#i need a bumper sticker of him on my car

[darligvane]

Gage headcanons

I have these all written down in a google doc (plus way more) so I figured I might as well throw some here now that I'm getting more comfortable using tumblr lol. I'm very open to discussion about these! I might post more in the future if someone finds it interesting.

CW for: Minor mentions of addiction and some general trauma stuff. Nothing too bad I don't think but don't hold me to that.

A lot of these mention The Harvester by the way, sorry. Lore makes my brain itch.

● While he is a part of a minority of raiders who can actually read and write‐ (as evidenced by him leaving messages to Colter on his terminal) -he is dyslexic. It takes him a while to write things out coherently, and reading anything more than a few short sentences is often frustrating.

● ^ because of this, he prefers / genuinely enjoys comic books. They're light on reading and he can usually tell whats going on even without dialogue. He had a small collection of comic books back when he lived with The Harvester, and still gets kind of pissed he never got those back.

• Regarding comics, his least favorite character is the Silver Shroud. He just pisses him off.

● His eyepatch being so large is actually functional! (Somewhat) I like to think he lost his eye by getting shot in the face with a plasma round, which corroded and destroyed a large area of skin around his eye and down his cheek. So the large metal plating on his eyepatch covers the large scar.

● He actually lost his eye when he first joined The Harvesters gang when he was younger. One of Harvests gang members pulled the trigger on him when he initially approached them, thinking he had ill intentions. It sucked- but hey, at least they let him in.

● He made his own cage armor and designed it particularly around his needs rather than protection. He uses the cage to hold tools, parts, a rag, etc. while he works on things like Colters power armor or other mechanical things he fiddled with. Definitely doesn't make him very bulletproof, but following the boss around keeps him away from most combat situations anyway.

● Colter had a tendency to use Gages armor like a big handle to drag him around a lot, which he didn't particularly enjoy.

● His favorite colour is yellow, which is why his cage armor is the colour it is. He painted it himself :')

● Has the most horrific trust issues in all of mankind. (Thanks for betraying him Harvest, he will absolutely not recover from that.) He won't eat anything he doesn't see prepared himself, won't set down his drink unless he's alone, he can't sleep around other people, etc. When Colter dies and the new Overboss takes over, he doesn't even tell them where he sleeps until he trusts them entirely. He'll just dissappear at night unless you call out for him.

● These trust issues leak into his behaviors during relationships also. Down to the more simple things. He prefers to hug his partner from behind or be big spoon, he prepares food for them both, takes the night guard when camping, etc. Anything that puts him in the more advantageous position, even if its subconscious.

● The Harvester haunts him. He still sees and hears him in the shadows or corners after however many years its been. Has nightmares of him coming back and finally finishing the job, killing him. Feels the cold metal of a scythe against his throat when it isn't there... its endless. Even something as common as the sounds of distant gunfire make him paranoid, since it reminds him of the betrayal. Absolutely ruined him.

● Has tattoos inspired by / centered around The Harvesters. Covers them with his armor though. Hes got some trauma to unpack man, idk. (Should I do a tattoo tour for him?)

● One of the reasons he hates chems is from a previous addiction. He doesn't like to talk about it, but he made a few of his worst life decisions on chems and it just put a bad taste in his mouth. He'd prefer it if his Overboss / partner was in a rational state of mind, thank you.

● He is surprisingly good with animals for the most part. Particularly cats. Does the old man / dad thing where he says he doesn't like them or calls them mean names while secretly petting them or letting them hop in his lap when he's alone.

● Not usually a big fan of the more "exotic" wasteland animals though. Totally got jumpy one day and shot a Pack molerat on accident.

Thats probably enough for now. I'm happy to answer questions or expand on these more if asked, and I'll probably share more in the future. (Maybe some 18+ ones too? We'll see.)

