#but like... you can do better and not fetish/ize...

[nezumasa]

I wish the Bo/ys’ Love genre would write about fa/t people and people with dis/abilities more, not demonize fe/male characters, actually included orientations outside of just ga/y (like bise/xual), and not fetish/ize sk/in color or g/ay ste/reotypes like tbh... but I guess that’s not hot enough for some people and everyone’s gotta be s/exing every other chapter...

[writerpeach]

Foot Fault

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male Reader

categories: smut, foot fetish, daddy kink, quickie

1818 words

Kim Minju struggled to keep her balance, running back and forth, trying to return shot after shot, hardly having enough strength into her racket to hit the ball over the net. 

“You can do better than that, Minju!” you said, winding back your arm and smacking the torn tennis ball back into the corner of the opposing backcourt. Minju barely made it in time, almost tripping on the asphalt, using all the power in her body to thwack the ball back. But it put her out of position, and she could only see the ball zoom past her as she desperately swung her racket, only hitting the air as the ball crashed into the ground out of reach.

Game, set, match. 

Minju looked utterly defeated as she loosened the grip of her racket and hung her head down in shame.

“Good game, Minguri. You’re getting better.” 

Minju had a hard time believing it. She couldn’t help being frustrated, even if it was just a casual game with no stakes. It was hard to hide the pout on her face. “Minju never gets to win.” 

“We’ll practice more, you’ll win one. Everyone has to start somewhere.” 

“Impossible. You’re just too good, I can’t keep up,” Minju frowned, as she sat down on a chair outside the tennis court fence, opened a bottle of water, and crossed her beautiful long legs.

“Practice makes perfect. You’ll be better than me in no time.” Minju laughed, almost sarcastically, and leaned back against the chain-link fence. She looked like a model as she basked in the sun’s rays and kept herself hydrated. Today, she opted for a simple white skirt and top that only added to her signature angelic look. 

“That skirt looks great on you,” you said, admiring the way her hourglass body looked.

“You’re just saying that because it shows off my legs.” 

“You caught me.” Minju wasn’t wrong. You couldn’t take your eyes off them. You loved how soft and creamy they looked, and you missed the way they draped over your shoulders or wrapped around your body. Just the sight of them made your mouth salivate. 

“My feet hurt, daddy. You made me chase the ball so much!” Minju whined. It wasn’t often she dropped that pet name in public, unless she was needy or frustrated. 

“Poor baby. Want me to rub them and make you feel better?” 

“Yes, you better! But not here, daddy. Let’s go back to the apartment.” 

“Why not here? They’re going to hurt more when you have to walk back to the car.”

“But there’s people watching. It can wait.” 

“Who’s watching? I booked the court for two hours, and we still have an hour left. Plus…your feet look really delicious today.” 

Minju’s cheeks reddened. “Thank you, daddy. Do you like my new pedicure? I know you like this color a lot.” 

“Of course. Your toes look so pretty. And it’s always good to have a little meal after exercise.” 

The praise put a smile on Minju’s gorgeous features. “But we’ve been in the sun so long, they’re so sweaty. We’ll go home and shower, and they’ll be nice and clean for you.” 

“No, I like them like this. That just means they’ll taste better.” 

Meeting Minju’s innocent gaze, you lowered yourself down onto the ground and onto your knees, inches away from the most prestigious prize—her beautiful creamy feet. She dangled her black sandals, as if both to tease and tantalize, to make your mouth water even more, but gave you the honors of removing them. 

It wasn’t long until you took a necessary long breath and pulled MInju’s sandals off one by one. Leaving her completely barefoot, you just gawked at how perfect her feet were as they could breathe, freed to bathe in the sunlight that kissed her pristine skin. 

Minju lifted her feet up, and wiggled her long painted toes, letting your eyes gander and inspect every inch of them, from her delicate arches to her smooth, soft soles, to her immaculate heels. Feet like this belonged to a goddess, worthy of all the praise, adoration, and worship that she deserved. Not a single imperfection or tainted by a solitary blemish, the very definition of perfection. And you couldn’t wait to dive in.  

It was hard to know where to start. Minju’s soft skin was made to taste, lick, and kiss, but you had to start somewhere—so you grabbed one petite foot and kissed the smooth heel. But one kiss wasn’t enough. You brought Minju’s gorgeous foot to your face, planted a kiss on her silky smooth sole, and inhaled. 

