#I really liked drawing all the white patches

[cinnamon-flame]

My part of the art trade with @minttea31 , thank you for letting me draw this lovely gal it was a ton of fun ✨

[woah-uhuh-uhuh-uhuh]

BOSS FIGHT!

[thewritetofreespeech]

Cooler Heads Will Prevail

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: it's too hot to do anything in the States. Except apparently write Aemond x Reader smut about how it's too hot.

tags: heterosexual sex, fingering, sex outdoors, aemond speaking High Valyrian cause it's sexy, Vhagar being sassy in the background. 

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“Gods how can you stand to wear that?”

You felt ten times hotter just looking at your husband, dressed in his traditional black & leathers, as he sat next to you while you baked in this heat. Even with all the windows and curtains open, dressed in the thinnest dress that modesty could cling to, and servants fanning you both like Dornish aristocracy, you still felt like you were melting.

“It is all a matter of perspective, my dear wife.” Aemond replied. Not looking up from his book. “And will power.”

You groan and drop your own book, spreading out as far as your limbs would go on the chaise. You despised these hot summers. Everything was hot. Everything you touched, including yourself, was sticky. You felt like every breath was drawing in more hot air, which in turn made you hotter, and considerably cranky. It was too hot to do anything.

Aemond glanced up at you with his good eye, then closed his books. The servants scatter when the prince stood. Taking away what little precious, if fruitless, relief you had. “Are you really that miserable?” He asked, leaning over you with one arm pressed against the back of the chaise.

“Just look at me.”

“I am.” His mouth coiled into a smirk as he leaned further down to kiss you.

But you turn your head away with an unsatisfied huff. “It’s too hot.” Though you loved Aemond unconditionally, apparently it had its limits. He’d have to wait until the sun went down, at the very least, before you would consider touching him.

The prince huffed. “Fine. Get up.”

You didn’t have time to ask Aemond why before he was grabbing your hand and hoisting you to your feet. Dragging you along behind him as you tried to keep up with his impressive gait thanks to those long legs.

Your protests & questions stopped halfway through your journey, and Aemond finally let your hand go once the two of you reached the Dragonpit. Vhagar’s indominable frame taking up most of the space a lotted to her as she coolly acknowledged her rider then settled back down. “What are we doing here?”

“Leaving the city.” Aemond was already mounting Vhagar. Settled into her saddle before he reached out to you with his hand.

You often dreamed of being a dragon rider. To be up in the skies. To command giants. But you didn’t have the blood for it. Instead, you just admired them from afar. “I thought you said Vhagar didn’t like secondary riders.”

“Vhagar does not like any rider but me.” He clarified. “But she will not harm you. Trust me.”

You did trust Aemond. Still, you glance over to Vhagar, looking into her giant eye for permission, who looked back at you for a long moment before she blinked with her inner lid and turned her gaze from you. You took that as a yes and grabbed Aemond’s hand.

He hoisted you up into the saddle with ease. Seating you in front of him. His legs on either side of you as he fastened you both to the harness before taking the reins. “sōvēs Vhagar.”

The dragon rose from her seat. Seeming annoyed about it, but you couldn’t be sure. She took three long strides before her wings were aloft and you were up in the air. You close your eyes tight. Gripping Aemon’s thighs on either side as you felt your stomach try to drop all the way back to the ground. “Open your eyes.” Aemond’s voice brushed against your ear, louder than the rushing air around you. You do as he says. With one at first, then opening both to see the beautiful bright sky around you and white, fluffy clouds. It was breath taking.

You aren’t brave enough to look down, but after a while Aemond shouted, “tegot Vhagar,” and the dragon circled around a patch of Earth before gracefully hurling itself towards it.

When you landed Aemond undid your bindings and jumped down. He held his arms out towards you, waiting for you to jump, and easily caught you when you fell into his open arms. “Where are we Aemond?”

The prince shrugged, “somewhere North.” That was all he said before he stalked off into the woods past the clearing.

You look around and admire the beauty of the small forest, before you follow after your husband. Vhagar seemed fine on her own to resume her nap while you both went on your walk to wherever Aemond was going. “Aemond, what are we doing here?”

“You said you were hot.” He told you. In a tone that implied ‘we just talked about this’ as he cut through the path.

“Yes. But why are we here?” It was significantly cooler, but still summer. The balminess of the city had been replaced with the natural humidity of the trees. One evil for a lesser one.

Aemond didn’t answer this time and instead pushed past the last of the greenery to reveal a second clearing. Sun dappled, with trees and flowers circling a natural freshwater pond, in a perfect idyllic scene. “Gods…It’s beautiful.”

“We did not come all this way just to look at it.”

You turn to Aemond to see him already unbuttoning his jerkin. “You cannot be serious.” Apparently, he was, as he was already tossing his jerkin aside and pulling off his under tunic. “Aemond?? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“Exactly. No one will find us.” His belt, boots, and pants quickly made it into the pile. His small clothes next. Then finally his eye patch. “Are you coming or not?” You stare at Aemond, a little slack jawed, as he stood there completely naked. As if you were the crazy one for not joining him.

Fingers carefully come up to your lacings. Fumbling with the strings as your embarrassment makes the digits unable to cooperate properly. Aemond was right, no one would see you. But this was still the first time you had been naked ‘in public’. Ladies did not go around the world in the nude. Although, apparently, a Targaryen’s woman did.

Aemond grinned as he watched you let loose your dress, then walked backwards a few paces before he turned and walked over to one of the rocks. Standing on it, like some Valyrian statue, before he jumped in. You were not nearly as brave, and shyly stepped into the water from its calm shore with your hands protecting your modesty.

The water was like ice on your overheated skin, but it felt so good! You let out a sigh and relax. Sinking neck deep into the water as you pulled your knees to your chest to float. “Feeling better?” You turn to look at Aemond as he swam up to you. His long hair floating behind him like a silver net. Looking more triton than dragon at the moment. You offer him a soft smile and nod.

The prince smiled back. Then he floated to his center before he stood, able to reach the bottom and have the water just barely brush past his navel. “Can I kiss you now?”

You looked up at Aemond, who was looking back down at you, waiting for an answer. Your smile broadens and you release your knees to stand on your own feet as well. The water just barely kissing your breasts in comparison. “Yes Aemond, you can kiss me.”

He looked so pleased. As if all this effort was worth it as he took your chin in his fingers to tilt your lips to his. You moan at the first contact of his tongue against yours. Hells…how long had it been since you kissed him properly.

You had not been joking when you said it was too hot to do anything. That included laying with your husband. Though you shared the same bed, the most you had done for the past weeks was brief kisses & touches before shunting off to your separate corners of the mattress. Desperate not to add anymore heat to your person.

Now that you were cooled off, a renewed heat was swelling up inside you. “Aemond…”

The man in question pulled back just a hair’s breadth to look at you. The hand once tilting up your chin now brushing water droplets from your cheek. “I have missed you, issa jorrāelagon.”

“I know.” And you felt guilty for that. “I’ve missed you too.” Together seperately had been the way things had been with this heat. But now you were somewhere cool, calm, and secluded with your husband.

You latch on to Aemond like a drowning man. His body your life raft. His kiss your air. He pulled you in with equal fervor and you felt his longing press against your belly. Hot and hard, despite the cold water. “Aemond…” You gasp again. Intentionally brushing against him to feel more of his manhood and eager to have not against your belly but inside it. “Please…”

The prince growled and kissed you again. His teeth nipping possessively at your lips this time, before he pulled you into his arms and wrapped your legs around him. Carrying you out of the water with ease and laying you on the soft grass that would be your marriage bed for the afternoon.

Aemond continued to kiss you. Letting you go for a moment before peppering your lips, face, and neck with more kisses. As if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do next with you. “You should be like this at all times.”

“Underneath you?” You respond cheekily.

“Naked.” He corrected. Your head tipping back as his arm slipped betwixt you and his fingers began toying with your sex. “You wouldn’t be so hot. And we would no longer have to deal with those ridiculous laces.”

“I don’t think your mother would appreciate such a ‘casual’ manner of dress at court.” You gasp sharply as two of Aemond’s fingers suddenly slipped inside you. Clearly a diversion in the conversation as he doesn’t want to talk about his mother right now.

“Hmmm…it is probably for the best. I’d gouge out the eye of any man who would look at you besides me. Then I would no longer be unique.”

“Certainly less fashionable.” Another sharp gasp escapes you as Aemond’s fingers curled up inside you against that spot that made you see stars. Silently telling you that if you didn’t stop with the cheek you were going to get it. ‘Good’ you thought.

His fingers continued to work you open as his mouth swallowed your cries. “Aemond!” You shouted when his thumb brushed against your pearl. Pushing at his shoulders while your legs shook at the intense feeling, but he wouldn’t stop. He let you go long enough to let your climax cry come out clearly. Loud and pure. Birds fluttering off in the distance that were startled by the sound.

“You’re so beautiful when you quake for me.”

“Only you.”

Your hand came up to stroke his face. Hard lines. Soft expression. Your fingertip brushes against just the end of his scar before trailing down to flick his bottom lip. Red and swollen from your kissing. Vibrant against his cool, alabaster skin. Perfect.

“Make me quake for you again my love.” Your legs splayed wide for him. Making space for him and his cock in your drooling cunt.

Aemond doesn’t have to be told anything twice and he descended on you. Lining up his cock, pushing it inside you with coiled control just waiting to snap, waiting there until you were ready. You let him know you were ready by jutting your hips a bit. Your prince looking at your face for a moment to make sure before that coiled control snapped clean.

The two of you rut in the forest like animals. Grunting and moaning and the wet sound of slapping skin. Aemond spread your legs wider for him. Letting him thrust harder and deeper into you. Your head fell back against the damp grass. The sweet smell mixed with your sweat making you dizzy while the sharp climb towards a second climax made you lightheaded.

You will your eyes open to look at Aemond. His eye fixed only on you. Almost completely black like the stories portrayed him. Black enough that it looked as though it had bled into his sapphire. But this was not the eyes of a monster, but a beast. Your beast. Your one and only, as this look as just for you.

“A-Aemond!” You shout again. Fingers clenched in his wet tresses. Whole body shaking around him this time. Aemond’s teeth clenched to the point they look like they might break before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own hips stuttered as his warmth filled you up.

The two of you laid there for a moment. Catching your breath. Sated in one another until Aemond likely feels he’s too heavy for you and rolls off you to the side. “We should head back.”

You turn your head to look at him. Wounded. Did it have to be right now? “The sun will be setting soon. It will not be as hot upon our return.”

You look back up at the sky and indeed see the shadows had gotten longer since your arrival. “Must we?”

Aemond chuckled at your plea. Rolling back over to your side to coil his body around you like a serpent. Head on your shoulder. You know he had missed this almost as much as the other. “Not right now.” He agreed. “But soon. We can come back whenever you’d like though.”

“Tomorrow?” He laughed again.

“Whenever you’d like.”

The two of you bask in the moment and beautiful scenery for a little while longer. Enjoying the cool and the quite before you had to return to the hot and the mayhem. You dress in silence. Then Aemond walked you both back down the path towards his dragon. Vhagar not seeming to notice one way or the other that you’ve been gone.

The heat hits you instantly once you break the perimeter of the city. Cooler than before but still sweltering. “I’m going to take a cool bath before bed.” You tell your prince as he gave his dragon a few goodbye pet before he left her for the day. “Care to join me?”

Only one thing could pull Aemond’s attention away from his dragon, and he turned to look over his shoulder at you with a smug grin. “Missing me already, issa jorrāelagon.”

“Oh yes.” You playfully agree as you walk backwards when Aemond came close. “I don’t know. Something about dragon riding puts me in the mood for….‘dragon riding’.”

The true rider grinned and closed the gap between you with quick ease. “Why do you think I seem never to want to keep my hands off you?” He pulled you in for a new kiss. Passionate, yes, but not nearly as fierce as before. You were back in the walls. Back in your cages. You had to be restrained lest other people talked. Because gods forbid a man & a wife actually fancied each other. He let you go and it was your turn to lead Aemond by the hand.

The weather was hot. But summer would eventually break. By the time winter came you intended to know all sorts of new ways to keep warm.

[confield]

Here's a PSA alright most crust punk guys are pretty gross looking. There's a reason you see drawings of guys in those bands covered in flies all the time ok this is the genre of White Guy with Dreads. Alright. There is no heartthrob here. When my gf was at Skullfest she commented on how there were 0 cute guys there and she thought it was really funny. If you're looking for cute punk boys you gotta go somewhere else I mean this in the nicest way possible okay. These guys looked like you pulled them out of the shower drain by their hair. The aesthetic pictures of smooth skinned twinks wearing Zyanose patches are a psyop you gotta go elsewhere they don't exist. The actual guys in Zyanose have like 10 teeth in total spread across all their members

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒑

╰┈➤ ❝ yoichi isagi x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), aged-up isagi (obv), snowed in, kissing and making out, heavy petting, slight clit play, slight nipple play, slight dry humping, oral (f. receiving), praise, body worship, veerryyyy slight degradation (use of "slut" like twice), overstimulation, use of pet names "baby" "pretty". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : ~1.6k

an : had this queued up for christmas day !!!! as part of the @pixelcafe-network secret santa event, merriesttttttt christmas to @eevees-hobbies !!! 🥰🥰 hoping you like this and that i did isagi justice, i do love him dearly and i was super happy to see him on your list hehe >< sending soooo much love and joy and christmas cheer your way!!!

How it started, you couldn't quite tell. But the colorful sets of fairy lights lining the living room ceiling were all the light you'd left on, and the snow and the wind outside seemed insistent on knocking on your windows. Views were completely blocked out in a full, snow-white color; the heating system was almost doing very little to keep you from thinking about the blizzard outside.

Because it was cold.