[angelbwrry]

𝒮𝐻𝒰𝒯 𝒰𝒫 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝑅𝐼𝒟𝐸 ─── eren y. x connie s.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

─ you're a car enthusiast aiming to win a race for some extra money, but the handsome guys next to you already intended to take the victory.what happens when you three bump heads?

content warning ˚୨୧⋆｡˚slutty writing, 18+

word count ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 6k

parings ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ eren x connie x reader

the scorching heat slithered against your shimmering skin like a venomous snake, poised to overpower you. summer was by far your least favorite season.you fucking detested every aspect of it - the unsettling bugs, the pollen, and above all, the unbearable heat.

it came as a shock when your father informed you that the two of you would be relocating from alaska to los angeles. the contrast between the two places was stark. alaska's rugged coastline was a sight to behold, and you were disappointed when you arrived in flat los angeles. while it had its downsides, you would miss the beautiful glaciers, crystal clear lakes, and towering mountains.

your wandering mind returned to focus when a bright pink butterfly settled on your grimy hand, its wings fluttering softly. as you inspected it more intently, you noticed the sprinkling of black and white across her wings.and yes, you instinctively assumed she was a girl.

you softly called out to the insect, "hi baby." it appeared to examine the car oil on your hands before fluttering off, causing you to furrow your brows.

“rude ass butterfly.”

you turned back to your vehicle, your baby, your most valuable possession. a 2021 porsche taycan, you had it customized in hot pink, your favorite color. you had rescued mia—yes, you named your vehicle—from a collision. you’d invested numerous hours and a significant amount of money into reviving her.

she was your greatest achievement, adorned with blacked-out rims, 5% tint, a hello kitty-themed pink interior, and a hello kitty bumper sticker middle finger held high as it read, ‘if you're going to ride my ass, at least take me out for dinner first’

you were doing an oil change for mia. it was well needed seeing as you’d exceeded your mileage. you felt grateful to your father for consistently bringing you along to his mechanic job, even though you disliked it initially - with its loud, smelly, and grimy environment. however, as you kept accompanying him, you gradually developed an interest.

you observed your father working, and one day he’d noticed your feigning curiosity. he called you over and you’d listened as he talked about his techniques.

you learned quickly, and by the time you were sixteen, you had secured a position working alongside your father.

after you finished high school, it wasn't unexpected that the first thing you did was to obtain your certification in automobile service excellence. you landed a job at one of the busiest mechanic shops in town, and your wallet was definitely happy about it.

exhausted, you let out a deep sigh as you completed the task of changing the oil and lowered the car to the ground. the final step involved installing and removing the oil dipstick to check the oil level.

“damn, if i were lesbian i’d be swooning right now.”

peering over your shoulder,you smiled looking at your best friend aaliyah walking towards you, holding two refreshing cold glasses of lemonade. you've been besties since junior high and she's like a sister to you. after school, you both snagged a spot together.

“i think i could still pull you,” you sprouted a fake pout while wiping your greasy hands on a towel. once your hands were clean, you pulled her close, planting a kiss on her cheek with a mischievous grin. the lightskin girl felt her cheeks warm, stomach fluttering as she pushed you away.

“tease.”

“always.” you winked.

you couldn't help but let out a satisfied sigh as you savored the flavor of your friend's homemade lemonade. it was the perfect balance of sweetness and tartness.

you had pleaded with her to share the recipe, but she always played the role of the mysterious chef, insisting that some secrets were meant to be kept.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

pink, scintillating bubbles piled up dangerously close to the edge of the bathtub, ready to overflow. the water had a tempting pink hue, which wasn't surprising considering the bath bomb you’d added was called "pinky pie".

a relaxed breath left your lips and leaned your head against the edge of the bathtub, feeling goosebumps on your skin as the cold metal made you shiver. without realizing it, you had sunk so low in the water that half of your face was covered by the foamy water, stopping just below your nose.