The much desired aroma was intoxicating. Desperately, you needed more as you brought both perfect feet closer to your face, burying your face into the soft soles and inhaling deeply, an exquisite perfume that couldn’t be reproduced, a natural scent that you wanted to live in your nostrils. 

“They don’t smell bad, do they?” Minju asked, with much concern on her face. One more deep whiff demonstrated you loved the way they smelled, before you kissed up and down, and gave equal attention to each of her feet. 

“They never do. I love everything about them.” Soft kisses planted on her delicate soles grew hungrier, which caused lust to awaken in you when you licked Minju’s arches, swiping your tongue up and down the wonderful texture of her creamy soles. Your tongue worked patiently and cleaned up every drop of sweat, making sure not to miss a drop, savoring the salty taste and treated Minju’s feet like a five-course meal. 

Minju just looked down and enjoyed every moment. Her pretty toes were the highlight of it all, and you couldn’t resist the way the beautiful white polish shined in the sunlight, beckoning for a taste, a succulent buffet that never closed. Words could never describe the absolute flawless nature of Minju’s feet, beautiful toes shaped so well, so appetizing that they belonged in your mouth during every waking second. 

The wiggling of Minju’s toes was more fuel added to an uncontrollable blaze. Your feast continued—lips sealed tightly around her big toe, you suckled intensely, and swirled your tongue around, lapping up the sweet taste, releasing it just for a moment to give her warm sole one more lick, before snatching it back in your mouth. 

“Ah, fuck—” Minju moaned out, trying not to be too loud, but her body betrayed her. 

Minju’s succulent toes in your mouth were the very definition of heaven. Each one carried their own distinctive taste and texture, and the perspiration left on them was nothing but an additional morsel of deliciousness. Taking your time, you catered to each individual toe, slobbering on them until they glistened with your saliva and licked in between, gathering more flavor to feed your insatiable appetite. There was no meal that compared to Minju’s feet in your mouth. 

Not one spot was left without a lick or a kiss, not one toe unsucked, and you didn’t leave an inch of bare feet untouched by your lips. And yet, you couldn’t help but crave more. You could worship Minju’s feet until the end of time. 

“Do you wanna fuck my feet, daddy? I can see how hard they’ve made you.” An obvious question that only had one answer. After planting several more kisses on her feet, you stood up and reached for the waistband of your shorts, desperate to free them off your waist. Minju’s soft soles interrupted you and pressed against your crotch, rubbing the noticeable bulge.

“Wait, let me.” Not one to deny her, you lifted your shirt up enough as she used her talented toes to grab your shorts, pulling them down to your ankles, then repeated this with your boxers, letting your painfully hard cock spring free. Kim Minju had many talents. 

With your cock now freed to the warm air, Minju’s toes curled and pressed up against your swollen head, teasing your dripping slit, and played with your balls carefully while she watched the look in your eyes, her feet spreading the leaking precum everywhere. 

Minju might not have been good at tennis, but she sure as hell knew how to pleasure your cock with just her feet. Expertly wrapped around your throbbing shaft, and her toes worked together to deliver heavenly bliss. Her delicate feet squeezed your cock with just the right amount of pressure, rubbing her toes up and down your shaft enough to rile you up, urging you to take the next step and finish the job. 

“Come on, daddy, fuck my pretty little feet. I know you’re just dying to bust all over them.”

Minju always knew the right things to say. Unable to stay idle much longer, you grabbed her ankles—the scrunched soles of her feet were lubricated enough from the mixture of sweat and saliva, and formed a perfect gap to vigorously thrust into, the velvety surface driving you crazy. 

“That’s so hot, daddy. I can feel your cock twitching. Fuck those pretty feet until you blast all over my toes.” 

It was driving you crazy, the intense friction created from sliding in between Minju’s feet, so warm and wet with saliva that every stroke filled your body with electricity. It wouldn’t be much longer—fucking Minju’s gorgeous feet sent you spiraling out of control, so much that you felt lost in the heavenly sensations, only taking minor glances into her eyes to distract you, but there was no denying you were about to erupt. 

“Cum for me, daddy! Please use Minju’s feet to explode. Cum all over my pretty little feet, cover them in your thick load, please, daddy!” 

You couldn’t resist Minju’s whines and pleads for your cum, the soft angelic voice desperate for it, craving it more than oxygen. But it didn’t matter. You reached your limits with one more frantic series of thrusts, as you furiously stroked your cock between her delicious toes while Minju kept her feet up in the air, ready and willing to receive your climax. 

