matter if the author intended them or not, because reading is collaborative and the text gets its meaning from the reader (this is what "death of the author" means).

Every work has themes in it, and not just the ones your teachers made you read in high school. Stories that are bad or clearly not intended to have deep messages still have themes. It is inherent in being a story. All stories have themes, even if those themes are shallow, because stories are sentences connected together for the purpose of expressing ideas, and ideas are all that themes are.

[rollercoasterwords]

damn that is so crazy that u think taylor swift’s album about being in love with her boyfriend is a paragon of queer storytelling packed with sapphic subtext. personally when i’m in the mood for gay music i like to listen to gay people singing about gay sex but to each their own dude

[auyouni]

when i’m messed up, that’s the real me // septiplier

Jack's not entirely sure how he got here.

The universe seems to swirl slowly around him as he lays in the grass, the expanse of the sky laid out before him. The air smells new, and sweet, like the start of something wonderful, but Jack's not sure he could handle that something, whatever it is. He can't really handle much.

His heavy hand lifts his phone up above him, squinting at the screen. His eyes shift over it, continuously moving, watching the way the screen multiplies and moves. He feels dizzy.

Taking a shuddering breath, he focuses hard on tapping the screen, pulling up the dial tab. Shakily, he hits number 1 on speed dial and brings it down to his ear, listening to it ring.

Approximately a few millennia pass, but that's fine. Jack would wait for forever, if there was a chance he’d pick up.

“Well hey there, Mr. I-Have-No-Concept-Of-Time,” comes Mark's slightly husky voice, and Jack has no clue if he's trying to be sexy or if it's just from sleep. He's never really sure, when it's this late. “What'll it be tonight, hmm?”

Jack swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Mark,” he manages to say, voice soft and slurred. “I… I'll pay ya more i...if you come to me,” he says, trying to sound sober, but god, he's really too far gone for this.

There's a beat of silence. Then: “Are you drunk?”

“Please?” he tries, squeezing his eyes closed at the swirling stars. “Wanna see you.”

There's an odd intake of breath on the other end, and another silence, uncertainty lying in the lack of words. Then a sigh, a soft grumble, and Jack can hear faint rustling. “Fine, fine, I'm on my way over. Are you--”

“‘m in the… the park. Big one, by y’r h-house,” he says, not even sure if that's what Mark was asking.

“What… are you okay?”

Jack considers that for a quiet moment, eventually making a noncommittal noise. He hasn't been okay for a while now.

“Why are you at the park? Did you just decide to walk there, for no reason?”

“Drove.”

“...You fucking better have drove before you got yourself wasted.”

“From a party, I… I was a-already drunk.”

“Goddammit, Sean, you absolute idiot.”

“Yeah.”

There's a lengthy sigh on the other end. “I'm gonna hit you.” Jack doesn't doubt that he would, but he probably won't. “On my way - don't move, and don't die.”

Jack nods, but the call ends before he even realizes that Mark can't see him.

Everything becomes a bit blurry when Mark finds him. He gets a vague, flurried feeling of safety and love and warmth and a healthy dose of anxiety, and he's pretty sure he lets Mark drive his car. Next thing he knows, he’s sitting on his bed, watching as Mark unties his shoes for him. Jack tears up a little as he stares at him, taking in all his features and the concern/frustration mixture in his expression.

“Money's in my drawer… th-thanks f’r gettin’ me,” he says softly, instead of something much more idiotic, more damning.

“I'm not taking your money for helping you get your drunk ass home. That's just being a good friend, I don't need payment for that.” Mark sounds a little exasperated, and maybe a little hurt, but Jack can't make heads or tails of why.

“What if I kiss you?” The words just tumble from his lips, the next logical step in his brain.

“You don't have to kiss me. I'm not taking your money, you're too drunk to be making deals, or finding excuses to give me money.” Mark finally looks up at him, expression tired and a little resigned.

“What if I just want to kiss you?”

“I'll hit you.”