‘girls need love to’ playing quietly in the background.

the candles you lit beautifully contrasted with the dimmed lights, filling the room with a heavenly scent.

this was precisely what you fucking needed after a tough week: facing your ex, getting a drink thrown at you by an irate customer, and being dragged across the pavement when your great dane decided to chase a squirrel. and that was only half of your week.normally, you'd smoke to clear your mind, but you were flat out of weed and your plug was out of town.

just your luck.

you attempted to meditate and calm your thoughts, but the idea of coginating and being alone in your thoughts didn't sound the least bit satisfying. so here you were, endlessly browsing through tumblr: your eyes shifting from one explicit image to another. it was no secret that you'd been in a recent dry spell, not even your fling with armin could satisfy your naughty cravings.

if you were truly honest with yourself, he never did.

armin was too gentle, too soft. one fucking squeak from you and he was ready to stop, thinking he had hurt you. you enjoyed being taken roughly and aggressively, wanting to be called the vilest things. you craved a hand wrapped around your throat, choking until your lungs screamed for the sweet relief of air.

you desired to be put in your place and spanked until your ass stung. you liked armin, truly, but he wasn't satisfying you.

sure, you loved being cuddled and kissed, but it wasn't what you were looking for. yesterday , you went to his house looking for a release. he had you in doggy style for about two minutes before he was whining and cumming all over your back.

embarrassing.

your hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they slipped past your stomach and stopped at your tingling bud. just as you went to flick your finger across it a startling bang made you jump.

“omg! there’s a car meet in an hour and ony is taking me. you should definitely come! ony mentioned there would be some racing. you’d easily win with that death trap of yours.”

aaliyah burst through the bathroom door, yammering while her eyes remained glued to her phone, likely texting ony. ony was the embodiment of a man whore; he used his good looks and charisma to draw you in, only to string you along without any genuine intention of pursuing a real relationship. aaliyah and ony had been on-and-off since their freshman year of high school. every week it seemed as if they were at each others throat ,then lovey dovey the next.

countless times, you attempted to persuade your best friend to break up with him. you didn’t know what she saw in his narcissistic ass, and you made sure he knew how much you disliked him whenever he was around.

“okay, first of all, knock before you come in. secondly , i hate that nigga, so stop texting him. and third, my baby is not a death trap.”

aaliyah clicked her tongue and sat on the marble bathroom countertops,”ony is doing better y’know.maybe you’d see that if didn’t loath him.”

you scoffed,”weren’t you guys literally just arguing two days ago?”

“yeah but that was different!” she whined,crossing her arms.

“right.”

you had to admit a car show and racing did peek your interest, you got to gawk at hot guys and potentially walk away with five grand, you were so in. you figured you’d use that extra cash to add a couple more things to your car. you wanted to add pink heart shaped valve stem caps as well as a wing on the car,also pink of course.

it’d been almost a year since you last raced with your baby, remembering how stunned your opponents were that they’d gotten beaten by a girl in a fucking hello-kitty pink porsche.

men,and their fragile ass egos.

“sooo,you in? you can't pass up cash, cars, and pretty boys," aaliyah said, raising her eyebrows.

you nodded,giggling.

“fine,yes. now out!” you smiled, ushering her from the bathroom. aaliyah squealed with joy, kicked her feet, slid off the counter, and broke into a happy dance. 'out!' you shouted playfully, pointing towards the door until she listened.

as soon as you scrubbed away the week's events, you stepped out of the bath and wrapped your pink towel tightly around your chest. you still hadn’t figured out what you would wear to the car meet - something slutty enough, but not too slutty. at the moment, your focus lay on your skincare routine, with a pink plush bow headband pulling your hair from your face as you used a cleansing brush to work in the facial scrub.

although you were a greasy mechanic most days, you didn’t play when it came to hygiene. most of the time when you’d mention your job, you’d be met with a laugh as they thought you were joking. you definitely didn’t seem like the type of girl who'd know her way around an engine.then you'd rattle off some car facts and watch their jaws drop.

you splashed water on your face, then moisturized, finally moving onto the last step. brushing your lashes out technically wasn’t skincare, but you did it religiously so it might’ve well have been.