Throbbing spurts blasted in succession and painted Minju’s toes in a different shade of white, milky semen clung to the tops of both feet equally, and covered her beautiful skin. Minju gripped your tip with her sticky toes, surrounding it on all sides and squeezed up and down your shaft, coercing more cum from your balls, not wanting a single drop left behind. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Minju said, proudly displaying the creamy mess left on her feet, before she wiggled her toes, letting you see your cum dripping on them as she rubbed them together, using your load as her favorite lotion. “Maybe I should keep losing if it means daddy gets to worship my feet.” 

“You don’t have to lose for me to do that. It’s still pretty hot out, but we’ve still got some time left. One more round? Then we’ll see how nice their showers are.” 

[lost-in-the-80s]

Oops

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x (fem) reader

Words: 1,346k

Summary: You do Izzy a favor and now he wants to thank you properly. (smut + fluff)

Requested by: @pinkpatiencecreepers​

A/N: I hope you like it, honey! Huge thanks to @vinylvintage​ for helping me with this plot <3 Do you guys want a part 2?

Warnings: Mature content and swearing. Those fingers aren’t there just to point at the camera....

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda​ @teasid @metalheartofgold @slashscowboyboots @ginny-rose-sixx @rumoured-whispers @bigdaddylars @mudkicker add yourself to my tag list :)

Part 2

It was early Thursday morning, Izzy had just gotten to the studio, one hour ahead of the boys, just so he could finish some lyrics in peace. Turning on the lights, he entered the room, their instruments from the previous day were still everywhere, guitars on the floor and on the couch along with lots of empty bottles of booze. 

Picking up an acoustic guitar, he entered the sound booth, opening some space on the equipment table among tons of papers with what could someday become lyrics. He sat down on the chair in front of it, ready to play his guitar when he realized he had forgotten his notebook with the lyrics at home. 

Cursing under his breath, he contemplated his options, walking back home to get it, or calling Y/N, his girlfriend, and asking her to bring it to him. It was her free day at work, and she had a motorcycle, so he realized calling her was a much better choice.

“Hello?” Her voice answered the phone. 

“Hey baby, I need you to do something for me.”

“Iz? Sure! What do you need?”

“I forgot my notebook, the one with the lyrics, it must be in the living room.”

There was silence for a few seconds. 

“Yes, it is, I can see it.”

“Can you bring it to me?”

“Of course. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” 

“Ok, thank you, babe!”

“It’s no problem, love!”

Well, ten minutes would’ve been a great time, but he knew his girlfriend, and especially knew that she was always late. And as he already expected, she just showed up 30 minutes later.

She entered the studio wearing black denim shorts and a long-sleeved black shirt, her shorts were really short, making his eyes scan her like a predator. Even though her choice of clothes wasn’t intentional, he couldn’t help but stare at her legs, he loved them. 

“Hey, baby!” She opened the booth door, his notebook in hand. 

“Hey.” His voice was husky. “Come on in.” He motioned with his hand. 

Closing the door behind her, she stopped beside him, leaning down and pecking his lips. “It’s this one, right?” She showed him the notebook. 

“Yes, it’s this one. Thank you.” He got the notebook from her hands, before placing it on the table. Turning to the side with his chair, he opened his legs, making her stand in between them, his hands finding her hips and gripping at them. 

“It’s no problem, Izzy.” She smiled, her hands caressing his face as he looked up at her.

“You know how much I love it when you wear shorts.” He smirked, his hands going up and down her legs.  “Come here.” He touched his lap. “Let me thank you properly.”

His words made a certain wetness start to form on her core. Biting her bottom lip, she sat on his lap, one leg in each side of his body as his hands moved to her butt cheeks, squeezing them while he leaned down to kiss her. 

Their kiss was full of lust and desire. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring every single inch of it, while her hands found his hair, tugging and running through his locks, messing it completely. 

“You’re always such a good girl to me.” He said near her ear, biting her earlobe gently, making her gasp. 

Starting to kiss and nip at her neck, he slid one of his hands inside her shorts, smirking. “No panties?” His voice was husky as his other hand gripped tight on her right butt cheek. 

“Laundry day.” She whispered, receiving a dry chuckle from him. 

Returning his lips to her neck, he slid one finger in between her folds, feeling her wetness with it and smirking even more. He found her clit, starting to apply circular motions on it, slow and steady, making her close her eyes and a low moan to leave her lips. 

That’s one of the things she loved about Izzy, he was never in a rush, no matter if they were late for an appointment or not, he always took his time when the subject was to please her. 

He bit her neck as he entered her with a finger, slowly moving in and out of her. 