And it would have remained cold… that is, had it not been for your boyfriend running his hands all over your clothed body, slipping beneath your shirt at the last minute. His touch was light and gentle, more to ease you into comfort than anything else, really…But you knew he was only teasing. Not to your surprise, his lips were on yours in mere seconds, body shifting to cage you beneath him.

He was warm.

This was warm.

His touches, no matter how feather-light he was dead-set on keeping them, left trails of heat in their wake. It was enough to draw out a shaky breath from you; enough to try—to no avail—to pull away for some more air.

He wouldn't quite let you.

Instead, you felt the corners of his lips curl up into a smirk, and it was warmth enough that you could melt.

"Mmfph—Yoi…chi…!"

His hands lay deftly beneath your sweater as he kissed you, tracing soft patterns into your skin. But even speaking was barely an option; a muffled "Mmm… Shh, m'tryin' to keep you warm…." was all you got in reply before his lips crashed back into yours.

Eyes closed, moans and gasps swallowed into the way you couldn't keep your hands off each other. And his hips moved to settle between your legs— Not warm enough, was what you figured he was thinking.

Because a low moan tore from your throat as he moved to grind against you, the outline of his bulge neatly slotting itself between the clothed shape of your folds. "Fuck, shit, baby…." he murmured against your lips, grunting with every rutting motion that he couldn't help himself from making. "Feels so good… Mmh, shit, m'never gettin' enough of your pussy—"

You could lose yourself in this. Even as he trailed kisses down the side of your jaw, relishing the way you arched yourself up into him, matching the now-frantic rolling of hips against hips… Even as your mind began to slowly peel away the layers of the reality around you, leaving only… him.

Him, him, him, him, him.

And when he looked at you then, a thin string of saliva connected his swollen lips to the patch on your neck where he'd just now left a stinging, red mark. His hips slowed down, but he was breathless when he spoke next—

"Baby, can I taste you?"

He licked his lips at the mere thought, eyes clouding with lust and desire in that oh-so-familiar way you knew well enough. The image before you made you swoon; you could feel the wetness pooling into your panties, practically smearing arousal on the fabric.

But he wasn't finished speaking.

Instead, he trailed a hand lower, lower—

The pads of his fingers caressed the skin of your stomach, before reaching down to cup your mound.

"It's just… You're so beautiful, baby."

He could groan at the mere sight of you.

"Makes me wanna do all sorts of stuff to you, and worship you… And, shit—you know I love your taste."

Slow caresses over your panties had your hips bucking. He knew your body by heart; could easily glide over the seeping wetness to rub tight circles over your clit. Obscene squelching noises echoed out with every movement, and it didn't take long for your eyes to shut, lips parted in pleasurable moans.

"Yeahhh, that's my pretty baby…"

He pressed into your panties as he leaned down, nuzzling against your breasts, your stomach, your thighs—"So fuckin' pretty."

He looked up to give you a silly grin, nearly sighing at the sight of the blush tinting your cheeks.

And before he would slot himself between your legs, right where he wanted to be, he leaned up to give you another kiss. It was sloppier this time, not much concerned with any technique, just clearly wanted to have his lips on yours once more—his hand reached up, stroking your curls, sighing into the kiss.

"God, I love you." He murmured when he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. "Y'know that, right? I'm so damn lucky to have you. Thanks for always being with me, baby…"

His words made you smile, and it was your turn to reach out to cup his face.

No words needed to be shared, not really—even without all the sappy confessions, you'd have known the truth of those words either way.

But you nuzzled against his nose, and said it anyway:

"I love you too, Yoichi."

He chuckled against your lips, planting another quick kiss. "Yeah? Now m'gonna want to kiss you all over…"

He was true to his word—lips back to trailing over every inch of your exposed skin, hands sliding back up your sweater to knead at your breasts. He'd sneak in a lick against your hardened nipples, wetting the fabric of your sweater in the process, but nearly grinning at the resulting visible outline of your peaks.

With every moan and buck of your hips in response, his touches and kisses grew more daring—worshiping every inch that he could, leaving a spark of heat to settle into your skin.

And then his hands intertwined with yours as he kissed atop your mound, slowly inching towards your clit. Your legs moved to rest on his shoulders, and he looked at you—there was a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "You don't mind me spendin' hours here, right?" he joked, giving your hands a squeeze.

It made you laugh, because it was just so like him to want to, but—his tongue darted out, licking a stripe over your panties, tasting the wetness that had completely coated it. The laugh quickly turned into a moan. It was a sensation that made you jolt, nearly closing your legs, and he looked at you with a pout. As if to retaliate, he pushed his nose right up against your clit, and gave you another lick. And another. And another.

"Open up, pretty," he mumbled.

It was difficult.

Every lick he made against your cunt drove the fabric of your panties right into you, clinging to your folds and nearly melting into it enough that it might as well have not been there. The added friction it provided was perfect, the sensations forcing your thighs to close around him—

"No no no, pretty baby… Y'gotta keep them open f'me…"

His hands left yours to spread your legs open, pinning them to the mattress.

A smile played at his lips.

"See? Just like this. All spread out like a good girl…" He placed a kiss to your clit, and momentarily slid a hand down to push your panties to the side.

He licked his lips.

"You're such a slut for me, baby, look at how wet you are… It's perfect…"

You keened.

A whimper fell from your lips at the use of the term, pussy fluttering around virtually nothing.

He chuckled, because he knew it was what you wanted—but he didn't quite repeat himself.

Instead, with no more use for words, he buried his face into your cunt, licking and slurping up all of the juice that you could offer him.

He was right, of course; he could absolutely spend hours here between your legs, and you would let him.

"Y-yoi—Yoichi—!"

Broken cries of his name began to fall from your lips in an instant, grinding your clit into his nose, allowing is tongue to dig into your hole and take in every last drop. He would suck, coaxing as much as he could, lewd squelches echoing in the room and mixing in with your moans like a symphony to his ears.

"Mmmm, such a tasty pussy," came his muffled voice, eyes closed as he lost himself in you.

It was sticky, and messy, and obscene—

Your hands moved to grip his hair, pulling him against you as your hips moved, and his nails nearly dug into your thighs.

"Ichi!" you cried out, arching your back.

His mouth moved over your clit to suck, tongue flicking side to side in the way he knew you liked it best.

"I-Ichi! I-I'm gonna—!"

He didn't stop.

Wouldn't stop.

Not even as your thighs shook in your orgasm, pussy twitching, a long, drawn-out moan escaping your lips.

Tears pricked at your eyes as he kept going, licking, and sucking, and gulping down your juices—

"M'not done, baby. Be a good slut f'me and lemme eat s'more."

He said it again.

You cried out.

The phrase tumbled around in your mind, almost as if planting itself right in there, and you were sensitive, and swollen. But he liked it that way—and it felt so, so, so good. You almost felt yourself get wetter at his words, sopping wet, and it was more than enough to spur him to take even more.

At this point? You were well aware that he'd meant it.

He might as well spend his hours eating you out—

At least it would keep you warm.

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[urlovebot]

༊*·˚ hold me

alpha!gf!bada....

c/w: gp!bada... alpha bada... rough, possessive gf bada. fingering. knotting. lots of cum... mild marking. mentions of breeding and pregnancy....

a/n: uhm... merry christmas! @princhii @thevenussapphic

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

“do you think these are cute?” you hold the items up to bada, awaiting a response.

bada is extremely distracted right now. there is a man staring at you from across the aisle and something about it is making bada’s head spin. after he stops practically eye fucking you, he meets bada’s and his face pales a bit. bada’s eyes narrow and she steps impossibly close to you, watching him until he walks to the next aisle.

“… are you good.”

bada’s head whips to yours and she realizes just how close she had actually gotten. she was nearly squishing you against the clothing rack.

“shit— sorry. sorry baby,” bada steps back, “they’re really cute. you wanna go try them on for me?”

bada watches as you nod and bounce away. she felt odd. like… like there was something coursing through her that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. she followed you into the dressing room, sitting on the stool in the corner.

you make quick work changing out of your current clothes and into the white dress that caught your girlfriends eye. when you face the mirror, you spot bada behind you, scanning your figure up and down. she takes her lip between her teeth. when her eyes reach yours, her eyes a slightly hooded and have the slighted glaze over them.

“you look great, baby. spin for me?”

you do as your told, spinning until bada’s hands catch your hips. she pulls you on top of her lap. her eyes focus on your figure once again, stopping when they see how your breasts almost spill out of your low cut top. she licks her lips— you look fucking delicious

“you look so pretty today, angel.” bada’s eyes flick back up to yours. she moves one hand from your hips up to cup your jaw. she pulls you in for a searing kiss, tongue licking against your own. you feel her hips buck up into yours and she lets out a quiet hiss.

“so fucking pretty for me.” she continues her assault on your lips and pushes you down into her lap. her head is spinning and she feels like she’s floating. bada continues moving your hips back and forth on her lap, pushing up into you, fighting for any sort of friction for her weeping cock-

“shit- shit, princess. keep grinding on me like that. please, baby.”

you pull away from bada slightly, just enough to utter a couple words,

“we can’t bada. we’re in public-”

bada lets out a loud, loud whine. her hips stutter as she fucks her hips against your clothed lower half. the grip on your hip tightens so much bada distantly thinks of how her fingertips might leave marks on you which only spurs her on further.

“f-fuck. please baby. i need it.” she whispers against your mouth, eyes welling up with tears.

your hand goes up to cup bada’s forehead-

“you’re burning up. are you okay?”

bada’s hand leaves your jaw and stops at your throat, squeezing lightly. she pulls away from you with spit slicked lips. she takes all of you in, the way you look just slightly fucked out. the way you’re gripping onto her shoulders as she guides your hips to rub up against her own.

you let out a weak whine, “bada-”

and bada’s eyes roll to the back of her fucking head. her mouth opens in a silent moan, entire body tensing as she creams her pants, hips slowly rolling into your own as she draws out her orgasm. and you feel the wet patch before it even connects in your brain exactly what just happened.

needless to say you both quickly left the shop, an embarrassed bada trailing behind you, holding you against her body as you walk out.

you guys dont discuss it any further.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

three days later you find yourself trapped under bada as she subconsciously buries her face into your neck. your hands rub up and down her back,

“bada..?”

she groans a little in defiance.

“c’mon you big baby, wake up. i’m dying.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, she just shoves her face further into your skin. after a couple moments, you switch to lightly raking your nails against the fabric of her shirt.

you hear her hiss and feel her pull herself up. she positions herself so that she’s fully hovering over you. she’s got a lopsided grin on her face,

“g’morning baby.”

bada’s arms cage the sides of your head as she leans down to press a kiss to your lips. she pulls away but something in her brain short circuits when she tastes your lips. she immediately swoops back down to kiss you again, one hand cradling your head. she kisses down your jaw, down your neck,, and stops at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. you feel her sigh into your neck,

“i’m gonna call out today.”

you run your fingers through her hair,

“you okay?”

“yeah i just..” she croaks out, voice scratchy from sleep, “i just feel like i need to be close to you right now.”

she leaves soft kisses against your skin. she distantly wonders why she feels like she’s gonna die if she’s more than 6ft away from you, but all thoughts are thrown to the window when you decide to scratch her scalp with your nails.

“feels so good, baby. thank you.”

you continue running your nails across her scalp. she’d been so clingy lately, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for her. she’d been a little more lazy, a little slower in her movements.

“you smell so fucking good, y/n.”

you push her off of you and giggle,

“im gonna go try and make us breakfast—” badas eyes light up but you raise your hands up, “dont get your hopes up. we’ll probably have to order in anyway. i am no chef.”

as you shimmy your way out of bed, bada takes in the way your hips sway when you walk. they way her shirt reaches just below your ass. she can kinda see your curves through the fabric of her shirt—

bada feels herself sweat as the thinks about taking you just like that. raising her shirt up. pulling your flimsy panties to the side and fucking you full of her. she wonders, distantly, how well you’d take her knot.

well, fuck. bada throws herself back into bed as she comes to her realization— shes in a rut.

she stays like that for about 15 minutes. she tries really, really hard to push those thoughts down and be normal. but then she hears pans clanking in the kitchen and she remembers you’re there and her feet guide her to you, without thought.

when bada reaches her destination, she leans against the door frame. she’s been doing alot of admiring lately. this time she admires your legs and how your thighs rub together when you walk. she wonders how they’d feel wrapped around her head—

“fuck it.” she mutters.

you hear her, feel her before you see her. her hands grip your waist as she flips you to face her and lifts you to place you on the counter. when you take in her appearance, shes flushed from neck up. sweat beads at her forehead. her pupils are blown wide and her mouth is open in a slight pant. her tongue darts out to wet her lips as her eyes flick from your own down to your lips.

“i need you,” her voice cracks in need, “are you gonna let me have you, baby?”

your skin pricks with sweat too, almost mirroring your partners. its then you have the realization as well. how clingy bada has been, how needy she is, how domineering shes been with you. the way she’s dressed you for the past week— baggy clothes… her clothes. you realize now she’s been marking you for the past week, putting extra on your plate. covering you up more, making sure you were warm and comfortable.

“bada are you-”

“yes— yes. tell me i can take you. tell me you want it, pretty girl. tell me you need it.”

bada’s eyes shift into something less desperate, more dangerous. her hands grip your hips and pull you into her own and you feel it. a cock, hot, heavy. waiting for you. you whine out upon contact,

“i need it bada, please.”

bada lets out a dark chuckle,

“so polite. so easy.”

she presses her lips against yours, calculated and smooth. her mouth molds against your own and you feel her pant each time she pulls away. her lips are more needy than the last each time she goes back in and eventually she nips at your bottom lip hard enough for you to physically wince. your eyes squeeze shut and tears prick your eyes.

“shit- sorry… fuck— no i’m not. you look so pretty like that.”

her kisses continue down your neck,

“’wanna make you cry today-,” she sighs into your neck, thinking of all the ways she’s gonna make you feel good tonight. one hand travels from your hip up to your neck, the other dips its fingers in your underwear. she forces you to look at her as she inserts two fingers inside of you, her thumb rubbing slow circles into your clit.