you were glad you had gotten your hair done the previous day,that would definitely cut your time of getting ready in half.aaliyah was studying cosmetology, so you often became her test subject for new styles, her latest being a pastel pink wig.

at first, you doubted if such a bright color would suit you, but you quickly fell in love with the final look.you decided you would have aaliyah do some crimps once your makeup was done.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you chose to go for a subtle makeup look with a bright under eye, ensuring you sprayed your face three times with morphe setting spray. although the sun had went down july humidity was brutal.the final touch was lining your cupid’s bow with a brown liner and applying clear gloss over it. aaliyah decided to roll a joint, and you could hear her clicking her tongue and cursing at the gloss stains on the blunt.

after digging through your closet, you opted for a pink strapless tank top with a cute bow on the hem, matching it up with a short denim skirt that highlighted your figure. you accessorized with sparkling gold bracelets and oversized gold hoops before slipping into some pink wedge sandals.

damn, you looked good.

“i can’t wait to see some eye candy tonight!” aaliyah said excitedly as she pinned a section of your hair up and grabbed the crimper.

you peered up at her through your lashes,”aren’t you going with ony?”

“yeahhh, so? what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” she giggled,placing a neat crimp down and spraying hairspray on it.

“god you two are so toxic.” you huffed,crossing your legs

“maybe, but the dick is too good.”

“please don’t put the imagine of a naked ony in my head.” you scrunched your nose is disdain.

“whatever. hopefully you can find a guy you like tonight, i’m tired of hearing your rose toy at night.” aaliyah commented as she crimped the last piece of hair,holding it in place as she sprayed it.

you felt your cheeks warm up in embarrassment.it was true,your rose toy had been working overtime to please you but it could never seem to hit the spot. maybe you potentially could find a fling and and wipe your hands of armin.

you looked into the mirror and admired your perfect crimps that fell down your back,”you did your thing liyah,this is so cute!”

“i know.”

you giggled as you could see her head practically growing at the compliment.

a beep signaled ony’s arrival, and you rolled your eyes as aaliyah squealed like a high school girl. you inhaled from the blunt again. although not your regular choice, it somewhat alleviated your nerves about tonight.you ashed it out with a deep exhale.

here we go.

‘up and down’ by doja cat blared from your car's speakers as you followed closely behind ony’s camaro. he drove wildly, forcing you to almost run several lights.he knew you hated him and probably found the whole situation hilarious. irritation churned inside you and if you didn't love your car, you'd have likely rammed into his.

you pulled up to the car meet, the lot lined with all sorts of vehicles, from sleek sports cars to rugged muscle cars. as you step out of your ride, you can feel the eyes on you, accompanied by a wave of chatter that ripples through the crowd.

the air is thick with the smell of burning rubber, marijuana, and alcohol, creating a heady mix that hits your senses. ‘like a g6’blares through the speakers, the bass so powerful that you can feel the vibrations pulsing through the ground beneath your feet. the night is alive with energy, and you can't help but feel a rush of excitement as you take in the scene around you.

"oh em gee!" aaliyah squealed with excitement as she stepped out of ony’s car, locking her arm in yours. "look at this!" she beamed.

“i know,it’s like i’ve died and i’m in car heaven!” you giggled.

the night air was crisp and warm, and you were glad you sprayed your face until it was stiff. you could see a group of friends approaching you. you were used to people asking to take pictures of your car, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the attention.

the group approached with wide eyes and excited chatter, their phones already out and ready. you gave them a nod and a smile, feeling a sense of pride as they admired your ride.

the night was just beginning, and you knew it was going to be a memorable one.

as you sit on the hood of your car, a guy from the group steps forward, clearly impressed. "man, this ride is something else," he says, running his hand along the sleek lines of your car. "what kind of mods have you got under the hood?"

you smile, enjoying the chance to talk about your pride and joy. "thanks! I've got a turbocharger installed, upgraded the exhaust system, and did a custom tune. it really makes a difference in performance."

he nods appreciatively, clearly impressed. "i bet it does. the paint job is killer too. did you do it yourself?"