“Izzy.” She whispered near his ear, making a shiver run down his body.

He growled under his breath and he inserted another finger inside of her, smiling with delight when a moan left her lips. 

His free hand found her hair tugging at her strands as he increased his speed on her clit, he knew all her weaknesses, and he was willing to explore all of them. A louder moan left her mouth as her head fell backward with his gentle but firm tugging at her scalp. 

“Fuck.” She said.

Her walls started to clench around his fingers and he knew that just a few more seconds and she’d fall apart, right in front of him. He removed his head from her neck, wanting to glimpse the spectacle that was about to come, but his attention was taken away from her when he heard that word.

“Oops.” Axl’s voice filled the booth as he opened the door, a smirk on his face while he chuckled at the scene in front of him. 

Izzy couldn’t care less though, his mission was Y/N, and Y//N only, but he knew that having people around wasn’t one of her fetishes, so he removed his hands from her shorts and let go of her hair, watching as she got up quickly, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at Axl.

“Hum… Hi Axl.” She smiled weirdly.

“Hello, Y/N...” His smirk got bigger. “Izzy.”

Rolling his eyes, Izzy got up, sucking at his fingers with so much thirstiness that Y/N clenched her legs together, feeling her core get even wetter, if that was possible. 

“Will you stay during the recording?” Axl asked. 

“I don’t know.”

“Stay, I want your opinion on a song,” Izzy said, touching her hand. 

“Okay.” She smiled before taking a place on the leather couch in the booth.

One by one the boys arrived, starting to discuss lyrics and the melody for some of the songs, and the only thing Y/N could do was to watch Izzy, the shape of his hands, and the way they played his guitar, or the way they hold the cigarette that he took to his lips so many times. 

She watched him as if she was in trance, like a moth in trance with the light, she felt like the only thing she could do was to stare, and the more she stared, the wetter she got.

Izzy watched her too, fewer times, since he was working, but at every chance he got he’d look at her, and the sight of her squeezing her legs against each other or changing position constantly in favor to get some relief, made him harder than he was when she entered the place wearing those shorts. 

They had finished playing, were now just discussing some lyrics and Y/N seemed to be in the same condition as she was at the beginning of the morning, silently begging with her eyes for him to do something. 

Taking a cigarette to his lips, he placed his guitar on the floor, before patting his lap. “Come here, princess.” 

Getting up slowly, she walked over to him, sitting on his lap again. Her shoulder was lined with his chest as an arm of his circled her waist, bringing her closer to him. Adjusting her position, Y/N smirked when she felt his boner inside his pants, she made sure to rub herself over it a couple of times before she finally stopped moving. 

None of the boys thought much of it though, except for Axl, who knew exactly what they were doing, and smirked widely from the other side of the room. 

“I’ll take care of you later, I promise.” Izzy whispered in her ear, making her bite her lip with excitement, eager for so-called later. 

[foramomentonly]

In the Dark I Know That You Do

Summary: I have a headcanon that Alex slept with a photographer overseas and, as a result, some tiny art gallery in New York is displaying artfully erotic black and white photographs of him. He signed the release form when it dropped in his inbox because the pictures made him feel powerful and sexy, and he figures no one he knows will ever see them.

Then I thought: What if Michael sees them?

Author’s Note: I feel the need to say that this fic, and all my other fics, like my blog, is Maria-friendly. Just putting that out there.

Title is lyrics from "I Want You To Love Me" by Fiona Apple.

Read on AO3

Alex hears a soft, shuttering click and turns his head. 

“This okay?” Josué asks, lowering the camera from his face and smiling softly. “You’re just—so fucking gorgeous, man.”

He’s squatting naked across the room, just returned from the studio’s tiny bathroom. His thighs are thick and meaty, the muscles corded as they support the weight of his body. The sight of them makes Alex burn, makes the vivid memory of him grinding down on Alex’s cock, riding him single-mindedly as Alex gripped those same thighs tight flood his senses. Alex feels weightless, somehow simultaneously above his body, and very much in it; he feels every scratch of the stiff sheets underneath him, every delicious ache from the evening’s activities, but they only serve to elevate this heightened feeling that Alex is good and right and glorious. Alex laughs, runs a teasing hand up the length of his own naked torso, his fingers catching in his dog tags. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and Josué grins, raising his camera again, the lens re-focusing and the rapid-fire, fluttering click resuming. 