“gonna make you sob while i make it fit.”

her fingers crook up inside of you, rubbing against your gummy walls. you’re so wet that you can hear squelching as she fucks her fingers inside of you. she inserts a third as soon as she feels you relax,

“you’re gonna take it all for me today, right princess?” she presses a kiss to your lips when you nod in response,

“you wanna make me happy don’t you?”

and its almost as if your body is molding to her every will. your neck bares for her, almost presenting yourself for her. you do want to make her happy. your brain wills for you to do everything in your power to make her happy right now. your brain was so cloudy and—

“poor baby. it’s okay,” bada grins, she loved when you were like this. it made her feel useful. powerful.

your legs instinctively spread more for her and she inserts a fourth finger. tears well up in your eyes and bada kisses them as they fall,

“don’t want you to hurt too bad baby.”

once she thinks you're stretched enough, pulls her sweats down just enough to accompany her cock, she guides it into your cunt, groaning as she pushes in. your eyes begin to close but she taps you on your cheek to grab your attention,

"look at me while i stretch you out, angel."

your brows furrow together as you do your best to keep your eyes open as you take her, inch by inch. as soon as she's finished pushing into you, she gives you a sloppy kiss on the lips,

"i'm gonna make you feel so fucking good baby, just relax for me."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

it started out so soft. so caring. after round 3, bada stopped caring. stopped being so soft.

“’fuckin— shit— fuckin take it baby. like a good girl would.”

bada’s got her arm wrapped so tightly around your neck your ears are nearly ringing.

the first round she fucked you on the counter, whispering how nice you felt around her. round two was in the hallway, against the wall. she held you up with your legs wrapped around her and praised you on how good you were being. round three was on the bed, plush blankets surrounding you while your hair was splayed around you like a halo. she told you how proud of you she was, how it was just gonna be a little more.

now she’s impatient. the only thought in her brain was to breed you, make you hers. fuck you full of her cum. ruin you for other people.

after the last round she’d flipped you so that your stomach was against the bed. she’d pulled your hips up to meet her own but you’d made the mistake of clawing the sheets, almost like you were trying to run away.

bada didn’t like that.

she wraped her arm around your neck and yanked you up against her. your arms couldnt find purchase anywhere other than gripping her forearm. tears were streaming down your face. you felt so fucking full. cum was leaking out of you with every thrust.

“’s too much baby— please.”

bada kisses your temple in response,

“jus’ a little more.” bada groans out, “you’re so fucking ungrateful. maybe a knot would shut you the fuck up—” and bada’s eyes roll to the back of her head at the thought of it. she needed to so fucking bad. she kept cumming and cumming but felt no relief. she needed to knot you, she needed to plug you full just for her.

“you’re gonna look so pretty, angel. covered in my cum. wish i could take a picture and post it for everyone to see.”

bada’s hips stutter as she feels you clench around her. she swears she feels the beginning of a knot form.

“’m gonna cum in you again. ‘should cum on you this time. make you reek of me.”

bada releases you from her hold in favor of pressing you back into the mattress, muffling your yelps and moans.

“bet you’d like that. being covered in my spunk. at the end of the day, you’re my pretty, pretty, cum hungry whore. god—”

bada grasps at your hips, grinding her cock into you. your hands grip the sheets above you as you feel her knot catch at your opening. she fucks deeper into you,

“bet you wanna hang off my knot everyday. get fucked and bred morning and night.”

she leans down and intertwines your fingers with her own. her lips graze your ear as she whispers,

“i’d do it for you, too.”

and at this point, shes stuck inside of you, ready to burst. her brain is like mush as she keeps trying to get friction by grinding into you,

“id fuck you all day if i could. force myself into this pretty little pussy from the time i wake up until i’ve fucked you back to sleep. could spend hours in this cunt.”

her teeth graze the juncture between your neck and shoulder. a warning. a threat. a promise.

“wanna get you pregnant— fuck you full of my babies.”

bada can feel the beginnings of her orgasm begin, pleasure licking up her spine.

“i want it, bada. i’d do anything for you. anything to make you happy. please fuck me full. get me— ah fuck— get me pregnant. please bada please—”

bada’s eyes roll and her body tenses up as please wracks through her veins. her vision blurs and her hands grip yours so hard its starting to hurt. shes letting out airy whines and the occassional grunt as she empties herself inside of you. her head spins and she tries to ground herself by pressing kisses along your shoulder but, god, she feels like shes fucking floating.

you, on the other hand, felt like you were going to burst. you felt every spurt of cum inside of you. she was just pumping you full of her seed and it made you feel… good. warm. fuzzy. you could feel her big frame surround you as she nearly sobbed into your neck as she busts inside of you.

eventually, her hips stop stuttering and her cries turn into sniffles. her body relaxes into yours and her once stiff hands mold into your own, the grip significantly softer this time.

a couple minutes pass as you both relax a bit. bada speaks up,

“you okay, angel?” her thumb glides across your knuckles. her lips press soft kisses against the back of your neck.

“mhm… you’re heavy though.”

bada chuckles and removes her hands from yours. she peels herself up and repositions you two so that you’re both laying on your sides.

“i should chose a more… uhm.. comfortable position to.. uh..”

you roll your eyes. she cannot be serious right now.

“are you fucking stuttering right now.”

“no! no— i. i am not stuttering i’m just…” she trails off, embarrassed. she shoves her face into your neck,

“can i please catch a break? i just came like four times baby PLEASE—”

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: thank you for your patience with me while i was gone!! im back and with gp!bada nonetheless... please please please give me feedback on this. i've never fully written gp! so do let me know if you liked, disliked, etc! thank you 🫶🏽 missed you all fr 🌟

[makrustic]

I want to start drawing landscape. Do you have any tips?

Took me a while to answer this (sorry anon)! Drawing landscapes for me are mostly just a matter of doing a few 'art studies' and a bit of imitating life. Here's a brief rundown of my process. I find that I learn best when I see a picture or a reference that really tickles my fancy, like these ones! First image for it's colors, and the second for it's composition.

And then I pull up the dreaded white canvas on start on a rough idea or just start dribbling out the basics: composition, a bit of color, general shapes, etc. If you have a hard time doing general landscapes, don't worry! Imagine breaking it down like this: You layer on some general colors and shapes; don't be afraid to make mistakes, you can always go back to it! Be loose and organic with it at first, we're not striving for detail yet, and just let that brush move freely. And once you got the shapes down, you can go back and forth in the canvas to start detailing. I find that it's best if you really look into how some things are "made". Like for example, how that patch of grass in your reference is made: 'is it layered? does it have some shiny bits in it that I wanna highlight? are the blades of grass sharp enough to individually detail or more clumped up together to just put in a sorta grassy blob?'. Also, don't be afraid to experiment a bit. Try putting some highlights around the edges to make it pop out more, or try putting small changes in the color you're working with; something that's close but still different, so that it compliments each other! Then it's just a matter of going forward with it; see what you like and what you wanna keep and imitate, see what you want to change or maybe just leave out on. Keep on detailing and going until you're happy with it!

This is a really brief rundown and explanation of a process that can be entire unique to each and everyone of us, and takes a bit of time and practice to pull off. But I believe in you! We all start from somewhere, sometime down the line; and that can start right now if you want it to! Goodluck to any artists out there who wanna try out landscapes. It's a fun and comforting process of organic and loose art that breathes in a lot of life in some people, especially me. Twitter | Prints | Ko-Fi | Patreon

[vroomvroomwee]

Aziraphale's vest

I'd like to take a second and talk about his vest because I think it's a really good metaphor for Aziraphale's internal feelings.

At first glance it's obvious the vest is quite old. Really old in fact if you note the way it's practically disintegrating.

And it got me thinking a bit. The way the white practically bleeds from the edges of the neck, shoulders and buttons, going further and further, one day if he's persistent enough to wear it, it might even take over the entire vest. You could say that that, somehow, mirrors Heavens influence over Aziraphale. Slowly, slowly, biding their time, until it has completely ridden him of any colour. Until it has completely washed him of his identity, of his originality, of his character.

Take a look at his clothing when he's up in Heaven.

Completely and utterly white. Every piece of clothing he's wearing is pure and untarnished white. Upon entering Heaven, against his own accord, it has stripped him of his uniqueness, of anything that might distinguish him from any other angel who blindly follows orders and who's sole purpose is to do Heavens bidding.

Now, he could miracle the white patches on the vest away easily. But he doesn't want to.

The thing is. He likes the imperfect. He likes partaking in human activities and pleasures, like food, music, etc. Likes to indulge himself in earthly things Heaven would label as sinful or "sullying." And as someone who bas been on the receiving end of Heavens ridicule and passive aggression for millenia, as someone who for centuries has been told that he's underperforming and needs to do better, as someone who is all too aware of his own impurity by the standards an angel should hold and of the quite frankly unholy behaviour in performing immoral temptations and directly going against Heavens orders no more than a few times throughout the eras, it's no wonder he finds comfort in the imperfect.

He keeps the deteriorating edges because they are a perfect representation of his own internal feelings and image. After all, there's no rule that says he can't. And a big kudos to the costume department, for the patches perfectly encapsulate his religious trauma. Without it, he would probably be a very different person. He wouldn't be the same Aziraphale we know and love. The same way he likes being old-fashioned with his clothes and how that is a part of who he is, his trauma is a part of him as well, along with Heavens influence that has shaped him into who he is today, whether he likes it or not.

Every part of the vest illustrates Aziraphale's character and internal feelings, which brings me to another point I want to draw attention to, and that is the BACK of the vest.

It's DARK. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say that most of us didn't expect it to look like that from behind. We all just assumed that it would be the same beige colour as the front, which is in tune with the rest of his attire. After all, seeing him wearing a dozen different outfits all throughout history, all of them some shade of white, it was the logical conclusion.

But no.

It's not white. It's a dark, slightly viridian or a dark blue colour. "Dark blue suggests a more mysterious depth or ominous quality. Power and authority: Dark blue signifies power and responsibility. "

Not what we would have expected that colour at all. Similarly to how one wouldn't expect an angel to perform temptations or be gluttonous, or envious, or slothful, or hedonistic. Not at first glance anyway.

Not unless you look carefully.

Not unless you know him.

The coat almost acts like a cover. The light over the dark. Almost as if it's trying to hide something. The only times we see Aziraphale not wearing the coat is in his bookshop. Which is logical, of course. You wouldn't wear a coat indoors, obviously. Except he DOES. He wears the coat when he and Crowley are drunk, he wears it when he's reading Agnes Nutter, he wears it when Gabriel and Sandalphon pop in, he wears it when he's talking to the Metatron, he wears it when he's listening to Shostakovich, he even wears it at the Ritz where it would be custom to take off your coat while dining. And it's worth noting that during the events happening (at least in the first season), the season is summer. Which would make it quite ridiculous to be wearing so many layers everywhere you go and therefore risk boiling. But he still wears the coat.

The only times he doesn't wear it is in the first episode after the sushi, when he's all ALONE, and in season 2 at the bookshop when Crowley comes back and in 1941.

And there's something oh so personal about that.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the darker part is specifically the back of the vest. There's always been this natural human instinct to protect yourself by never ever turning your back on a foe. And I don't think this is a conscious effort on Aziraphale's part, but rather genius writing, directing and costume design, and anyone who's watched and read Good Omens knows that almost nothing is coincidental.

Note this is probably the first time Aziraphale has called Crowley his friend, seeing how uncertain and doubtful he was to even say the word in this scene and how quick he was to deny their friendship in the Shakespeare scene. And the camera immediately cuts from Crowley to Aziraphale, who is turned away, whose back is turned to Crowley oh so casually without a care in the world. Just before he calls him his friend. His back is turned, and so is the dark part of his vest.

The dark part he only shows in his bookshop, when he's alone and there's no one there. The part that he now only shows to Crowley as well. Crowley who knows him so well and who's been with him through everything. "I won't tell anyone if you won't." And "you said trust me""and you did". Just this small motion of Aziraphale depicts exactly how much trust he has in Crowley not only that he'll keep him safe and protected but to accept him just as he is, to not judge him, to not demean him for his imperfections as an angel. Practically mirroring Crowley's self-protection mechanism that is reflected in his motions to hide his eyes with his sunglasses (there's a wonderful meta on this by @simply-brightly-zee here )

And it might just be clothing, or it might just be genius symbolism, but note how self-aware Aziraphale is of his looks when Gabriel pops up.

The desire to impress is almost unconscious in this scene, and how does he go about doing it? By making sure he looks presentable. Presentable, despite the white patches and the vest that is falling apart, he doesn't even realise it. Therefore, it's clear Aziraphale puts thought into his clothes, whether consciously or unconsciously.

I personally dont think any of this (the coat, the patches, the way he turns his back, when, where and around who he's most comfortable) is a deliberate and intentional act on Aziraphales part but rather creative brilliance from the directors and producers. So him being shown to expose the back of the vest only in scenes with Crowley (and the one in s2 infront of an amnesiac Gabriel with the intelligence and awareness of a squirrel) is a master move on the costume department's part. The symbolusm being so small and imperceptible, but holding so much meaning. This small metaphor shows how much Aziraphale trusts Crowley and how comfortable he is around him. Crowley who knows about Aziraphale's transgressions, sins, unholy behaviours, lack of interest and dedication to his job, and overall "incompetence" as Aziraphale might put it and how he's "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing". Crowley, who will accept him and love him no matter what. Not despite those things, but because of those things.

They have found their "own side".

Edit: Not that important, but I just want to mention how, despite being tattered and falling apart, the vest is still in perfectly good condition. No matter the white seeping in and draining its colour, the vest doesn't have a single seam torn, not a button lost, perfect as the day it was bought. No matter what it's been put through, it's still kicking, whether by miracle or sheer willpower. Very much like the person wearing it.