"yeah, i spent a lot of time on it," you reply. "wanted to make sure it stood out."

he grins. "well, you definitely succeeded. mind if I snap a few pics of you with the car?

"go ahead," you say, leaning back and watching as he and his friends take photos from different angles, appreciating the admiration and the camaraderie of the car meet.

“it’s not even that special,” you could hear ony grumble.

“awe,are you jealous you aren’t getting any attention?” you fake pouted while teasing him.

he rolled his eyes and flipped you off.

“right back at you bitch.”

you looked at him smugly before your eyes scanned the lot.

your brown eyes settle on two men,both looked like they’d just walked out of a model magazine. one has long, flowing hair that catches the light, while the other sports a neat buzz cut. both are wearing fitted black shirts that perfectly show off their intricate tattoos along with muscled arms.the long haired boy sported a pair of beat up converse and buzz cut sported black nike dunks.

they seem engrossed in a conversation, occasionally glancing at their cars with pride. almost if he can feels your eyes on him the man with the long hair locks your gaze.his green eyes were nothing short of mesmerizing, they held a seductive allure that made you clamp your legs together. his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light,flecks of gold dancing with the green.

he had those type of eyes that could see right through you,dark secrets,desires.

your heart fluttered as his lifted one hand and waved.

you sheepishly waved back.

you wanted to sink into the ground when when he nudged his friend and pointed towards you,his friend chuckled and shook his head when long hair had said something that you couldn’t make out. you suddenly felt exposed, and you turned your back to them and looked at aaliyah who was making out with ony.

you grimaced,”get a room freaks.”

aaliyah giggled as her lips never left ony’s,”you wish.”

you wished you’d brought your flask.

“when’s the race ony?” you questioned when the two had finally unlatched lips.

“mm,in like fifteen minutes i think. you joining?”

you nodded,”i think i have a good shot.”

he smiled,”type shit, you got it girl.”

your heart fell to your ass when you turned back around and saw those beautiful pair of green eyes and a pair of vibrant golden hazel eyes.

“sweet ride,this yours?” green eyes spoke,his voice was deep and guttural and matched him perfectly.

buzz cut nodded.

“definitely a head-turner.”

you smile as they compliment your car, but when they turn their attention to you, their expressions shift. their gazes linger a bit longer, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

they're not just admiring the car, but also you.

“pretty car for a pretty girl.” green eyes smirked,”i’m eren,this is connie” he motioned to his friend who flashed you a pretty white smile.

“i’m y/n.” you stammered out.

god,why were you so fucking nervous?

“you racing tonight, beautiful?” connie questioned and you could feel your stomach flutter at the compliment.his voice was a higher pitch then eren’s but you still found it alluring.

“yeah! are you guys?”

they nodded.

“just letting you know we’ve never lost a race,but i tip my hat to you cutie.” eren stated,his eyes flickering over your body.

he found it hard to imagine you’d be racing.your big brown eyes peered up at him through wispy lashes,glossy lips pulled into a smile.your short skirt reveals just enough to make his imagination run wild. he’s taken aback; you look like you stepped right out of an episode of my little pony, hello kitty and kuromi tattoos adorning your left arm.he finds you sexy,and his imagination flickers over to him having you spread out as he uses that pretty little mouth of yours.

“ignore him,he’s…competitive.” connie butts in.

while eren found you sexy connie found you simply,cute.but just like eren he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to you underneath him,whimpering, sweet little cries filling his ears in bliss as he rocked your body.

“well, may the best man win.” you gulp out,suddenly feeling a bit intimated by the two men towering over you,hungry look in their eyes.they were so close you could smell their colognes wafting into your nose,a mixture of musk and spice between the both of them.

“indeed.”