Alex stares down the lens, willing the camera to stop time, to capture and hold him in this moment and this feeling forever and for real. He’s twenty years old; he’s free, he’s whole, and he’s alive within himself for maybe the second time in his godforsaken life, since the moment time failed to stop in the first place and Jesse Manes had crashed into the shed and into Alex’s sacred space, defiling it and him and the only thing that had ever felt right to him. The only person. Because time, unfortunately, doesn’t work like that.

Alex hears the soft buzz of his phone vibrate on the wooden table and looks down.

“Shit,” he breathes, picking up his phone and staring at the name and subject line next to the little e-mail icon: Josué Medina, Photo Release.

“Is something wrong?” Maria asks from across the table, and five pairs of inquisitive eyes focus in his direction.

 They didn’t plan this gathering, but Michael, Isobel, Max, and Liz were having a drink when Alex wandered into the Pony, and it seemed rude not to sit with them. Traffic petered out as the night went on, and Maria eventually joined them, and before he knew it Alex is nursing his third beer at a reclaimed wood table with five people who’ve been in his personal orbit for so long that it never occurred to him they haven’t actually spent much time together as a group. It’s awkward.

“Who’s José Medina?” Isobel asks, leaning shamelessly into Alex’s shoulder to better read his phone screen. Max, sitting on her other side, pulls her back.

“Iz, personal privacy?” he chides.

“It’s Ho-sway,” Alex corrects, sounding the name out phonetically. “And he’s someone I knew—Jesus, seven years ago?”

“Oooh,” Isobel drawls, “so he’s an ex.”

“He’s not an ex. He was—”

“An itch?” she supplies, and Alex kind of hates her.

“Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes and pretending to miss the way Michael’s briefly flash with something unreadable when they cross gazes across the table.

“So, this is a booty call?” Liz asks, chin in her hands and eyelashes fluttering suggestively. “Is he passing through town and never quite got you out of his system?” 

Alex forgives her much easier; her blood is basically tequila at this point in the night.

“Seven years ago,” Maria cuts in, redirecting the conversation kindly. “You were overseas at that point, right? First tour?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was on leave in Italy. He was—well, is a photographer, from the looks of the e-mail, but at the time he was just a student. I don’t know why he’s sending me a release form.”

Alex scans the e-mail. It’s brief pleasantries and apologies for popping up unannounced in Alex’s inbox, all written with that easy, magnetic confidence that drew Alex in so many years ago. And then there’s the ask:

There’s a call for submissions for this arthouse photo book on queer military personnel as erotic subject. It’s not fetish; it’s art. It’s a tiny press and less than fifty people will ever see it, but it would be a big deal for me. I want to submit the photo attached and I need your consent. I know it’s intimate and I understand if you aren’t comfortable. But a guy can try, right? If it helps, it’s just for us, you know? It’s not going mainstream anytime soon.

Alex doesn’t understand half of what he’s reading; well, he’s unfortunately very familiar with the dark side of fetish since he lost part of a limb and gained a prosthesis. It’s the reason he’ll never re-activate his Grindr account. But the rest goes completely over his head, so he just taps the icon to open the attached image file.

It’s. 

It’s intimate, all right. 

Erotic, for sure, though the image stops short of full nudity. 

And, before he can really fully process what he sees, it’s tugged out of his hand by Isobel’s bony fingers.

***

Michael is trying to focus on the conversation around him—on Maria, beautiful and loose by his side; on Max, reserved, but happy, flanked by his best girls; and decidedly not on Alex, staring at his phone with a dazed expression, lips parted softly and quirked in a barely-there smile. He shouldn’t care that Alex is receiving an email from a long-lost fling, or that he’s staring at said email as though transported. Michael is so fixed on not watching Alex out of the corner of his eye that he misses Isobel leaning over to pluck Alex’s phone out of his loose grip, and jumps at Alex’s cry of protest.

“Excuse me!” Alex says, turning towards her incredulously, but making no move to take his phone back.

“Damn, Alex,” Isobel whistles, tapping at his phone with two fingers to enlarge and then zoom in on the screen. “Save a horse, ride an Airman.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but there’s a proud, playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Lemme see!” Liz cries, reaching across Max for the phone. Max looks back and forth between Liz’s grabby hands and Isobel sliding the phone her way, then shoots Alex a plaintive, deer-in-headlights look.

Alex shrugs.

“Isobel probably already forwarded it herself,” he says easily, and Isobel nods shamelessly.

Liz picks up the phone eagerly, mouth dropping open in an exaggerated grin, hand on her chest, faux-scandalized. Michael watches Max’s eyes dart over in curiosity, then quickly away again, back straightening and eyes fixed forward. He coughs gruffly.