[sylver-star]

⭑.ᐟ Nail Polish - Chwe Vernon

genre: blurb, fluff, established relationship word count: 496 warnings: none rating: PG / SFW

Disclaimer: My works are fictional and do not reflect real-life situations, cultures, or individuals. All characters are purely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Neither of you have had a craft day since you were kids, but the sudden urge was too powerful to ignore. So, you and Vernon are now sitting on the floor, making bracelets and putting patches on your clothes. It started out as you needing to mend a pair of jeans, which led to Vernon sitting down next to you with a box of beads that he "borrowed" from Joshua.

"Look at this one." Vernon holds up a newly made bracelet.

The beads are black and red, but in the middle there are a few white ones with letters on them. "L U V U".

"Luvu?" You snort.

"Love. You," he corrects. "It's cute!"

"It looks like it says luvu," you continue to tease him, but feel a little bad when you look at his disappointed expression. "I luvu you too, though."

Now it was Vernon's turn to snort. He put the bracelet on the floor in front of him, and you put down whatever you're working on to pick it up. You open the clasp and put it over your wrist, which you hold out to Vernon.

"Clasp it for me? Please?"

"You don't have to wear it," he says.

"I want to. Now, clasp it already. I can't do it myself."

He does as you ask, and you happily look at the red and black bracelet. "It's never coming off, just so you know."

"Dork."

"Nerd."

The two of you chuckle and return to your crafts. You've just finished sewing on a patch to Vernon's jean jacket. It was probably too expensive for you to ever afford, but Vernon was adamant that you sew on a patch for him. You hold it up for him to see.

"Oh, that's sick! How did you do the stars? Did you buy a special pen or something?" He reaches out to touch it, but you quickly pull it back.

"Nail polish," you correct him. "And I don't think it's dry yet."

He leans over and looks a bit closer at the design. "You should paint my nails to match."

That's how you end up with Vernon's hands in your lap, a thin brush with black nail polish carefully drawing stars on his nails. As you finish up the final nail, he holds his fingers up to the light.

"That's really cool." He nods in approval.

Some of his nails are completely painted black - a sign of your mistakes - but most have one star covering each of them. "And it'll match the jacket," you add.

"You make me a cooler person," he says, and can't help but laugh at how silly it sounds.

"Please." You roll your eyes, but a part of you feels proud. And you know that you will soon see photos of him, zoomed in on his nails and the details on his jacket, and be able to read the comments thanking his stylist - which just happened to be you.

[toxicanonymity]

Hunger.

7k, raider!Joel x f!reader

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

raider playlist 🖤sweet pea (smutty)

SUMMARY: Joel takes you on an eventful trek. You have a bit of a meltdown and he comforts you in a way he hadn't before. He kills a guy. And later, Joel finally goes down on you because he craves you and can't physically resist. WARNINGS: I8+ oral f receiving 🎉, unsafe P in V, creampie, jacking off, brief violence (og raider typical?), hurt/comfort, neglected animal (he's ok), angst, dark fluff, emotional tension, POV changes. A/N: 1/3 smut. Can read alone - Joel has been resisting the urge to kiss you. Carter is Joel's right-hand man. Jack was your bf Joel killed. Happy 6 months to the 1st raider Joel fic, have some oral.

—You 🌸🫛—

You're reading in a clover patch at one end of the trailer while Joel chops wood. Two of his men come up the hill, and Joel tells you to stay put while he talks to them. Even when Joel addresses you, they don't look in your direction. They stay in the doorway of the trailer. You put your book face down and start looking at the clovers while you try to eavesdrop.  You can't hear what they're saying, but it sounds like someone might have tampered with one of the vans. You brush your hand through the leaves, and one catches your eye. Without plucking it, you gently separate it from the others to make sure it's not an illusion. There really are four leaves. You smile and get down on your stomach to look at it. You think about leaving it so it can grow more. That's what you did when you found one earlier in the week, but you pluck this one.

The men go back down the hill, and Joel goes inside for a moment before emerging again. You're laying the clover leaves flat between the pages of your book when Joel calls you inside. Then he leans against the trailer with an arm above his head, the side of his wrist resting near the top of the door frame as he waits for you.  He's wearing a body holster now. "C'mon, let's go," he shouts so you can hear him. 

"Ok," you call. 

You just want to finish pressing the clover into the page, but he rushes you: "Now." 

"What for," you ask.

"Cause I said." He disappears inside, and his back looks so broad, framed by the holster straps. 

You come in and pout in the window nook with your book closed, waiting for him to explain. There's a belt on the kitchen table.  Joel emerges from the bedroom and tells you he's going down the hill to help fix the van, and you're coming.  

“you good in that?” he asks, looking at your spaghetti strap dress. You nod. You like the dresses he gave you, and it’s still warm enough, you think.  He confirms, “Sure ya won’t be cold?” and you nod. He seems glad. 

He approaches the kitchen table holding something strappy and leather. He pulls out a chair and faces you in the window nook. 

"C'mere," he says. "Gonna carry your gun today." 

"Oh," you put down the book. Sounds exciting. Sounds like he trusts you. "Yeah, sure," you try to play it cool. He takes your knees and swings your legs toward him. 

"Gonna see if this piece'a shit's worth anything. If not, ya wear mine okay?" He thumbs the shoulder strap of his holster. 

You frown and mutter, "I like when you wear it," eyeing the muscles straining his white shirt.  He suppresses a smile, but you see it in his eyes. 

"Gimme your leg," he commands. You give him your leg on your shooting side. You watch his face. He has a toothpick behind his ear.  He bends your knee and puts your foot on his thigh. He lets the skirt of your dress fall all the way down your raised leg, exposing your panties. His eyes linger there, and he draws in a slow breath as he unbuckles the strap of the holster. He wraps the strap around your thigh and mutters, "good."  He slides the strap into the buckle, then tightens it. "Too tight?" He asks. 

"No."

He fastens the buckle on your inner thigh, and his massive hands map your thigh, checking the fit. You flinch in pleasure as his fingers graze the edge of your panties.

There's a long ribbon dangling from the other end of the holster where another strap should be. He laces it through two hand made grommets on each side. There are two more empty holes on the top of each side. 

"Here," you offer and take both ends of the ribbon from him. You tie it in a bow on the outside of your thigh. 

"That gonna hold?" He asks. 

You shrug. "Feels ok, what do you think?"

He's not listening. His eyes have returned between your legs. You spread them a little more, and innocently widen your eyes. He wets his lips, and his gaze remains for another inhale, then he pries his eyes away, sticks the toothpick in his mouth, and lets your foot down.  You stand up and he hands you your gun, then adjusts himself, quickly cupping his crotch through his pants as you slide the gun into the holster. 

"Walk," he mumbles. 

You walk the length of the kitchen. 

It's a weird sensation, having one of your legs burdened by a weight while the other one is free. But aside from that, it's fine. 

"Alright?" He asks.

"Yeah." 

He nods, "Good. C'mere."  You stand right in front of him, between his knees. "Hold your dress up for me."

You hold it up over the holster. 

"Higher. Belly button." 

He grabs the belt from the table and when he picks it up, ribbons are dangling from its holes. The ribbons have their ends burned and melted like a shoelace for threading.  He fastens the belt securely around your bare middle, then threads the loose ribbons through the empty grommets on the top of the holster and secures them. 

He turns you to the side, tugs at the ribbon, and mutters, "good." Then he can't help but grab a handful of ass, and your bottom lip creeps under your teeth.

As he turns you to face him again, he takes the toothpick out of his mouth and gives you a serious look. "Comin' with me today, sweet pea. Ya do what I say, understand?"

You nod.

"I say get outta here, ya run. I say stay put, ya don't fuckin' move." 

"Got it."

—-

He puts the toothpick behind his ear and picks up a few pieces of jerky off the counter as he stands up. He hands you a piece. 

You take a bite and chew it as you walk down the hill. You watch his jaw flex when he chews.  You tell him, "This one's good."

"Cause Carter made it," Joel notes.  You cringe at yourself,but he doesn't seem offended. "Turkey," he adds. 

Turkey, that's why. Much better than venison. You haven't had poultry in a while, not even grouse. Traps have been empty. 

"I love yours," you tell him. 

Joel gives you an appreciative pat on the back of your head, then his hand trails down your back, over the swell of your ass. He slides his hand under your dress and palms your butt cheek. He lifts it, then lets it drop. 

Joel brings you around the front of the stash house where the vans are normally parked and tells you to wait. There’s only one van. One of the other guys took the second van to get gas and isn’t back yet. 

You reach under your dress and adjust the holster as you sit down on a patch of grass to watch. Joel's muscles glisten and flex as he lifts the hood of the van and props it open. He looks around the inside of the van and dabs his head with a bandana that he tucks back into his pocket . He looks under the van while you pick tall blades of grass and braid them together. 

When he's done, he tells you they need a part. Need to go to the junkyard and see if they can find one. You’re going with him and Carter on foot.

—

The junkyard is a few miles on the other side of Joel’s trailer. You go down that side of the hill and walk through the abandoned mobile home park to get there. It’s the first time you’ve seen most of it close-up, aside from through the scope of Joel’s rifle. The rest of the journey is mostly on a dirt road, and you have to climb through a fence to get into the junkyard. 

It feels like you’re there for a long time. You hear the weak bark of a dog in the distance. Joel thinks it’s coming from the woods. It stops.  There’s a house that looks abandoned, but Joel thinks there might be junkies in it. He says they gather around there. He’s even found one sleeping in a car. When Carter finds a part they think will work, they have trouble taking it off the truck. They don’t have the right tools. Brute force isn’t an option because it could easily break. 

The three of you cautiously approach the house and the barking starts again. The structure is run down, and the windows are busted out. It’s small, can’t be more than a couple of rooms. 

—--

As Carter sweeps the house, you go around back with Joel, and there's the dog. He's skinny and his bark is weak and strained. He's chained to a pipe on the side of the house. The pipe has been pulled a little bit outward so it's leaning, but he wasn't strong enough to free himself. He's a scrappy little mutt with a floppy ear. Probably less than 20 lbs (9 kg). You and Joel both stare at the dog, then Carter calls from inside, “Miller!”

Joel looks around to make sure you’ll be alright for a minute. “Don’t move. Stay alert. Hand on your gun.” 

As Joel goes inside,  Carter says, “Think he’s alive.” 

“Infected?”Joel asks. 

“Nah, see the track marks?”

“Piece’a shit left his dog to die.” 

Outside, the dog watches you. He sits attentively with his head down.  You put on a soothing voice for him. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doin'?" He lowers his head almost to the ground as he slowly stretches his arms out, then his tail starts to wag hesitantly, staying close to the ground. He begins to whine.  There are a couple of bones behind him with no meat left on them at all. 

Carter comes out to watch you.  There's a metal bowl upside down out of the dog's reach.  "He needs water," you say. Carter looks around then reaches into his backpack and hands you his water. You pour some into the dish for the dog, and his tail begins to wag with more pep. When you reach out to touch the dog, he flinches and backs away, then cautiously returns and gets closer to you than he was. 

Carter gets closer, and when he reaches out for the dog, it growls and barks ferociously. Carter isn't afraid–it's too small to be afraid of. He reaches for the dog's collar and the dog chomps his hand with a vicious growl, high pitched from his throat. He doesn't want to let go.

"DAMN!" Carter yells. "SHIT," he shakes his hand.

"No," you firmly tell the dog. The dog lowers his stomach onto the ground and raises his brows pathetically with a whine. 

"He's just scared," you tell Carter as he rinses the wound with the rest of his water.

"I know, I know," Carter nods. He puts his water back in his backpack. "Feisty little fucker." He spits on the ground. 

“We’ve gotta get him out of this,” you mutter.  

Carter tries to stop you. “Don’t touch–”

You hold your hand out to the dog, and Carter sighs in resignation. The dog reaches his neck out to sniff you, then licks you. He lets you touch him. Then you touch his collar and he growls, but not as bad. The collar has inner spikes that must be hurting him. It's too big and has some slack hanging down from where it's been tightened.

Joel comes outside with a bag of tools clinking heavily against each other. 

"What the hell's goin' on out here?" You give Carter a hopeful glance and he doesn't snitch on the dog for biting him. 

You look at Joel. "He's gonna die if we don't get him free," you explain.  Joel lunges toward the dog and you try to warn him, "WAIT-"  Joel stops short of bending over and instead looks at you. The dog goes after his ankle, bearing his teeth and going nuts.  Joel shakes his leg free. You tell the dog, “No" and he submits on the ground with a whine. Joel looks at the dog and raises his gun. 

"You wouldn't," you whine. "He's protecting me."

“Course i wouldn’t. Damn.”

Joel steps closer and aims at the drain pipe behind the dog, shooting the chain to break it. It hurts your ears but it works. The dog yelps and skips out from the building, chain dragging behind him. Joel takes the bag of tools back to the truck where they found the part, leaving Carter with you while you try to free the dog. 

"C'mere," you sit back on your knees and open your arms for the dog. With the freedom of movement, you can work the collar off him. The dog whimpers and paws at the collar with you. When he lets out a sharper, high pitched whimper, you freeze as it triggers a memory. Your chest feels hollow and long-buried grief stabs at the backs of your eyes. You push it away. You don't want to cry. You want to be tough and whatever else you need to be for Joel to always take you with him. The dog whimpers again and you return to the task. You free him from the collar and he trots away from the house. 

— Joel ⛓️ —

When he gets back, the dog is playfully pawing at your knees.  You scratch behind his ears and he rolls over. One look at your face and Joel knows what you want. 

"Alright, let's go," Joel says and looks at the ground next to you. He steps forward and the dog growls. "It's ok," you tell the dog and you reach for Joel's hand. 

“Maybe he wants to come with us,” you say as casually as you can. 

Joel clenches his jaw and shakes his head. 

"I can take care of him," you plead, your eyes big and watery. "He's not big, he doesn't need much." 