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

the atmosphere is electric with anticipation. cars are lined up, engines revving, and the crowd is buzzing with excitement. you sit in your car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. your palms are sweaty, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

eren and connie are in their modded out camaro beside you and you glance at them.they’re already looking your way, sizing you up. you can see the confidence in their eyes, and it only makes you more nervous. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

you can do this. just focus. you’ve got this.

you adjust your grip on the wheel and looks straight ahead. the signal lights start to count down, and you feels a surge of adrenaline. the moment the light turns green, you slam your foot on the gas pedal, your nerves transforming into determination.

the roar of the engines fills the air as the race begins. you can feel the car responding to your every move, and despite your initial nerves, a sense of exhilaration starts to take over.

“assholes.” you grumbled as eren caught up to your speed,connie rolling down the window with a smile.

“come on princess,put the pedal to the metal!” you could hear him laughing with eren and it only motivated you to go faster,your turbo engine was definitely working overtime as you flipped its switch,leaving the two of them in dust.

a smirk pulls across your lips.

in the distance, the finish line comes into view.

the checkered flag waves, signaling the end of the race. you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, every muscle tensed with determination.

almost there y/n. just little further. you do this.

the car speeds forward, you expertly navigating the last few turns. the crowd’s cheers grow louder, urging you on. you can see eren and connie on your ass through your rear view and one final burst of speed, your wheels crosses the finish line, the car roaring triumphantly as it passes under the checkered flag.

“yes!” you squeal out in excitement,hands smacking across the wheel.

you’ve done it. you’ve won.

you stepped out the car with a grin,cheers filling the air just for you.

eren and connie are second,annoyed look on their faces as they stepped out.

“well cupcake,congrats. how does it feel to be a cheater?” eren asks with furrowed brows.

“i-“ you start but you’re cut off by connie.

“excuse my bitter friend,congrats pretty. you did great.”

you smile sheepishly,looking down at your painted toes.

“thanks,connie.”

the moment is interrupted as aaliyah pulls you into a hug from behind,” this is my best bitch and none of yall better not not touch her! ahh, you did so fucking good. i feel like a proud mother.” she pretended to wipe fake tears from her face.

you giggled,”thanks liyah.”

“i think this is cause for celebration,drinks? on me.” connie offered.

aaliyah shifted her eyes to the two men, then at you,a smirk pulling on her lips.

“i have a date but i’m sure y/n would love to.” she nudged you.

you bit your lip as you switched your eyes from your friend to the guys,a breathy ‘sure’ falling from your lips.

you were gonna kill aaliyah.

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you found yourself tipsy on the plush white sofa, laughing as eren and connie shared their life stories. you learned that they both hailed from los angeles and, like you, developed a passion for cars during their upbringing.

you found yourself enjoying the experience much more than you had anticipated, and they appeared to have moved on from their disappointment about losing the race. unsure whether it was due to the alcohol or your prolonged lack of intimacy, you felt arousal stirring within you as pressure built in your vagina.

spotting that gleam in your eyes, eren strolled towards you.

“are you ready for the gift we have for you?" eren inquired, a playful sparkle in his eyes as he sipped on a glass of don julio.

in a state of confusion, you didn't realize they had purchased a gift for you. however, when connie gently took your hands and guided you to their bedroom from the sofa, you offered no resistance.

you found yourself sprawled on the vibrant red silk bed, feeling a wave of desire rise within you as they gazed down at you hungrily.

“are you guys gonna fuck me or sit there and look stupid?”

connie was the first person to move and then eren.

eren assisted in removing your shirt while connie focused on undressing your lower half.

the realization of what you were engaging in was almost unbelievable.

what were you thinking? oh,that's right, you weren't fucking thinking at all.

a soft moan escaped your lips as you felt eren’s lips on your neck, causing your head to tilt to the side in satisfaction. deep down, you had been yearning for his touch, and you were aware that he felt the same way. you joined in by helping them remove their clothes, carelessly tossing them aside.

as you took in their toned bodies adorned with tattoos, you could sense the anticipation building as their erections twitched.