Liz passes the phone across the table to Maria. Maria hesitates, looks questioningly at Alex.

“It really is fine,” he assures her, eyes sliding to meet Michael’s gaze next and raising a brow, almost in a challenge. Michael gazes over Maria’s shoulder and inhales sharply.

The image is in black and white, maybe so it will pass as high art rather than cheap erotica. Though Alex in the picture looks anything but cheap. He looks—He looks fucking sinful. He’s lying on his back on a small, messy pallet bed in what looks like a sparsely-furnished studio apartment, clearly post-coital. His hair is short and messy, soft tendrils sticking out at wild angles. He’s clearly naked, but his closer leg is bent at the knee, foot planted on the mattress, preserving some semblance of modesty. Michael notices with startling clarity a small bead of sweat caught mid-roll down the crease of his hip. One arm is thrown over his head languorously, the other resting on his chest, long fingers tangled in his dog tags. He’s thin, the outline of his ribs visible thanks to the stretch of his arm, but his body is toned and tight, the small swell of his bicep and the curve of his quad and calf muscles evident even at a distance. His head is turned towards the camera, dark, hooded eyes gazing directly down the lens, full lips quirked as though in acknowledgment of his audience. 

It’s the expression that truly unsettles Michael. He knows that look. Intimately. Has spent hours and days and years, a whole lifetime coaxing that look onto Alex’s face with his hands, his mouth, his reverent touch, and all the other ways he’s pressed unspoken truths into Alex’s skin. Alex is at peace, lazy and comfortable and confident in his body, in its form and how he’s using it. This is an Alex blissfully alive and shameless in his own skin, absent the unrelenting control with which he holds himself back, the careful disassociation and denial of his own needs and desires. This is Alex basking in himself rather than swallowing himself whole. It’s intimate and sexy and, until now, Michael had thought only he had seen Alex like this. Only he had earned it.

Michael tears his eyes away from the screen, away from an Alex that’s no longer just his to focus on an Alex that isn’t his at all.

“So, this guy wants to display it or something?” Liz asks.

“Sort of,” Alex says. “There’s some kind of art book he wants to submit it to.”

“Would you get paid?” Maria asks, and Alex snorts, taking his phone back from her when she holds it out to him. 

“I posed for it for free, so I think that window is closed.”

“So you knew he was taking it?” Michael asks abruptly, and Alex furrows his brow.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. 

Michael is suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on him, and he nods hastily and stammers, “Good. You know. That you weren’t—that you didn’t not know.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Isobel asks, examining her manicure. She seems bored with the conversation now that there’s nothing in front of her to ogle. 

Alex takes a breath, looks down at his screen again.

“I’m gonna sign the form,” he breathes, and Liz actually claps in delight.

“You sure?” Michael can’t stop himself from asking, even as Maria kicks him with the heel of her boot under the table. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d be into, is all.”

Alex narrows his eyes and quirks his lips teasingly, but there’s a bite in the tone of his voice when he asks, “You trying to slut-shame me, Guerin?”

“Never,” he drawls in return. 

Their eyes lock and their smiles slowly fade. 

“I would never,” Michael adds, softer and more sincere. Alex nods once, looks away.

“It’s a gorgeous photograph, Alex,” Maria says, smiling warmly at him. “If you want to share it with the world, I say go for it.”

“And I say let’s go for another round,” Isobel declares, holding up her empty glass, officially over it. “Michael, I believe this one is yours?”

“It’s mine, actually,” Alex says easily, effectively ending the conversation. He grips the table for support as he slides out of his chair and stands, pocketing his phone as he goes. “I’ll be right back.”

***

They’re saying hasty good-byes in the parking lot, Liz and Isobel piling into Max’s car, Max extremely sober behind the wheel. Maria heads back inside to help her staff close up, and Michael stands quietly with Alex, waiting on his rideshare.

“You seem pretty sober to me,” Michael comments, pulling his jacket tighter around his torso.

“I’m tired,” Alex admits, “and my leg is bothering me. It’s just easier for tonight. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”

He glances sideways at Michael.

“You don’t have to stand out here with me,” he says. “Go inside and help Maria.”

“Why’re you releasing that picture?” Michael blurts, not realizing the words he’s speaking until they’re out there, irretrievable, and Alex turns slowly to consider him.