Joel shifts his weight as he looks at you for a moment. "I know ya get bored-"

"Not because I'm bored," you protest. "He's hungry."

"No," Joel tells you firmly and your tears overflow. God damnit, not here. He's hungry because he was chained. He'll be fine now.

Joel doesn't want to share resources, doesn’t want the barking to attract attention, and doesn’t want someone to come after the dog–after you–if there’s anyone left to come. The junkie inside is as good as dead, but they run in packs and they’re dangerous.  

"It's for your own good, sweet pea.” Joel really thinks it is. 

You shake your head no. "I had one," you sniffle. "Before." 

Joel’s nostrils flare at the shake of your head, then his stomach drops. He doesn't want to know about before. He does, but he really doesn't. He covers his mouth with the crook of his thumb as he rubs both sides of his beard. Before. It gets harder and harder to avoid. He shakes it off.  All he can do is keep you safe and take care of you the best he can, which means taking care of only you. He shakes his head no again, then reaches into his backpack. He throws a piece of jerky as far as he can. “He’s fed, Gonna be fine.” He throws another piece. 

You watch the dog run off for the jerky, but you're in a trance, thinking about something else. 

“Let’s go, baby,” Joel steps forward, wraps a hand around the inside of your bicep, and gently pulls.  You try to resist walking, and his grip gets firmer. You stand there watching the dog, feet planted on the ground, muscle tensing under Joel's grip.

Joel faces you and cups your face with both hands, making you look at him. He gets a few inches from your face and lowers his voice.  “Ain’t gonna spank ya in front’a Carter, but ya better move.”  He means it. Non-negotiable.

He grabs your arm again, and as he starts dragging you away, you blurt out, "Her name was Daisy. She saved my life."

Joel ignores it.  “Move. Now. Or I’m pickin’ ya up.”  You relent and stop resisting. Smart. He wouldn't want to regret bringing you with them.

Joel squints into the ground as the two of you walk. Carter walks ahead, not wanting to get in the middle of it.  “Maybe this one could save me, too," you suggest. "if you’re gone.” 

Damnit sweet pea, you sure are smart. Nice try, but that's what Carter is for.

"Dog that size?” Joel laughs. You compose yourself. You walk in silence for a few minutes, but Joel is still thinking about it. “How,” Joel asks, and adjusts his backpack. “How’d she save you? Must’a been bigger, right? meaner?”

Carter looks over his shoulder with a side-eye at the word “meaner,” but doesn’t reveal his injury.  

You don’t answer Joel. You're checked out. You keep eyeing the tree line, but you wouldn’t. . . There's no way you’d run, right? 

You look at him with your eyes red. “You don’t wanna hear it.” 

The vacant look on your face makes Joel stop in his tracks to face you. “Tell me,” he demands. 

You sniffle and look toward the tree line again. “Can I go pee?”

Joel can’t read you right now, which disturbs him. “Yeah,” he mutters and puts his massive hand on your back, guiding you to the edge of the forest. 

He starts to come in behind you, and you ask him, “Do you mind if I go?” 

He swallows and furrows his brow as he looks at you. You must read his concern, because you hand him your bag. He nods. He steps into the woods, but tries to give you some space, without losing track of you. He doesn't wanna have to chase you down, but damnit he'll tackle you if he has to, to save you from yourself. His stomach is uneasy.

There’s a hollow, rusted truck about 30 paces away. You go on the other side of it. Joel knows you’re not just pouting about leaving the dog. There's more to this. But you’re right, he’s not sure if he wants to know. 

Until he hears you sniffling, and it's not just sad, it's scared, painful.

Ah, fuck it. He moves as quietly as he can.

“Sweet pea,” he says softly as he walks around the old hollowed-out car. You’re squatting–not peeing, just hugging your knees, facing the abandoned car. You're shaking and your cheeks are wet. There's not much space, but Joel gets between you and the car.  He takes his backpack off and drops it to the side.

“She wasn’t afraid like me, Daisy,” you choke out and wipe your cheeks with the heel of one palm.  “They,” you croak. You pause and try again. “He had a gun-” you close your eyes. “Pointed at, pointed at me," you take a deep breath and keep your eyes pinched shut. "He was, he was gonna—but she wouldn’t," you choke on a breath. "She wouldn't stop barking.”  

"Shhhhh, it's ok." Joel cuts you off. It's too hard to see you re-living this. He doesn't want you to get to the details. He squats down. His head is full of pressure, and his heart is full of rage. You take shaky, shallow breaths. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder and lets his knees into the ground. “Breathe,” he says. “Breathe, sweet pea.”  You lean forward, letting your weight into his arms, and he holds you for a minute as you regain your breath.  He cradles your head.  "Yeah, you're okay, I got ya."  He buries his mouth in your hair. "I got ya, baby," he whispers. You wipe your eyes on his shoulder and your cheek catches on the holster.  When you lift your head, you apologize and he shakes his head no.  He brushes a fresh tear off your cheek, and arousal stirs in his pants.  

“Who did it,” he asks, unable to mask the darkness in his question. 

“Just a guy,” you tell him. A guy like himself, Joel assumes with disdain. 

“What kinda guy” 

You sigh and he hates making you think about this, but he needs the answer. “Mean. Had a gold tooth.” 

Joel takes a deep breath and nods. 

"FEDRA," you add, and Joel's face goes cold. His mind goes blank. For a moment, he doesn't even breathe as the life is sucked out of him and replaced by ice cold rage. FEDRA. Not a guy like him.

 “How’d ya get away?” Joel asks. 

You look at him for a second, doing a double take at his face.  You shake your head. “You don’t wanna hear it." You bury your head in his neck again. You’re right, he doesn’t want to, but he insists.  

“Tell me.” 

“Jah–” you stop and look at Joel’s face. His jaw clenches. He knows what's coming, but the thought of FEDRA has fortified him with numbness. 

“S’okay, sweet pea.”

“Jack shot’m.” 

Joel takes a deep breath and looks up at the forest canopy, then bows his head and looks at your knees, bracketed by his own. For a moment, Joel is filled with an uncomfortable appreciation for Jack. But that fades into, no, it should have been Joel, he should’ve had you all along, he should’ve been there to save you *and* your dog. 

“He take good care of ya?” Joel asks in self-loathing. 

You shrug. 

“Better than. . .now?” He can take it.

“No,” you shake your head. “He didn’t shoot him dead.” 

Jackass fucking moron cuck. He left that motherfucker breathing? Suddenly Joel is glad he killed Jack. 

Joel nods, “I see.” He keeps nodding slowly, looking to his right at the moss on a far off tree, clenching his jaw.

"And I didn't have a gun," you add. "Cause I killed a guy Jack said not to." Joel scoffs. You could've killed the guy yourself if not for Jack.

You continue,  “and. . . Jack didn’t cook.” Joel chuckles, caught off guard -- he'd forgetten his original question. You keep going, “And he didn’t–I didn’t–I didn’t feel the same,” you wipe your eyes.  This has gone far enough, and Joel knows it's his own fault. His stupid question.  He takes the toothpick from behind his ear.

You look at him with your eyes all watery, and Joel's cock twitches. The next thing he knows, his massive hand is wrapped gently around your jaw. You put your hands on his shoulders, then straddle him. You wrap your arms around his neck. 

"Mmm," he sighs as your warm crotch meets the bulge in his jeans, and he swells harder against you. He holds your face about two inches from his, looking down at your mouth, then your nose, and your eyes again. He puts his toothpick in his mouth and looks past you as he lets go of your jaw. You bury your head in his neck, blinking warm tears into his skin, making him harder. He whispers your name. He relaxes and takes the toothpick out of his mouth just in time for a branch to fall on the car with a loud clang. 

"All good?" Carter yells from the treeline. 

“Shouldn’t stay here long,” Joel mumbles as he puts it back behind his ear. ”Bad area.” He eases you off his lap back onto your feet, as you both stand up. He brushes dead leaves off his pants and your knees. He adjusts himself, puts his backpack over one shoulder, then reaches down and you take his hand.  You walk a few steps together and he looks back at you slightly behind him. He realizes you’re shaking. He drops your hand, goes in his backpack, and pulls out a flannel that he packed even though you said you were fine. He unfolds it, holds it out, and helps you put it on. 

“Thanks,” you whisper and rub your nose. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck as you walk.

Joel stews and broods as you leave the forest together. He wants to go back in time and kill everyone who’s ever hurt you, anyone who let you get hurt, and anyone who failed to hurt the people who hurt you. His muscles are all tense, and his veins are throbbing.

When you get to the treeline, Joel asks Carter, "Can ya gimme five?"

"Sure thing, boss.".

“No ones gonna miss that asshole," Joel mutters as he checks his gun then sets his sights on the house. 

Joel can’t go back in time, but by God, he’s got to kill someone. He drops his backpack then hurries back to the abandoned house, rifle in both hands. When he gets there, he puts the rifle around his back and grabs the dog chain off the ground on his way in. 

—---You 🌸🫛-—

You and Carter look at each other. “How’s your hand?” you ask him. 

“It’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “I dunno where the little bugger went,” he looks around for the dog.  

You both ignore the sound of the chain thrashing around until you hear grunting and look toward the house. Punches are landing. Carter puts a hand on his rifle but doesn’t move yet. Joel grunts and yells between punches. A minute later, Joel steps out of the house, walking backwards, with the chain pulled taught, and a bloody man dragging behind him. Joel kicks him up against the wall, hits him in the face with the butt of his rifle, then wraps the chain around the drain pipe where the dog was tied up. Joel hits the man again, then aims the rifle and calmly shoots him. Even if you never see the dog again, you're certain the dog is better off without that man. Joel wipes blood splatter off his brow and scowls at the ground as he walks back to you and Carter.

“Ya good?” Carter asks him. 

Joel nods. He’s sweaty, chest heaving.  You try not to let your eyes linger on the remaining blood. You observe his throbbing veins instead. The whole scene has you clenching your thighs.

You walk mostly in silence. When you stop for water, you realize you're being followed. Joel doesn’t notice, but you see the dog duck behind an old car when you turn around. You keep a straight face.

You hear something in the distance. Dust is kicked up down the road. Carter says, “Finally.”  It’s the van that still works, picking you up. You didn't know it was coming and wish the dog could follow you the rest of the way home, but you don’t say anything. You're glad he's unchained. 

—–

When you get back to the stash house, Joel works on the broken down van. When he’s done for the day, he takes you back to the trailer and washes the grease off. When he comes out of the bathroom, you're sitting in the window nook looking at your book, but thinking about the dog. He comes over, wiping his hands off on a towel. "Wanna go out 'n' shoot?" He seems to want to cheer you up.  

Joel goes first. He looks through the scope at the trailer park. Ever since those guys showed up one night, he's looking for other raiders or troublemakers. Then he lines up a shot at the usual target. Your eyes are on his biceps. When Joel is about to take aim, the rare sound of ducks honking startles you. They should’ve already flown South. Joel gets up on his knees and aims toward the front of the flock. He hits one, shifts ahead of the flock, and hits another. It gives you butterflies. You hear a thud as the second one hits the ground. 

“Nice!” you tell him. He winks at you and puts the gun strap over his shoulder. You smooth your dress under your butt as you stand up, then adjust the thigh holster. Joel groans as he stands up. You peer down toward where the birds fell, and something is moving up the hill. A bird, moving strangely. A dead bird, in a little dog's mouth. 

You gasp. Joel looks at you, then follows your eyes. The bird is as big as the dog.  His mouth is open wide to fit the neck.  He crests the hill and drops the bird. "Good boy!" You praise. He does a happy circle and trots back down the hill. 

You look at Joel and try not to smile. Joel puts his hand on his hip and shifts his weight to one leg. He looks down at the ground and rubs brow with the flat of his index finger, squinting. When the dog returns with the second bird, Joel mutters, "alright, big guy," and squats down to accept the bird from his mouth.  Then you barely hear him mutter, "good boy." The dog does another circle and trots around the other side of the trailer. 

 "How'd he find us, all this way?" You marvel. 

"Must have some hound in’m," Joel shakes his head. “Guess ya made an impression.” 

Joel starts a fire and boils two big pots of water. The dog keeps a respectful distance, lounging in the same clover patch where you were sitting earlier. Joel chops the heads and feet off the birds, and tosses them on the ground. The dog scurries over, wagging his tail. He drags one of the duck heads over to the grass to chew on with his butt in the air and his tail wagging furiously, all the way upright now. 

Joel beckons you back inside to wash up and change. He takes a quick shower while you take off the flannel and wash your hands in the kitchen sink. You take off the belt, untethering the ribbons, but you leave the holster on. You sit back down in the window nook.

—-

When Joel comes out from the bathroom, he sits down, manspreads, and pats the kitchen table in front of him, looking at the skirt of your dress as you get up from your seat. You unholster your gun and set it down, then use your hands to help yourself onto the surface, sitting on your dress so your thighs won't stick.  Joel spreads your knees so he can be between them, and grabs your ass to scoot you closer. 

He lifts the dress to look at the holster, and he puts his toothpick in his mouth. 

"s'prised it worked," he mutters. He eyes your legs and runs his hands all the way up your thighs with a deep breath.  "Looks good on ya, too," he murmurs. He thumbs the ribbon of the holster, then unties it. He unbuckles the real strap, too. Then he lifts your knee, slides the holster out from under you, and sets it aside with the gun. He runs his hand over the indentation in your skin from the buckle. "that hurt?" He asks. 

"No." 

He puts his elbows down on either side of your hips, and his biceps rest against your thighs. He looks back and forth between your breasts and takes the toothpick out of his mouth. Without taking his eyes off you, he throws it into the kitchen sink and it hits the metal with a light plink. 

He furrows his brow and looks at your body, then puts his cheek flat against your breast at the lace neckline of your cotton dress while he palms the opposite tit. He turns his face to nose your nipple, and it hardens through the fabric of your dress. He dampens the cotton with his mouth as he flattens his tongue against it. One hand holds your back, near your shoulder blade for leverage, with his thumb hooked under your arm. 