“lie down, i want to taste you," rasped connie. your lip caught between your teeth as you complied, positioning your head at the edge of the bed. connie’s mouth watered as he spread your legs, revealing your shaved pussy. he noticed your arousal dripping out and couldn't resist swiping it up with his thumb, eliciting a small cry from you.

"you taste as sweet as you look."

your clit had swollen with arousal, pulsating with every touch. your eyes closed in pleasure as connie cupped your thighs and skillfully worked his tongue on your quivering pussy. he licked at an inhuman speed, leaving you moaning uncontrollably.

eren, who had been pleasuring himself at the sight, seized the opportunity to use your mouth while connie pleasured your pussy. a deep moan escaped eren’s lips as he slowly thrust his throbbing member into your warm mouth.

"fuck," eren whimpered as he moved his hips rhythmically in your mouth, "you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth."

overwhelmed with pleasure, you could only grip the sheets tightly, emitting a muffled moan as connie focused on your sensitive clit. you felt his hands holding your pussy open as he devoured you, and you were on the brink of screaming in ecstasy.

"such a gorgeous pussy," connie remarked between licks. eren had increased his pace as he thrust into your mouth, his testicles slapping against your face with each movement. you made sure to take a breath with each thrust.

eren’s thrusts intensified, causing your body to react with small whimpers and your pussy clenching tightly around him. each time he pushed into your mouth, he could see the indentation where his dick lay.

“taking all of me like a big girl, mama," eren groaned, using your breasts to leverage his movements and achieve a deeper angle. the wet sounds emanating from your throat as he rocked his hips were incredibly lewd, making his arousal even more intense as he heard you struggle to accommodate him.

tears welled in your eyes as eren continued to abuse your throat, while connie simultaneously pleasured your trembling pussy.

connie skillfully managed to insert two fingers into your tight cunt, while his other hand played with your clit, rubbing, slapping, and teasing the sensitive bud. the sensations were overwhelming, and you were grateful that eren had filled your mouth, preventing you from blurting out ‘i love you’ from the pleasure.

your body arched in bliss as connie delivered a sharp slap to your moist pussy. "you’re so wet, mmm. i’m goin’ to break you in," connie murmured, sliding three of his long digits into you.

gurgled moans escaped your lips as eren thrust his hips into your face, causing you to gag as his tip brushed against the back of your throat.

“ughhh, i’m about to nut.”

eren expressed his nearing climax, his words catching in his throat. despite the mess on your face, your focus remained on connie pleasuring your pussy and eren’s throbbing member in your mouth. with a final series of thrusts, eren climaxed, releasing warm spurts of cum into your mouth.

his eyes closed in pleasure as he felt your tongue working to collect every drop. as he withdrew from your mouth, you finally managed to voice your plea for connie to slow down, as he continued to finger you rapidly, the squelching noises echoing in his ears with each deep thrust.

“connie,please slow down," you pleaded as he drove his fingers quickly and deeply into your needy pussy. you could feel your slick cunt sucking on his fingers as you neared your high, tears streaked your face and your lips trembled with pleasure.

your pussy quivered around his fingers as your eyes rolled back in bliss. you almost snapped your legs closed as you felt him brush against your g-spot, arms pulling you down further onto him now that eren wasn’t occupying your face.

“i’m close, so close," you gasped as his fingers worked. you cried out as eren wrapped his pink lips around your raised nipples, his tongue flicking as your legs began to shake. you felt connie’s fingers pull out and his mouth munch back on your wet cunt, lapping you up hungrily.

your head fell to the side and your back arched involuntarily as a guttural moan escaped your lips, his tongue wildly flicking over your pussy now. with one more lick of your pussy, you screamed as your orgasm took over, connie locking you in place as he ate you through your orgasm.

eren was now knelt beside your face, cleaning it up as you shook in pleasure.

"mhm, let it out, baby," he whispered, talking you through your orgasm as connie ate you through it.

connie thoroughly cleaned you with his tongue, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around your thighs throughout. a series of moans escaped your lips as he persistently pleasured your sensitive clit. when he finally stopped, you let out a whimper.

