I would love if you could do gatty smut prompt with #8. Thank you so much for blessing us with all your writing

I want to start this off by saying thank you so much for sending this prompt in! I had a lot of fun attempting it and I’m very sorry that it is going to be a major let down. I was feeling very ambitious and was like hell yeah I got this and thought that I was for sure going to be able to write a fun smutty prompt fill. Then I was reminded how awful I am at writing smut 😂 So, I apologize for this being not hot and very cringe - I tried my best though! And if you’re gonna laugh, make sure it’s with me and not at me because I am a sensitive soul 😂 anyway without further ado here she is - Ally attempts smut 🤣

Thank you for having faith in me! 

❤️Ally

8. “My God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”

“My god,” George rasped, reaching down to thumb away the tears dripping from the corner of Matty’s left eye, his long, dark lashes clumping together as his eyes watered, fluttering against his cheeks like angel’s wings as he tried desperately to keep them open. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this.” And he was, his cheeks flushed, his curls sweaty and askew, looking up at George with empty eyes, his pupils blown wide. His bitten red lips were swollen, stretched around George’s girth like it was what he was made to do. Like he was made to be used, like he was made for George to fuck his throat. Like it was his divine purpose on this Earth.

Matty preened, humming at the praise, causing George to dig his fingers into his hair, tugging roughly on the curls, forcing himself deeper down Matty’s throat, with no regard for his gag reflex as he chased his pleasure. Matty swallowed around him, his breath coming out through his nose in a strained whistle whilst his throat clenched and his mind grew fuzzy.

“So good for me,” George murmured, pulling Matty’s head back, arching his neck, before slamming his hips forward again. Matty whined, his entire body rocking with the motion, drool dripping down his chin in thick rivers of saliva as he swirled his tongue. It was wet, messy and uncoordinated, his head empty and heavy, the weight of George’s cock on his tongue the only thing keeping him alive, George’s rough grip on his curls the only thing holding his head up.

George knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the way Matty was moving his tongue, not with the way his eyes kept rolling back in his skull, not with the way he was gagging on George’s cock, desperate for him, trying in vain to take him deeper and deeper, as if he tried hard enough they could mold themselves together into one singular celestial being.

“Such a good boy,” George praised him, loosening his grip to pet Matty’s jaw, feeling himself staining against Matty’s cheek. “So pretty.” Matty whimpered, his hips bucking against the air, George words sending him spiraling further and further away from his body, desperate for his own release, but desperate to be good.

“Can you come like this?” George asked, knowing Matty had before. “Can you come from just the pleasure of choking on my cock?”

Matty whined, palming himself through his jeans, straining painfully against the zipper, so overcome by George, by his own need.

George growned, the sound low as he jerked Matty’s head back, causing him to cough, releasing George’s cock with a wet pop. “I didn’t say you could touch,” he chastised and Matty whimpered, his eyes closed, lips ajar, panting desperately, tears of despair leaking from his eyes and he dug his nails into Geroge’s thighs. He felt empty and untethered, like he was spiraling out of control without the weight of George to ground him. George jerked himself roughly, once, then twice, coming across Matty’s face, the thick ropes of his release splashing across his jaw, iridescent pearls clumping in his curls and gathering over his eye lashes. Matty moaned, his tongue darting out, slick and red, licking at the spray of splatter painting his skin.

George reached out, hauling him up by his hair, bringing their lips together, kissing Matty roughly, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth, tasting himself on his breath. He bit Matty’s lower lip, dragging his hips forward.

“Get yourself off,” George ordered, and Matty keened, grinding his hips roughly against George’s thigh, desperately. His cock aching as it pressed into the metal teeth of his zipper. But he knew now he wasn’t permitted to touch, he was only given what George allowed him.

“Gorgeous,” George praised, drunk off his own orgasm. “You’re fucking gorgeous, getting yourself off for me, so close just from sucking my cock.”

Matty let out a shaky breath, his jaw slack as he panted, his head falling forward, his chin dropping to his chest, his curls falling to cover his face.

“Open your eyes love,” George said, tilting Matty’s head back and  pressing his thumb to his eyelid, “I want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you come. So pretty just for me.”

Matty’s hips stuttered and he stilled, twitching as he clenched his jaw, before collapsing against George, no longer able to hold himself up as he lost all sense of self.

“Good boy,” said George soothingly, running his hand down Matty’s back. “Such a good boy.”

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 5: Flip Slip.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 4.5)

Kendrick sending a pestilence and plague into your house, into your bed, into your streams, into your streets, into your drink, into your bread

Danny decides to open a planetarium in Gotham. At first people only go there because it's one of the only neutral zones left (they're still trying to figure out how this human twig does it.) Then weird things start happening.

People start report seeing things during the shows. Little messages mixed with the stars. Some of the messages are simple like i'll always love you or it wasn't your fault or i miss you. But others are eerily accurate. Like don't forget to study for your upcoming physics test or you should move into those newer apartments. It'll be good for you.

Put simply Danny is doing something related to what he loves while also giving the departed of Gotham a way to say their last wishes to their loved ones. They in turn help him keep the planetarium safe. Not that he needs help but eh it's a nice win win scenario so he won't complain.