He kisses wetly at your breast through your dress, then glances up at you. His hands slide up to the straps of your dress. He gently nudges the straps off your shoulder. His fingers skim your nipples as he curls his thick fingers into the lace neckline, then pulls the dress down below your tits.  He presses his wide tongue onto your nipple and closes his eyes as he latches onto it. Then he lets go with a soft pop and sucks below the nipple as he massages the other breast.  You're gushing arousal with your legs wide open.  He inhales through his nose and his stomach growls. 

"Joel," you sigh, resting your hands on his muscular back. You watch his vein 

His only response is "Mmm," into your nipple.  You're throbbing, and the more attention he pays to your tits, the more your cunt aches to be filled. You want to let him explore your body, it's not something he normally does, but it also makes you want his cock so bad. You want him to slide you off the table and sink you onto his massive erection. He's really taking his time.  You take a deep breath and try to relax. Your clit twitches. 

Joel pulls down the dress a little more, exposing an inch or two below your breasts. He switches sides, dragging his mouth to his right, your left.  With your left nipple in his mouth, he looks up at you and makes sleepy eye contact. His pupils are blown wide. 

"Joel, I want it," you plead.

His tongue trails as he moves his mouth an inch to the right of your nipple, then he closes his eyes again. He licks and sucks the outer curve of your breast, massaging the other one with a thumb lightly brushing the nipple, then the heel of his palm flattening it into your breast. His eyes open to watch his massive hand moving languidly on your breast. 

You whine his name again and slot your fingers into his dark, curly hair. He doesn't look up. You finger his curls and the pads of your fingers lightly caress his scalp. He pulls his mouth off your breast and backs his head away enough to look at your body. You let your fingers fall out of his hair and rest back on his shoulders. One of his hands moves to rest on your hip, his fingers curling around your flesh and his thumb brushing the hem of your dress. 

His voice is low and husky. "Ever feel like ya just. . ." He meets your gaze with hungry eyes, then looks at your lips. "gotta have your mouth on somethin’?"

His eyes fall down your body as he sits back and palms himself through his jeans.  You whisper "yeah," with a smile and begin to scoot off the table so you can suck him off. He abruptly leans forward and stops you with both hands firmly on your hips. He doesn't let you move. His brow furrows. He looks back and forth between your breasts and noses a nipple again. He murmurs low and gruff into your supple skin,  "Ain't talkin' 'bout you."

Your chest erupts in goosebumps.  He drags his hands down your dress to the bare skin of your legs, then slides his massive palms back up your thighs, slipping his fingers under your dress, leaving his thumbs hooked on top. You brace your hands on the table to lift your butt for him. His hands keep moving up, reaching your hips.  The fabric of your dress bunches above your ass, then he curls his fingers under the waistband of your panties and begins to take them down. You let yourself back down on the table as he slides the underwear down your legs. It dangles between his fingers as he brings his hand to your neck and caresses the side of your throat with his thumb.

You feel the damp cotton against your throat and smell your own arousal as he grips your jaw. He locks eyes with you for less than a second before his gaze drifts downward. He returns his other palm to your breast, fingers slotting under your arm to hold you steady as he pushes you down until your back is flat on the table. He nudges your thighs farther apart.  He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and hums "Mmm." 

He drops the panties on the table. He spreads you open and thumbs your folds, bringing the moisture up to your clit.  He hunches over to bring his face between your legs and his left hand reaches up to fondle a breast.  He drags his nose through your slick and inhales, then moans at your scent. He plants his mouth on the crease of your thigh. He sucks the skin into his mouth, then lets go. He runs two knuckles through your folds, then gently nudges his middle finger  inside. Your walls spasm around the intrusion and he breathes, "god damn." 

He pumps his finger once and adds a second digit. You moan, and he hums a deep "Mmm," in response.  He takes his fingers out and sucks one, then both into his mouth.  "Fuck," he breathes. 

He doesn't waste any more time, spreading you wide open with his thumbs and burying his face in your cunt. He starts at your entrance where your wetness pools and licks up from there, punctuating the first lick with a kiss on the clit that makes your thighs tremble. Then he laps at you more selfishly, like he's thirsty, like he needs to drink you. His tongue starts flat and stiffens as he digs for more and explores each crevasse. He moans into your folds.  You've never felt anything as powerful and precise as his tongue.  It's stronger than his fingers.  It makes you tingle in one swipe, then presses into the tingle for relief.  He holds you gently until you wriggle in pleasure and he holds you down firmer with one forearm across your lower belly.  

He breathes through his nose and moans as he devours you. When he pauses, he draws in a deeper breath through his mouth then exhales vocally against your wet cunt. 

"Feel good?" He asks with a glance to your face, then plants his mouth on your clit. 

He slides one then two fingers into your core again and you gasp then answer "y-yeah," as he sucks your clit while he pumps them. 

He takes his arm off your abdomen to unbutton his pants and take his stiff cock out. He pulls his face away from your pussy. You're throbbing, and your body races to replenish all the moisture he's sucked up. He gathers some on his fingers then also spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. You want it inside you so, so bad. You hear the squelching as his hand moves up and down his shaft. 

He brings his face between your legs again and puts his arm back on top of you to hold you still, angling his elbow so his thumb is planted at your clit. He laps at you again, moaning into your throbbing, swollen lips. He firmly licks between your clit and hole, then thrusts his tongue into your entrance and you whimper. He tilts his head and jabs his sharpened tongue into you again and again, pumping his cock all the while.  He noses your clit as he sucks and laps, then fucks you with his tongue again.  

You writhe under his arm. "Yeah," he whispers before planting his mouth again. He works your clit with his thumb as he thrusts his tongue into you, dragging it against the top wall, and your desperate cunt twitches against him. You let out a long whine, and his thumb gently rubs the top of your clit, over your hood. 

"Joel," you whimper and it turns into a moan. 

His thumb slows down, and he gathers more slick on his fingers. He wipes it on his shaft, then pulls you by the thighs closer to the edge, unsticking your bare ass from the table. You sit up on your elbows and whimper, "want you. . ."  

He's holding his cock, chest heaving. "Want this?"

"Yeah-yes," you whimper. "Please."

He gazes darkly at your cunt and decides, "Ain't done yet."

You whine his name as he puts his face between your legs again. He sucks your clit for a few seconds until you're whimpering, then he plants his mouth a little lower.  He flattens two fingers to rubs your clit while he fucks you with his tongue. You moan his name as your climax seizes you, and you clench around his tongue. He moves his hand from your clit to your mound to hold you steady as you come. He withdraws his tongue from your hole and laps up and down your folds for a few seconds as you continue to twitch. 

Then he stands up, holding his stiff, wet cock.  His face is flushed, and he's shiny from the nose down.  He braces a hand on the table and teases your clit with his swollen tip.  You flinch in pleasure, still reeling from your first orgasm. He notches his tip at your wet little hole, holds onto your thighs,.and shoves himself into you with a groan. He stays in for a moment, sighing “Ohh, fuck,” admiring your body as it rushes to accommodate him. You spasm around him, still twitching with aftershocks.

He backs up then slams into you with a low growl from his chest. It's a lot to take, but god it feels good. He lifts your legs and puts his arms under your knees, wrapping his hands over to hold your thighs as he buries his length in you, grunting and sighing. His balls slap against your ass. His biceps flex, and It isn't long before you begin to moan and writhe, and squeeze his cock. 

"Good girl," he breathes. "Good, sweet pea."

He closes his eyes and fucks you through it. He breathes deep and slow, like he's trying not to come yet.  He slows way down, moans, then bottoms out and begins to pulse. He brings his hands to either side of your body and hovers over you while he thrusts slowly with each warm burst he releases. You milk his cock until his balls are empty, then your contractions fade. 

Joel hovers there, admiring your body. Then he slides out and sits down on the chair between your legs again. His armpits are warm and humid on your thighs.  He puts one hand on each breast and lowers his head to rest his cheek on your lower abdomen, tickling you with his beard. He wipes his mouth on your belly and a spot of drool from the corner of his mouth hits your skin.  He stares off at the front door of the trailer in a trance, gently cupping your breasts. He mumbles, "Taste so good, sweet pea." 

You reach for his hair and he doesn't stop you from fingering his curls. His eyelids droop, and after a few seconds, he closes his eyes.  You lightly massage his scalp again. 

He only allows himself a minute or two before he tenses and clears his throat. He lifts his head and slides his hands under your arms, helping you sit up straight. 

“I'll check the birds,” he says as he tucks his cock away.  He squeezes your thigh and gives you a wink before he stands up to go outside. 

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Thank you for reading and engaging 🖤 It means the world to me when you show him your love! whether this post is new or old. I also love when people throw a comment when they re-read. It's like adding coals to the fire that keeps me warm and writing lol.

You can find more raider!Joel oral on the raider master list under hypotheticals/imagines/HCs.

My tag lists are being phased out. . . please subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics.

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[alien-bluez]

raahhhh guh. another lineup, s2 kiddads. i love them so much they're rotating in my mind like a rotisserie chicken. god.

design notes for them under the cut if ur interested!

Grant

blue sweater bc blue is symbolic of titanic ep (something borrowed, something blue)

his tie color is the same color as Darryl's hat in my design

Wears Frank's watch that Darryl gave him, even if it's broken he doesn't take it off.

Green creeper socks because it's a Must. He wouldn't be Grant without them.

Sparrow

curly hair he got from mercedes' genes. he grew out his hair like lark

has a pink flower tucked in his hair like my henry's design

his jewelry and clothes are mostly borrowed from mercedes, he got really into crystals and other things like that growing up and got closer to his druid roots.

earrings are a feather and an oak leaf maybe i dunno i'll figure it out later lol

tattoos! there's supposed to be a bird outline there and other plant/nature related stuff on his arm. I'll draw it out better in the future mayhaps.

colors are brighter, more lifelike cuz he's closer to nature and all that jazz.

Lark

his hair has strands of white hair because of stress/trauma/Everything going on

hair is messier, unkempt because he cares less about appearances and doesn't have time anyways.

darker forest colors, less in tune with nature than sparrow.

his pants are the same color as my Henry's shorts :0) i needed a connection somewhere to his parents, and it just had to be henry.

Terry Jr.

purple shirt because his color is purple to me

fish motifs!! everywhere! i hc that when he and ron get closer bonding thru fishing they'd get each other fun fish printed shirts or something. This was Ron's gift to Terry. The colors of the fish are color picked from my Ron's design.

Fish tail tie and the shirt is also split like a fish tail maybe.

he's the tallest of the kiddads forever and always

Nicky

he wears glenn's sunglasses on his head

he grew out his hair long like morgan's because it's like the one thing he still really has of her. has her hair type and he takes very good care of his hair.

still has the ripped leather jacket from his time as nick and various patches of bands he likes (didn't want to draw them out yet.)

blue shirt because of his time as nicholas/reminder of jodie. blue holster belt and pants are also blue for jodie association

[kingdaddydaichi]

WHEN HE WEARS NOTHING BUT A TOWEL

.ೃ࿔*:･ PAIRING: husband!daichi sawamura x f!reader

.ೃ࿔*:･ WC: 1.2k

.ೃ࿔*:･ WARNINGS/NOTES: nsfw. MDNI. oral (f. rec). bathroom sex. creampie. is there anything sexier than a fine looking man stepping out of a hot shower? maybe, but rn my head is filled with images of daichi in a steamy bathroom with wet hair and nothing on but a low-hanging towel so that's what you're getting. GODSSSS he's so fucking KKGHKLHGLN. being as handsome as he is should be a crime so i can make a citizen's arrest and restrain him. DAMN, it feels good to write for my hq hubby again.

your husband steps out of the shower, the pristine white towel hanging low on his hips, contrasting perfectly with his darker skin as a plume of steam follows him out the door. daichi's skin is moist all over, his fingers running through his short, dark brown hair. those big brown eyes narrowing slightly and his lips curving into a sly, crooked grin when he sees you ogling him. a bead of water trails from his chest and down his abs, bringing your attention to the trail of black hair leading from his navel to the top of the towel. there’s also a small patch of hair between his pecs, but what really draws your eye is the mouth-watering bulge just beneath the towel. even before he’s hard you can appreciate just how big he is. his shape is pressing against the soft cotton, making you mindlessly lick your lips.

“you look like you’re going to eat me,” he teases with his knowing smirk that always makes him look even more handsome, especially with his wet, tousled hair.

“i just might…” you say, biting your lip and making his smile widen.

prying your eyes from the protrusion that hangs just beneath his towel, you saunter towards him with a devilish grin to match his before placing your hands just above his hips. despite the heat that soaks his skin, goosebumps form under your soft touch and his cock twitches when he leans down to press a slow, tender kiss on your lips.

“feeling a little cock hungry, hm?” he mutters playfully.

“can’t help it,” you say with a slight whine that goes straight to his member. wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, you continue, “it’s your fault for looking so tasty…”

“i think i might have something that’ll fill you up,” he whispers.

your smiles touch again, but this kiss lingers and suddenly it feels much warmer in the steamy bathroom. daichi’s tongue teases the seam of your lips and you gladly bid him welcome. a muffled groan rumbles in his chest and he pulls you closer, the masculine scent of his shower gel washing over you as his strong hands slide down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze when you feel his semi press against your lower belly. 

you roll your hips, rubbing against him as your mouths move together, his cock getting harder by the second. daichi catches you off guard, making you yelp in surprise when he suddenly picks you up and sits you down on the counter behind you. a couple of items get knocked over when he yanks your open legs towards him.