Jack considers that. Mark doesn't sound threatening, just tired. “Will you?”

“...No, but I'm not taking your money.”

“What… if I kiss you… an’ ask you ta stay th’ night?”

Mark watches him, a million different emotions flickering over his expression. “I'm not having sex with you. Tonight or tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jack replies, hope rising in a small way. He might stay. Just for the night, but he'll take what he can get. “Just want a kiss, an’... an’ very manly cuddlin’.”

Mark considers this for a long moment, before finally giving a small nod. “Okay.” Jack smiles, big and bright, and something in the American's expression softens. “I'm still not taking your money.”

“E...even when I'm sober?” Jack asks, tilting his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It's a good deal. He doesn't have to have sex with a guy, but still gets paid the same as if he did.

“Yeah, but I'm sure you'll argue about it more when you are. Counting on the hangover to keep you at bay.” Jack rolls his eyes, which makes him kinda dizzy, so he gives a small laugh. Almost a giggle. He's tired enough, and drunk enough, and lovesick enough to be giggling by now.

“Y… you’d be dumb ta not take it, Marky,” he says quietly, after a moment, and Mark sighs. “Even if… if we didn't do anythin’, I’d still want ya t’ have it. You need it more than me, you… deserve th’ whole world, Mark. I’d trade you the universe f’r a single kiss, that's… that's all I want.” He tries to focus on the other boy's expression, because even through the fog of his mind, he realizes he's just said some pretty damning stuff. Mark, for his part, seems a little speechless, some unnamable emotion flicking through his eyes.

Jack's about to speak, maybe to take it all back - or make it worse, keep on that horrible ramble until he spills all his emotions, cutting into those deep wounds in his heart and just bleeding love for this amazing boy (which is much more likely) - lips already parting, but Mark kisses him instead.

Jack definitely doesn't complain.

He just kisses him back, clumsy hands gripping at his shirt, pulling him closer, so Mark ends up in his lap. Still, he kisses him, letting the feelings wash over everything. Mark's hands end up in his hair and cupping his jaw, lips softly moving against his. It feels different from a lot of the times that Mark kisses him. More… real, maybe. Jack absolutely melts into it, wishing it could fill up all those cracks in his dumb heart.

When they finally break away, they're both panting softly, Jack's mind completely dizzy and lips tingling, heart racing, and he's trying to find the words to describe the feelings that ignited in him with Mark's lips, but all he can think is full blown fireworks. What is this, a teen novel? Still, the description is accurate. Whenever they’d kissed before, Jack had felt those stupid sparks, the silly butterflies, the electricity under his skin, but… but, there's something different about this kiss. Despite being weighed down by the fog of the alcohol, the feelings are more intense now.

God, if only he weren't so drunk.

“You shouldn't want that,” Mark mumbles, voice breathless. “I'm not worth it.”

“You are,” Jack finds himself whispering back without a second thought, believing it wholeheartedly.

“I'm a mess.”

“So? I am too.” Mark makes a noncommittal noise, and Jack frowns a little. “Hey. L… look at me.” Mark reluctantly opens his eyes, lets them meet Jack's own. “We're both… pretty messed up. But you… Y’r mess is the best thing that I've ever gotten c-caught up in.”

“You're drunk,” Mark points out, after a moment.

“So?”

“So you don't know what you're saying.”

“Maybe, but… I mean it. I wouldn't… wouldn't trade any o’ this f’r anything.” Unless that anything included them being together truly, or Mark moving on completely and finding genuine happiness, like he deserves. Even if it leaves Jack behind, heartbroken and alone. It wouldn't matter. “You're… my fav’rite person, Marky.”

Mark just kisses him, again, like it's too much to be expressed in words. He lays him down and kisses him in that sweet, real way, and Jack wishes he could express the sheer magnitude of his adoration and love for the other boy, but. Here they are, like they always will be: Jack, hopelessly in love with Mark, and Mark, holding him close for all eternity.

[beardedmrbean]

[samd1o1]

My experience with queer media lately: