Light writing. Galantier’s whiteboard. Too big for Twitter, too trivial for everywhere.

So the night theme is quite cool.

Also, I’m copy-pasting in a sex scene. Because NSFW content, baby. That’s the point of this. To see if I can get the hang of this platform, and if it’s a good replacement for the social media I currently use.

Warning: dudes happily fucking.

I don’t think I’m going to do scroll space.

I think I’ll do PSAs as scroll space.

PSA: Get over yourself if same sex NSFW makes you have issues.

PSA: Your hang ups are not my problem.

Also, Bran & Laarens are adorable together. 💜💜💜💜

OH! I can do emojis!

I need a cinnamon roll emoji. Apple, get on that. OO. Cinnamon croissant.🥐🥐🥐

PSA: Grown up people have sex.

PSA: What’s actually perverse is how curious straights are about grownup people having sex. Like seriously, people would have to be like BFFs to inquire into the details of how Spouse and I fuck, but when it’s two people who present as having a similar gender? Straights not only want details, they’ll go find porn of it.

PSA: If you’re curious, you should consider trying it. Be safe and consensual, but here’s the thing: grownups have sex. Being open about how sex works when it’s different from PIV missionary? That’s actually a form of self-defense. Because it gets the questions out of the way so that really important conversations can proceed.

OKAY! SEX! NSFW. A copy-paste.

He caught me midword, his mouth on mine. I didn’t want to react, but his tongue danced with mine, almost as if he knew what I wanted, needed. He backed me against a birch, pinning me against the trunk. I couldn’t have moved anyway. He was so hot against me, but not stifling. Enthralling. Hard and strong, his hands stroked my neck, unlacing my shirt as his mouth worked down my throat. “Don’t you ask permission?” I managed to gasp. “Must I?” he breathed into my breast and my nipples, always sensitive, turned hard and tender as he stroked my flank. “I think not. Burning ancestors, Bran, you’re gorgeous.” “Flattery gets you nowhere,” I said through gritted teeth as he cupped my prong, already full and unhappy with me, through my breeches. “Good gods, Laarens — ” “Yes or no,” he said into my chest. “One word.” I couldn’t say no. He might be arrogant, demanding, difficult, but he smelled right and felt better as he tore open my buttons. “Yes.” One flew away, forever lost, then his mouth was around me and I shattered in less time than complimented my stamina. I barely bit back the lightning yelp he summoned from me. For a long time, I thought of nothing but my taste on his mouth and his body in my hands. It might not be love, but it wasn’t hate. Not violation, no matter how demanding.

What happens when a significant part of the housing stock is destroyed? Doesn’t matter if it’s fire, or flood, or wind.

Rent goes up.

One gets a roommate, or six. With luck, one chooses who one lives with, rather than having someone thrust into your private space. Or rather than being thrust into someone else’s space.

If you’re truly lucky, there’s a door one can close. But that doesn’t always work out. Especially when the fire, or flood, or wind was bad.

This happens everywhere, and is happening all over this planet, right now.

It will keep happening, because our climate is becoming ever more fragile.

Next up in Galantier: Housing Crisis Edition.