“mmm…so forceful. looks like i’m not the only one who’s hungry…” you say pointedly, glancing down at the shape of his cockhead straining against the towel as your fingers play at the edge of the soft barrier.

daichi is taking you in, his darkened brown eyes roaming your body when he gathers the hem of your shirt and pulls it off you. “hard not to be when you whet my appetite like this.” he reaches for your waistband and you lift your butt to let him work your bottoms off. your hands explore his broad chest as he squeezes the fat of your thighs, your kisses growing more and more urgent. your husband’s lips travel down your neck while he slips a gentle finger between your folds, making you groan with pleasure. 

“already so wet and sensitive for me…” his lips continue blazing a trail down towards your core before slowly sucking a bruise on your inner thigh.

“it’s what you do to m-” your ability to speak ends there with a gasp and your eyes roll back when daichi tongues your clit. no one has ever eaten your pussy like your husband does. the way he swirls his wet muscle around your tiny bud as he works a thick finger inside you, thrusting slowly while rubbing that spot he knows like the back of his own hand; the way he closes his lips around your clit and sucks you in has your legs trembling. 

he can feel you getting tighter around his finger as your fist clenches in his damp, messy hair, making him moan against your cunt, the vibration nearly sending you but he pulls off before you’re too far gone. he smirks when you whine at the loss of him but he’s still fingering you when he claims your mouth again.

“dai~” you pant as you reach for the towel, hands frantic and blind, but you manage to find where it’s tucked into itself and pull. the thing falls to the floor, pooling around daichi’s bare feet as his cock springs into your hand, the tip dark red and leaking.

you don’t have to say anything else. he already knows by the pitiful whimper in your voice and the way your hand is trembling as you stroke him. he lets you line him up to your needy hole, swearing under your breath at the stretch when his thick cockhead spreads you wide. he puts his hands on your hips and watches his tip disappear inside you, an open-mouth moan escaping him as your wet heat envelopes him, so tight and velvety soft. so slick and ready for him that he fills you up carefully and completely, pushing all the way inside you in one slow thrust. a groan rumbles in his throat as he retreats just enough to be able to thrust into you again and again.

with one of your hands planted behind you and the other wrapped around the back of his neck, you watch through lust-laden eyes as daichi’s body moves. he rubs your clit in tiny circles with his thumb while his other hand holds your thigh close to his waist. dark chocolate eyes stare right back into yours as he fucks into you, making love to your very soul. the way your succulent walls pull him back in with every heavy drag of his cock has him panting through parted lips, his pace quickening until the lewd slaps of wet skin echo around the bathroom walls. 

this angle, this pace, the flicking of his fingertip over your hard clit; the sound of his quiet grunts and his warm voice when he tells you he’s close - in this moment you live and breathe daichi sawamura. it all goes straight to your core all at once, your hips pitch and your thighs tighten against his undulating hips. 

“that’s it, cum for me, sweetheart…” 

his command sends you over the edge. your face twists in sheer pleasure as heat sears through your womb, eyes squeezed shut as you cry out his name. 

“fuck,” daich hisses through gritted teeth, thrusting so deep inside you until there’s nowhere left to go, but his hips rock and rut into you harder as his balls tighten closer to his body. he stifles a whine in his throat as his white hot seed erupts from his slit, hips twitching and his cock throbbing even after he’s fully spent himself inside you. 

you pull him to your lips, his eyes closed and face relaxed, and he kisses you back lazily as you both catch your breaths, checking in with each other in hushed tones and whispering sweet 'i love you's. when his softened cock slips out of you, his thick cum leaks from your cream-filled cunt, dripping and pooling onto the steamy countertop below.

DAICHI M.LIST || HAIKYUU M.LIST

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed and you're 18+, please consider liking, reblogging, commenting, and/or following! i appreciate y'all's support more than y'all know. ♡ if you'd like to be added to my daichi taglist, please comment/reply, dm me, or send me an ask (must be 18+ and have your age on your blog). fair warning: i haven't been posting here regularly but i really want to do better about that bc i love daichi, you guys, and this blog with all my heart!

.ೃ࿔*:･ taglist: @chaoskrakenuwu ✮ @yuujispinkhair ✮ @luvkun4 ✮ @briokayama ✮ @mrs-sawamura ✮ @heroesfan101 ✮ @millenialfanfictionaddiction ✮ @lanaxians-2 ✮ @anejuuuuoy ✮ @darthferbert ✮ @hannas16 ✮ @cookiesandmilksx ✮ @maexc ✮ @strawbmarma ✮ @patheticliesblog ✮ @lomons ✮ if any of you don't want to be tagged in my daichi stuff anymore, pls lmk. it won't hurt my feelings; ik it's been a while, i'm working off a really old taglist, your tastes/interests may have changed, and i don't wanna be intrusive/annoying.

[whitlocklibrary]

Saving his Damsel~

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

🃜 pairing : David × Female! Goth! Mate Reader

🃜 fandom: Lost Boys x Reader

🃜 summary: Reader is new to Santa Carla and after avoiding the boardwalk for months she joins her friends for a night. She is drawn to the carousel and thats where she meets the boys. (no use of y/n) (I left the outfit entirely up to you the only thing described are the belts, boots and jacket. But you can imagine your look however you want)

🃜 Word Count: 2.3k

🃜 Warnings: Physical Assault, Death

🃜 Requests: Open

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

The lights of the Santa Carla boardwalk will draw anyone in from tourists to surfers and even goths like yourself. You were still new to Santa Carla area having moved there a few months prior. You had been to the boardwalk a few times,but people weren’t really your thing so you stayed away. One night your friends that you’ve made since moving there wanted to go explore the boardwalk. They only went to it during the day,their parents didn’t want them out after dark, but they were finally able to go. You spent the evening hours getting ready, teasing your hair into a huge messy up-do. You used a lot of hairspray, starting with your roots you styled it into a poofy and messy look. After your hair was done you covered your face in white foundation before lining your eyes with black liner, big bold wings now standing out against the white foundation. And to top off the look you added black lipstick to your lips.

Now your outfit. You had dug through closet for an hour before finally deciding on something. You had slipped on the clothes you chose before layering some belts and chains around your waist. And finally to complete the whole look you throw on some combat boots and your black leather jacket. After spraying some perfume, you grab your keys and head out the door. And in your driveway sits a black 1967 Chevy Impala, it shines in the last bit of sunlight.

You slide into the drivers seat, setting your bag beside you. After sliding the key’s into the ignition you start the car,and it comes to life with a small hum. You sit their for a few minutes going through your cassette tapes, before deciding on The Cure. After sliding the cassette tape in,you car is filled with the lyrics from A Night Like This. The drive to the boardwalk was peaceful, most of the locals retreating into their homes before nightfall. The boardwalk was mostly full of tourists and the braver side of the locals.

You park your car in a spot that was close to the boardwalk. You barely come here at night so you wanted to make sure you could get away fast. You were the first of your friends to get there so you get out, and lean against the rails by the entrance. People watching was always fun in Santa Carla, there were so many different types of people. There were the tourists, the punks, the goths (like yourself), the girls who just wanted a good lay, and the guys who would jump anything with a set of legs. And of course there were the Surf Nazi’s, they were some of the crudest people in Santa Carla. Your thoughts were cut off by loud bike engines,and you knew which group it was. All of Santa Carla knew who they were. The infamous Lost Boys.

You had never seen the group in person so you looked curiously. There were three blondes and a brunette. The first blonde you saw had curly hair, a patched jacket, and cherub like face.

The second blonde had long, wild blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s wearing a black coat that reaches his knees with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and split up the back, ending at his waste-line. The next one you saw was the brunette, he was tall and wore a black jacket without a shirt underneath it. And the final one you saw took your breath away. His short hair was styled into a mullet, and it was a platinum blonde. He wore a leather jacket, matching gloves, and dusty black pants. As you were looking him over, he was looking right back at you. And your eyes collided (e/c) clashing with an icy blue. You quickly averted your eyes not wanting to get on their bad side or have to much attention put on you.

Unfortunately for you, their attention was already on you, specifically David’s. The rest of the boys heard David’s thoughts through the pack bond, and they knew that he called dibs on you. The boys stayed perched on their bikes as David watched you with a cigarette between his lips. Then your friends finally arrived, and you headed into the boardwalk with them.

“Let’s go boys.” David says as he climbs off his bike and makes his way onto the boardwalk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You knew that your friends weren’t gonna stick around long. They were the type to go find any guy that would show interest. Since they ditched you, after some debating you head to the carousel. As you get on the carousel you notice a beautiful black horse,and make a beeline for it. You climb up on it, sitting sideways so your legs can dangle off the side. Your hand wrapping around the pole to keep yourself from falling as the carousel starts to move. As the ride moves you swing your legs humming Girls Girls Girls by the Motley Crue. Santa Carla was always full of excitement, but at this moment it was peaceful. That peace didn’t last very long when suddenly you felt two people move behind your horse.

“You got some pretty good music taste Goth girl.” You turn your head towards the voice, and you see two of the blondes behind you. The one that spoke was the long haired one.

“Yeah didn’t expect a girlie like you to know Motley Crue.” The curly haired one says as he leans against the back of your horse.

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Looks don’t define a person’s music taste.” You shoot back with a small glare as you cross your arms across your chest.

“Oh the little lady has some fire in her.” A new voice joins in as the third blonde appears on your side. His hand coming up to grab the pole as he leans in a bit closer. As he leans closer the fourth one joins standing by the front of the horse, they made it to where you couldn’t run.

“What’s a pretty one like yourself doing all alone. We saw you with a group earlier.” It was the platinum blonde again.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business…” You trail off realizing that you don’t know his name.

“David.” He says before pointing out each of the boys.

“That’s Paul.” It was the long haired blonde that first spoke to you, and he sends you a flirtatious smile.

“Marko.” The curly haired blonde. He sends you a wave with his fingers sporting a cheshire grin.

“And Dwayne.” The brunette didn’t say anything all he did was send you a nod.

“Well David as I said before I don’t see how it’s any of your business where my friends are.” You say before dismounting from the horse and leaving the ride once it stopped. Marko and Paul move to stop you, but David stops them with his hand.

“No one touches her. She’s mine.” Paul and Marko hold their hands up in surrender already knowing what this means with their brother. He rarely showed interest in anyone unless he was wanting to feed. And they could tell he didn’t want to feed on you. No he wanted something else.

“Well then let’s go get your girl.” Paul says as him and Marko start to shove each other making their way off the carousel. David and Dwayne share a look before following after the Terror Twins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸𓉸 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After escaping from the boys you wander around the boardwalk slowly gathering your friends so you can leave. Their parents still wanted them home at a good time since so many people go missing at night. So you made sure they left the boardwalk safely, and made it to their cars. You quickly do a head count of your friends before you all head towards the parking lot. Making sure they’re all safely in their cars and heading home you go to your own car. You reach into your bag grabbing your keys, continuing to your car until you hear a wolf whistle.

“Hey there hot stuff how about you join us for the night.” A male voice calls out followed by catcalls from what you believe are his friends. You ignore them picking up speed as you make a beeline for your car. It happens when you’re about an arms length away. You’re grabbed from behind your keys falling to the ground as you start to struggle.

“Come on baby don’t be like that we saw you with those biker punks. So come on you can show us a bit of attention.” The hands that were on you yank you around making you face the group. It was a group of the Surf Nazi’s.

“Let me go.” You say as you bring your hand up trying to pry his hand off.

“Playing hard to get I like that.” The guy says laughing as you attempt to pull away. His grip tightens on you, yanking you closer to him. As his grip tightens you let out a pained cry.

“Stop squirming.” He says as one of his hands grab a fistful of your hair. Another pained cry leaving your mouth. Before anything else can happen the roar of bike engines fill the air as four headlights surround you and the guy.

“I believe the lady said to let go.” David says from atop his bike, gloved hands clenching his handle bars tightly. The guy looks at his friends and they all just laugh.

“Or what. You’re out numbered.”

“Boys.” With that one word the boys descend onto the group. One set of hands is carefully yanking you out of the guys grip and pushing you towards David. Screams fill the air behind you, and you go to turn around before a gloved hand is stopping you.

“You don���t need to see that Doll.” David says as he pulls you closer to him. His free hand comes up to carefully fix your hair.

“Did he hurt you anywhere?” Words evading you all you can do is shake your head no. Your mind was still trying to wrap around everything that was happening. You were being saved by the Lost Boys. The biker gang that everyone in Santa Carla avoided, who they were scared of, but they were helping you.

“Hm good.” David says as he looks up at the carnage behind you. His eyes zeroing in on the one who had his hands on you. He was left alone but unable to run away after Marko broke his leg. The rest of the boys knew their brother would want him. For touching his mate that guy signed his own death warrant.

“Alright boys feeding time. Finish up and bring that one back to the cave with us.” David says and your face shows confusion at his words as the screaming begins to quiet down.

“Feeding time?” You mutter to yourself and look up at David.

“Feeding time? What are you talking about? What are you?” At your questions David chuckles.

“What am I. Why I’m yours just as much as you’re mine.” He says as he pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and puts it in his mouth.

“Yours?”

“Yes mine.” He says after lighting up the cigarette. He slides backwards on his bike making room in front of him. Leaning forward he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in front of him.

“So the Doll wants to know what I am. You hear that boys she wants to know what we are.”

“Who wants to know?” Paul says playfully

“The Little Lady wants to know.” Marko says. You let out a huff as they mess with you, and then you feel David’s hand on your chin making you look up. This time your breath catches in your throat again as you stare at a completely different face. His face looked monstrous his eyes now a reddish yellow, and his teeth now fangs. You look at him in awe and excitement as your hands come up. The boys look on with surprise on their faces from your reaction.

“Oh my god you’re vampires.” You say with a small squeal as your hands latch onto David’s face, tracing his vampiric features.

“You’re not afraid.”

“Afraid? No. Excited. Yes.” Your hands keep roaming his face.

“Never seen someone so excited over this.” Marko says from behind you.

“It’s weird they usually scream in fear not excitement.” Paul says as they begin to dispose of all the bodies except for one.