“I liked remembering how I felt when Josué took it. I felt free,” he says quietly, and Michael is shocked he’s even deigning to answer. “I was far away from Roswell and everyone in it. I felt strong, like I was in control for once. Maybe if the photo’s out there, that feeling won’t seem so far away.” He smiles mischievously. “And, I mean, I looked good. Hadn’t been too long since basic.”

Michael catches his gaze, holds it.

“Did I make you feel free?”

Alex’s smile is small, but genuine.

“You used to,” he breathes. “For awhile you were the only thing that made me feel that way.” 

 Michael feels his whole body release, as though he’d been holding in a breath, clenching every single muscle unconsciously. Alex shakes his head.

“What?”

“That’s too much pressure,” he says. “No one person can be everything good for someone else.”

Michael looks down and kicks at the dust and grime of the parking lot with his boot, and thinks of Maria.

“I told you I couldn’t be your medicine,” Alex continues, “but I think I was doing the same thing to you. Maybe that’s why I reacted they way I did when you started acting out.”

They let his confession hang in the air between them before Michael, now in possession of a one-track mind apparently, speaks.

“So you aren’t worried someone you know is gonna see it?” Michael asks softly.

Alex shakes his head.

“That’s why it feels safe,” he says. “New York, the 'art scene.' That’s a whole nother world.”

Michael nods, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“So, what if someone wanted to see it?”

Alex looks at him blankly.

“What if I wanted to buy a copy?” Michael explains. “I mean, you’re right. You were in spectacular shape back then.”

Alex bursts out laughing.

“Not like now,” Michael goes on, grinning as Alex’s shoulders shake. “You really let yourself go, private.”

The silence between them as their laughter dies is the most comfortable of the night.

“I’m okay with that,” Alex murmurs as a car pulls into the lot and a notification pings on his phone. “Good luck tracking it down, though.”

“Alex?” the driver of the car asks, rolling her window down an inch.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and pulls the car door open.

“Night, Guerin.”

“Sweet dreams, Fabio.”

It takes Michael three months to find the book after Alex mentions that it's out and his photo made the cut, and it takes some intense eBay stalking at that, plus he's out $60—indie press, my ass, he thinks as he clicks purchase. 

[dullpointdraws]

Well, I suppose the first chapter of DullpointDraws has officially come to a close.

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

-There are a surprising amount of people out there who share my bellyfucking fetish.

-I have the capability to make it to over 2,000 followers, but it takes three and a half years of nonstop back-breaking work. I really, really don’t want to have to do it again but now I have to. Fuck you, tumblr.

-Newgrounds has a better system than this website. Newgrounds hasn’t even really been touched since Tumblr was created.

-The name “Dullpoint” is actually the literal definition of the word “oxymoron”.

-People on 4chan don’t like me very much and I’ll never be able to get them to. Oh fucking well, Brooke can become an iconic character somewhere else.

-I may be the only person alive who waifu-izes Freya from Animal Crossing.

-I’ve had a Jolteon character for almost two years now who I still have never drawn.

-I can’t draw dicks, so I draw vibrators.

-The only post I ever made on here that got more than 700 notes was some navel-related shitpost I made in 5 seconds, as opposed to my actual art, that I pour my heart and soul into.

-I’ve only drawn a human character once and the drawing was terrible.

-I’ve improved my art skills so much that I literally can’t look at my old art anymore.

-Many other artists out there tend to judge me solely based on my art skills, apart from the few awesome artists out there who see me for who I really am (props to all y’all, you know who you are)

-Nobody here really provided much constructive criticism, but I take what I can get.

-I don’t know how to draw a lot of stuff people would actually like to see, but I’m tryin’.

-Drawing with a roommate constantly 5 feet away is fuckin’ hard.

-I can manage to build up over 200 unanswered asks in my inbox.

-I’m terrible at animation.

-DeviantArt is the only other place I’ve breached 1,000 followers, and I fucking hate that place.

-Nobody uses Weasyl.

-TMI Tuesday will never be the same with CuriousCat.

-I can’t even back up this goddamn blog for some reason.

-”Dull, have you ever written a fanfic?” Yes. I can finally answer “yes” to that question.

-I had to end a note expansion prematurely literally because I didn’t know how to draw any sizes bigger than the final pic.

-Discord is fucking amazing. Except when shitposters raid your server.

-I knew all along that the bots would one day kill us all.

And finally

-This was the only website I ever really felt... at home. Thanks for everything so far, you guys. Let’s hope we can make Twitter just as successful, even if it takes another 3 years away from me.

And 2018, you’ve done it. You’ve successfully ruined me. Hope this is what you wanted.