Too bad the bats don't see it that way. No clearly this guy is using some sort of mental manipulation hoodoo voodoo for some dastardly scheme. And they're going to get to the bottom of it.

guys? guys? guys hello? hi? what? what??? i scream desperately into the void. no one is listening. a stray tribble hits me in the face.

we had the gay angel go to superhell after a love confession (supernatural)

the gay angel go to superheaven after a love confession (good omens)

now we just need a gay angel to go to superpurgatory to complete the set

no because it's the way Tommy sits through that frankly disASTER of an explanation by Evan "ally" Buckley and STILL FLIRTS WITH HIM AFTER

they're literally so cute idk who you are, I am ROOTING FOR THIS RELATIONSHIP

[x]

More Rampa and Erziraphael 🇫🇷🇩🇪❤️

(would Aziracrow now be Ramphael? Erzirampa? I dunno XD)

i am so charmed by a lumax wedding because it’s not even something max thought would happen. like she assumed weddings were something the girl makes happen and the guy puts up with. and because she had no desire for one, so there’s no reason it would happen.

among other things weddings are an exorbitant and performative show of love, max loves lucas and she doesn’t care whether or not other people know or believe this. at it’s best marriage to her has been a representation of failed dreams and at it’s worst it’s been a tool to manipulate people who need to get away to stay. maybe they will get married for the tax benefits, she thinks.

this is until max and lucas are older and living together, they’re chilling on the couch and lucas mentions his family has been asking when he’s planning to propose and if that’s something max even wants? max doesn’t care, she doesn’t plan on going anywhere, a certificate won’t change anything and she's not crazy about parties. she doesn’t ask how he feels, he brings it up, that “actually i want a wedding.”

that is saying the least, lucas wants a wedding more than anything. he loves max and he doesn’t need to prove that to anyone, but he’s happy and he wants to share that with others! he wants to work with max to make marriage a positive thing to them, he wants to celebrate their love, everything they’ve been through. also, hell, he’s only human, he wants to show off! he wants to dress really cool and go to a really cool place and show the world know how awesome he and his girlfriend are. HIS WIFE!!!

most of all, lucas wants the moment near the end of the night, where the party’s getting loud and everybody wants his attention, but max asks if he wants to get out of there and he says yes. not out out, just outside the venue. it’s dark and the once booming music is now faint, they sit and catch up, complain about their families, laugh about their friends. max holds lucas’s hand and plays with his wedding ring, she whispers something sweet before asking him to dance. it’s the best part of the night and nobody will know about it but them.

suddenly max decides she wants a wedding.

Going from Stolitz to Huskerdust or Ineffable Husbands is like crawling out the trenches and walking into a spa

Assisting Acquaintance Acquired.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

hearing zayn say out loud how much he likes himself now and how content he is in life has me soaring like that's a healed person with a beautiful glow around them god bless

Hey there. I'm writing a story set in New York City and am not American. I have few characters, but most of them are arab or white. I can't help but feel a bit wrong about it, given that America is much more diverse than that, and NYC being an emblem of that. Do you think I should force myself to include more representation or should I just tell my story, and leave that more diverse cast to some other story I could write? I know this is a neverending debate and there are many opinions about it, but I've always agreed with everything you've said in matters of representation in fiction, and so I'd be curious to know your personal answer on it.

I'm a little confused by how you're using "representation," here. It sounds like you think representation = "randomly sticking BIPOC everywhere." I think when most people use that word, it means something more like "create an accurate or at least plausible depiction of a group or place." In actual New York, there are plenty of Middle Easterners and white people who live in relatively homogeneous small communities where they might only see someone of a different ethnicity on the subway. If your story is set in one of those communities -- and you do stick some random BIPOC in that subway scene, because that's plausible -- then it sounds like your characters might be an example of good representation.

(Note: if you're not writing something set in the real world, but it features human beings, it needs to represent humanity as a whole, unless there's a good in-world reason not to. But if it's our world? You can get specific.)

Here's the catch, tho: plausibility is relative. If you've absorbed some biases and haven't done enough research, then you might end up writing something that feels plausible to you, but which isn't actually representative or plausible to anyone else. The way to avoid this is to do the research and check (to the best of your ability) your biases. For example, you aren't American, I assume you've at least visited NYC? If not, you should. You can visit some of the communities I mentioned! You can eat in restaurants, visit mosques, have conversations with actual real people who are living the life you're writing about! If you don't have the time, money, or spoons to do that, there are other ways to do good research -- films and YT/Tiktok videos made by people from the communities in question, for example. But you'd need to watch a lot of them to get a good representative sample.

I recommend this book to all the writing students I've taught at Clarion, and other writer workshops: Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. There's a particular part of it that seems relevant here, which is a kind of hierarchy of "appropriate" appropriation, I think first mentioned by Diantha Day Sprouse but included in Writing the Other. Basically it says that if you want to write about a culture that isn't your own, you can learn about that culture in one of several ways: a) You can be an Invader, and just go take whatever intellectual and artistic tidbits from that culture that you want, regardless of how damaging this might be to members of that group. Example: non-Indigenous people who write about actual secret practices, or who encourage the desecration of sacred places. b) You can be a Tourist, in which you're still mooching from that culture, but at least you're figuratively paying someone for it and accepting tidbits that the culture has chosen to sell. Example: getting a sensitivity reader. Or c) you can be an Invited Guest, who brings in as much as they take out, and who has formed relationships that are beneficial to all involved. Example: being part of an exchange program, both as a student and later as a host, and maintaining those friendships outside of the program.

The goal is to be an IG, but that isn't always possible. Tourist is still better than being an Invader. (...I feel like I'm leaving out a category. It's been a while since I read the book; any more recent readers want to check me here?) But the closer you can get to actually participating in that culture, the more your work will be informed by reality instead of biases or misinformation, and the more likely your work will read as plausible not just to you, but to your widest possible audience -- people familiar with the culture and people who aren't.

(I'm a little concerned about your phrasing of "force myself to include more representation," note. Why would that need to be a forced thing? A writer's goal should be to write something that feels lived-in and authentic to [if it's a real place] most people's experience -- not to meet some arbitrary standard, but because that's how you master immersion and characterization. If good immersion and characterization feel forced to you right now, that suggests you need more practice. I recommend writing short stories!)