“How long have you been a vampire? Can you still eat human food? Does garlic actually work on you.” You start rapid firing questions and the boys could barely keep up.

“Woah doll calm down. I’ll answer all the questions you gave back at our cave.” David says as he gently pries your hands away from his face. The boys walk back to their bikes after getting rid of the bodies, Paul carrying the unconscious body of the guy who decided to mess with you. As he passes by Dwayne hands you your car keys that you dropped.

“You’re riding with me we’ll comeback for your car.” David says as he moves you to sit behind him.

“Wait before we go does this mean I get to be one of you.” You ask as you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Yes you’ll become one of us tonight doll, and that piece of garbage will be your first kill. Now hang on tight we’re about to have some fun.”

[artbyblastweave]

I've never made any connections between Worm and the Captain America mythos before. Spill some ink?

Okay, so from a purely aesthetic perspective, the gimme is Miss Militia. She's the most obvious "Captain Patriotic" in the roster, she has the power of GUN, she's the only one who actively buys into the mythology of America specifically. She's a Kurdish woman occupying an aesthetic niche generally held by a rugged squinty white guy. She's an output of the melting pot narrative. She's sort of a rendering of what a grounded superhero who somehow became very aesthetically into America might look like. Not in the craven marketing-driven way of Homelander or Comedian, not in the jingoistic maniac way of USAgent or Peacemaker. She buys it in the broadly left-liberal (USamerican connotation of that term) safe, friendly, reclamative way. Why, what a great rehabilitation of the archetype!

She's also deeply, deeply afraid of rocking the boat. She's got a deepseated childhood trauma related to the bad things that happen when she puts herself in a leadership role. She goes along to get along. When she's proactive, it's usually to point a gun at Tattletale to stop her from upsetting the status quo. She sits through a lot of situations where Steve Rogers, as commonly modeled, would probably plant himself like a tree by the river of truth and go, "Hey, this is fucked up." She more or less capitulates to Undersider domination of the city, in a way that predisposes us to think of her as a voice of reason after all these total nuts that Skitter's been up against- but would Taylor "to relinquish control is a form of ego death" Hebert really be willing to leave someone in charge of the local Protectorate branch who she thought couldn't be corralled? She looks like a beacon, but doesn't- indeed, probably can't- ever truly behave like one. I mean, you can debate the on-the-spot morality of any given one of her judgement calls, that's actually one of the less exhausting Worm Morality Debates to have- but in aggregate, a person in American flag garb who actually meaningfully criticizes the paramilitary organization they're part of is not gonna survive long in that role!

So again, she's the gimme from an aesthetic standpoint. But what I don't really see a lot of discussion of is how Cauldron plays into the riff.

Captain America is institutional, but in a comically morally uncomplicated way. The serum was originally mana from heaven, granted to a living saint, conveniently divorced from any nitty-gritty sausage-making process and even-more conveniently divorced from the horrible consequences of giving the, uh, the U.S government a replicable super soldier process. And in fairness to Captain America, this is 100 percent something the overall mythos eventually patched to my satisfaction; the sausage-making process eventually revealed as prototypical government fuckery driven by human experimentation on black servicemen, the overall Marvel Setting littered with failed attempts by the U.S. Government to recreate that golden goose so they can have their fun new jackboots. (In Ultimate Marvel, this is how almost all contemporary superhumans were created, and this is a state of affairs with a body count in the millions or billions.)

Cauldron draws you in with the same noble rhetoric about greater goods, the same one-off proprietary irreplicable formula- but you don't get the luxury afterwards of representing nothing but the dream. You aren't partnering up with a plucky crank scientist with a heart of gold. You're selling your soul to an organization with an agenda. The narrative makes no bones about the fact that everything you do is fundamentally tainted by the fact you opted into an end product created through torture, kidnapping and human experimentation. You don't get to pull a Kamen Rider by going rogue or opting out or making good use of the fruit of the poisoned tree; you are owned, and everything you do has this Damocles sword hanging over your head- when are the people who bankrolled this going to come to collect?

So that's the question of "who would willingly dress like that" covered, and the question of who creates a serum like that. What about the question of who takes a serum like that? I'd argue that Eidolon is the examination of that. Pre-Cauldron David reads to me like pre-serum Steve Rogers viewed through a significantly bleaker lens. They're both sickly kids desperate to serve, rocketed to the pinnacle of human capability by an experimental procedure. But for Steve Rogers, the crisis was that he had a specific vision of the world and was frustrated by his inability to carry it out. Before the serum he picked fights over what was right and wrong and got his ass handed to him; afterwards he picked those same fights and just started winning instead. The serum neatly solved a problem he had, and to the extent that his mindset is influenced by his pre-serum experiences, it's generally constructive; a desire to protect the weak, help the helpless, an appreciation for people who stand up for what's right even when they're clearly gonna get pancaked for their trouble. So ultimately there's no dark side, downside, or underlying neurosis ascribed to his initial impulse to take that serum.

But with David, it's not a tragic case of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak. He isn't a preternaturally-noble soul, out to represent the best elements of the American ideal- he kind of represents the inverse, a guy who's been failed at every level while utterly convinced that he's the problem. He's actively suicidal because he's a wheelchair-bound epileptic in an economically-depressed socially-backwards rural town in the 1980s, and he's spent his 18 years of life internalizing the idea that he's worse than useless unless he can somehow find a way provide value to something larger than himself. Doctor Mother finds him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt spurred by his rejection from the army- and he didn't even want to join the army specifically, necessarily, he just needed his situation to be literally anything else, and he took what he thought he could get. And then he finds himself in a position to become a superhero, so he does that, molds himself into that, subordinates himself to that, builds his entire sense of self and values around the value he can provide in that role. No grand design or sacred principles carried over through the metamorphosis. Just relief at finally, finally having something that looks like an answer to the question of what he's supposed to do.

And you know, you know that if Steve Rogers was facing down the barrel of being depowered, he'd smile and nod, he'd Cincinnatus that shit. It's happened before. But for David, the emotional trauma and self-worth issues that caused him to roll the dice on a Steve-Rogers treatment never really went away. When would it? He's been Providing Value as a ten-ton Hammer Against Evil for thirty years. No family, no social life. Certainly, no incentive on his handler's part to lance his Atlas complex. So he barrels towards atrocity in the name of remaining useful. Admittedly, this is where the comparison breaks down in a significant way; Captain America is much more of a symbol than he is an irreplicable powerhouse, so it's not catastrophic if he's taken off the board. Eidolon is so unbelievably powerful that his myopia and self-centeredness actually do align with a real problem everyone else is gonna have if he loses his powers. But in terms of the starting points- I think that Steve Rogers embodies the myth about why you'd want to join the army that badly. Eidolon is, I think, much more closely modelling why you'd actually want to join the army that badly.

[whisper-cats]

Hellooooo! I’m working on a clangen blog of my own, so I’m going around asking my favorite clangen blogs some questions. I’m happy to get answers to whichever you feel like answering (or none at all if you don’t feel like it!)

What program and file size do you use?

If you use a font, what font is it?

How far ahead do you recommend playing?

Do you have any advice for layouts?

Do you have any tips for lighting/drawing fur?

Do you have any tips for making cats look more unique?

If you do backgrounds, do you have any advice for creating them?

If you use them, where do you recommend finding reference images?

hi hi! Thank you for the questions 1. Clip Studio Paint, my comic pages' size is 1600x2900 pixels when I'm working on it, but that includes empty space on the sides where my lines can go over the limits when needed

2. "HP Simplified Hans Regular"... I sort of want to hand-write all of my text tbh, but I thought I shouldn't make things too energy-intensive for myself

3. Depends what you want the structure of your story to be like. For me the important part was the setting that was generated for me so the moons going forward & the brisk pace that that gives you have less importance for my story than they would for most Clangen stories, and therefore I didn't go very far in the moons before I started sketching down pages

4. nah, i'm a newbie on that

5. can't think of anything, sorry

6. I think looking for uniqueness itself can be kind of a trap, and i think it's most important your characters are distinct from their surrounding cast of characters than them looking unique when looking at the wider art community. Any kind of design can be recognizable if it makes an impact. I think using patterning especially can be something people might fall back on too easily to make characters distinct. These are the other ways I like to try make a cat character recognizable and interesting (among their cast): - Experiment with different, even subtly different whiskers, ear sizes and shapes, fur texture (sleek, puffy, curly, spiky, flowy etc) and where that fur might be most prominent in each character (one fluffy cat might have a huge puffy chest fur, another long hair cat might have their long coat look more heavy and pulled by gravity, another cat might have the puffiest tail but less in the chest, etc). Also of course the usual, like different eye and nose shapes. - Use color contrast to make the character demand more attention to itself. If a cat has a big white patch on their face when the rest of their body is dark, it immediately brings your attention to their face. I often like to play up and heighten the contrast of a warm-toned body against cool-toned eyes like Whisperingpaw's reddish body against his deep blue eyes, but it works just as well in reverse or with other color contrasts. This can be muddied though if the design is full of highly contrasting small elements in unimportant places of the body which instead can just become confusing to the eye. It's why I don't really like designs from for example Genshin Impact

^ Whisperingpaw, I even made his grey pawpads more cooltoned than usual for some extra contrasting details - Try designing two characters at once instead of one at a time. When you design two at once, especially if they have some connection to each other, you can already start laying out some opposing or just different physical traits to them. If you make a huge cat next to a small cat, both of their sizes are immediately noticeable traits about the cats that you can perceive and build on. If you only drew one huge or one small cat, you might not really even register their size as part of their design because there is nothing to compare it to. Let their relationship & direct comparison be something that contextualizes them and gives them something more than an empty paper to relate to - Continuing on the "let the characters have something to compare to", a character will always look more beautiful if they are surrounded by more bland or even "ugly" characters. A character's intricate patterns will be more noticeable if surrounded by very simple-style characters. Use this to your advantage and let things like beauty or cuteness be character-specific traits instead of something expected of each design. This is just another benefit to having a diverse cast, it doesn't just give representation to less charismatic styles of characters (which already has so much value by itself), it lets the "beautiful" designs be more convincing to the eye.

for 7. and 8. i don't have an answer to!

Hope that helps :3

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

too many teens whining for validation, this blog needs more weird and stupid so...

AITA for kidnapping my friend and trapping her in the cheesebarn?

Hear me out:

The story starts about a week before my (20 at the time ftm) 21st birthday. If you live in the US you know this isnt just some lame 7th birthday or 36th birthday, this is one of the big boy birthdays, the special ones. Its when you can legal buy alcohol and are therefore truly an adult in the eyes of the law.

Naturally my friends (20s) wanted to do something Big for our 21sts. So they asked me what i wanted to do and i said i didnt really care as long as I got a road trip somewhere with friends.

Everyone thought it was a fun idea but it was a little short notice for everyone to get time off from work, but my other friend we will call C also had her 21st exactly a month after mine to the day, and the two of us agreed to share our 21sts and not do much of anything on my actual birthday. This is important, bc it was a SHARED birthday road trip.

I agree to let C pick the destination and I provide the car. We didnt have much of a plan as we were going to meet up with C's old roommate who lives in the city we picked to show us a good time.

It was 5 of us total and about a 7 hour drive altogether there with not a whole lot on the way there. We get to the city she picked and meet the roommate and honestly the rest of this part is just standard 21st birthday shenanigans. Its when we start the drive home things really start.

Remember its a long drive with not much to see? Well that was a lie. On our way back we see it, the Real "Happiest Place on Earth" as far as places with a mouse for a mascot go:

Grandpa's.

Fuckin'.

Cheesebarn.

Obviously me and the other people on the trip want to stop and see the magic, but unfucking fortunately C happens to be the only Basic White Girl ™️ in the entire world who hates cheese and isnt even lactose intolerant. This girl is notorious for making "petty" and "I hate Cheese" her entire personality. She would constantly make faces and gagging noises and talk about how gross and nasty cheese is if you so much as eat a grilt cheese near her.

Clearly she made it known that she wasnt on board with it. "NO! FUCK YOU ALL IM NOT GOING TO A PLACE CALLED A CHEESEBARN ON MY BIRTHDAY!!" were her exact words.

But i remembered i was driving, it was my car, and it was supposed to be my birthday too. So I put it to a vote. "Raise your hand if you wanna go to Grandpa's Cheesebarn!"

All hands raise but one. With C out voted we head to the cheesebarn.

Guys. This place is amazing. Its obviously making cheese its main draw, but yhere's so much more, its every shitty midwest tourist trap rolled into one glorious place. There's even a chocolate shop. We even got C's roommate to ditch work and come meet us bc shr heard "Grandpa's Cheesebarn" and knew she had to drop everything.

All in all a good visit, C even seemed like she had fun once we got there (she sure spent $300 on candies and dip mixes anyway). We go home. Things seem fine.

Then C drops off the face of the earth.

She wont respond to our calls or texts and at first we thought maybe she was giing through a rough patch or something and try to just keep reaching out but give her space. But then we find out that not only is she still hanging our with our other friends who couldnt make the trip with us. So clearly she's just pissed at us about something.

Finally one day a few months later i catch her at her job and just tell her "I dont care if you hate us, we'll never speak to you again if you dont want us to, but what the hell did we do to you??"

And she just looked me over and says "Well. You kidnapped me."

lolwut

And she yells (bc this girl loves yelling at people) "YOU KIDNAPPED ME AND TRAPPED ME AT A CHEESEBARN ON. MY. BIRTHDAY!!!!!"

And i just said "Well it was my birthday too," and havent spoken to her since. Its been over a decade and "No ragrets" as we said back in the day, but uts baffled me for years that that was her reaction. "Im just over you guys" i can understand, and its not like she was shy about telling people she hates them and their out of her life ever before. And from what i ended up hearing from our other friends she kept talking with it really was about the cheesebarn and how we "ruined her birthday".

No but srsly AITA??? For making her go to a cheesebarn???

What are these acronyms?