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

If you’re still active here, which you probably aren’t, please follow me at my other platforms. I really want to hopefully get back to where I was by the end of 2019.

Twitter

FurAffinity

DeviantArt

Weasyl

Newgrounds

Ko-Fi (tip jar)

Pastebin (for stories)

CuriousCat (I’ll be using this site for TMI Tuesday now)

[courtneykampert-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72wM6cqPS-c)

*Contextual Leadership and Exceptionalism*

How does this artifact define what it means to be an exceptional nation?

A YouTube video, pulled from TexasPatriots PAC by youtuber Mother Jones (2016), displays a particular view on the term exceptionalism, specifically American Exceptionalism.  Like most presidents, Trump has his own views on what American Exceptionalism is and he expresses these views in a recorded interview. In the past, most presidents have viewed America as the strongest and greatest country.  But, Trump has his own ideas about exceptionalism and they are displayed in this YouTube video.

Exceptionalism can be defined as a perception of superiority or uniqueness when compared to others.  To go further, the exceptionalism of a nation envelopes this idea of being a ‘utopia,’ or the utmost prodigious and perfect nation.  

In this video, Trump defines American Exceptionalism as excelling in the areas of business, economics and overall power as a country.  He does this by expanding upon the idea that other countries are currently doing better than the United States. He repeats the phrase “eating our lunch” a few times throughout his response.  But what does he mean by “eating our lunch?” One can infer that he is only alluding to the ideas of economic prosperity and global affairs from his comments about the country’s debt (Mother Jones, 2016).

“I don’t like the term, I’ve never liked it” Trump repeats and he later states that he wants to eventually make the United States exceptional (Mother Jones, 2016). This implies that while, according to Trump, the U.S. is not currently an exceptional nation, exceptionalism can still be obtained.  If exceptionalism can be obtained it can become a goal and thus be both earned and/or deserved.

This idea of a less-than exceptional nation is also portrayed by Pericles as he nearly scolds the Athenians for their lack of patriotism in is Plague of Athens speech:

Born, however, as you are, citizens of a great state, and brought up, as you have been, with habits equal to your birth, you should be ready to face the greatest disasters and still to keep unimpaired the lustre of your name. (Pericles, 431 B.C.)

To be deserving of the exceptionalism, Pericles asks the Athenians to fulfill and defend their destiny of strength and superiority. He calls upon the citizens to shape up and believe in their power to overcome their struggles during the plague and still come out on top at the end of the war. Trump and Pericles concur in that Trump implies that he can help the U.S. become exceptional in the future, which also supports the idea of exceptionalism needing to be deserved.

Both leaders attempt to shape their audiences with their use of rhetoric. How they define exceptionalism is what either encourages their audience or frustrates them.  To claim that a person’s home and lifestyle is not exceptional in comparison to others’ is to claim that they are not meeting their full potential. This idea can be absorbed by an audience in one of two ways. An audience member may agree that they have flaws and therefore areas that may need improvement or they may be peeved by the idea of their own leader not believing that they are outstanding.  

The article Introduction: American Exceptionalism, a Reconsideration, by Christopher Lloyd, defines American Exceptionalism as “a myth, a fantasy, a fetish, a story” that is rooted in the past. He goes on to explain that although this idea may be outdated, the “ belief and faith in an ideal(ized) and exceptional American nation remains at the centre of political rhetoric” (Lloyd, 2016).  This historically rooted ideology is what Obama spoke of and insisted that the U.S. still take it seriously.  By continuing the conversation, Obama also further approved that an exceptional nation is possible, and by rhetoric, is still obtainable.

While the concept of an obtainable exceptionalism may be inspiring to some, to others it can be insulting unless it is already obtained. How Trump and Pericles approached the topic is what shaped the reaction of their audience. Thus proving, as Lloyd explained, that rhetoric plays an important role in the ideology surrounding exceptionalism of a nation.

References:

Lloyd, C. (2014). Introduction: American Exceptionalism, a reconsideration.European Journal Of American Culture, 33(3), 159-164. doi:10.1386/ejac.33.3.159_2

[Mother Jones]. (2016, June 7). Watch Trump say he doesn't believe in "American exceptionalism". [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72wM6cqPS-c.

Pericles speech after first year of war. Thucydides. (431 B.C.). Second Year of the War - The Plague of Athens. (2nd Book, Chaper VII). The History of the Peloponnesian War. (R. Crawley, Trans.). Retrieved March 22, 2017, from http://classics.mit.edu/Thucydides/pelopwar.mb.txt