"so fucking good," he huffed.

there was hardly any time for you to acclimate when eren lay on the bed and insisted that you straddle him. without hesitation, you complied, and he wasted no time in pulling you into a kiss.

your lips moved passionately over his soft pink ones, and your moans escaped into his mouth as you felt him grip your buttocks and part your cheeks. you could sense connie behind you,fluttering soft kisses on your back.

he was going to fuck you in the ass while eren fucked your pussy.

you trembled as you sensed the lubricant being applied to your anus.

“put me inside you pretty girl,”eren husked.

shaking with desire, you took hold of his shaft. his head was flushed and glistening with pre-cum, and you ran your thumb over it before taking it into your mouth. a mischievous smile spread across your face as eren whimpered. you positioned him at your entrance, your folds rubbing against his shaft, causing his leg to twitch slightly.

you let out a whimper as you sank down onto him, feeling his length and thickness stretching your sensitive pussy. a deep groan escaped him as he was enveloped by your tight pussy tensing around him from the intense stretching.

"so tight," he exhaled unsteadily.

connie surprised you by pushing into your backside before you could even react, causing a mixture of pain and surprise to escape as you both moaned.

the sensation of both of your openings being stretched caused your head to spin and your stomach to flutter. they remained still as they allowed you to adjust. eren’s lips returned to yours, kissing, sucking, and tugging, while connie planted gentle kisses on your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

“such a pretty ass,” connie murmured, his voice now dark,laced with lust.

“are you ready beautiful?” eren whispered into your ear, his green eyes locked onto yours as you nodded and squeezed your eyes shut.

as soon as they started thrusting, you felt the wind being knocked out of you. connie's gentle thrusts were soft yet deep, making you see stars. on the other hand, eren's rough hip movements against yours made you cry out in pleasure as he passionately took control.

“look at you, taking both of us like a slut,” eren gasped in pleasure,his tip hitting your walls making you mewl. his dirty talk made your stomach flutter,”tell me how you’re feeling baby,” he whispered,jaw clenched.

“i-feel,ah!”

your words caught in your throat as connie began picking up speed, balls slapping against your ass.he placed one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the small of your back,his thrust now matched eren’s,erratic and deep.

your toes curled in pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as they fucked you. each time they thrust their hips into you, both of your openings queefed, and you were too consumed by pleasure to care.connie's hand smacked your ass, you let out a cry, feeling the sting on your skin.

“don’t be rude pretty,tell eren how you feel,” he rasped.

“g-good!” you shuddered out.

connie's large hand delivered sharp smacks to your ass, eliciting cries from your lips with each strike. the stinging sensation on your skin made you anticipate bruising the next day as he continued to spank you. your head drifted forward in a state of euphoria, your arms trembling as you struggled to support yourself.

“sluts deserved to be spanked,” connie groaned out.

“you think we didn’t notice that look in your eyes, you’ve been waiting for this huh?” eren panted,hammering into you.

you struggled to find your voice, managing out a weak “y-yes.”

you were in disarray, tightly gripping the sheets with a clenched fist and an open mouth. connie and eren's intensity drove you to the brink. dry tear streaks marked your face, "you're so fucking sexy," connie grunted while vigorously moving against you, causing the bed frame to smack against the wall with a continuous bang.

eren's hand wrapped around your neck, making you suppress a moan. each powerful thrust of his hips engulfed you in ecstasy, and his tight grip made your head spin. you couldn't help but moan as you looked down at him, his eyebrows furrowed over his closed eyes, his face contorted in pleasure as he relentlessly made love to you.

you were certain he was going to suffocate you until you passed out, but just when you were on the brink, he released his hold.

“this pussy so good, you’re ours now” eren hissed.

you released a quivering breath as connie withdrew, leaving only his pulsating tip inside your anus. a cry escaped your lips as he thrust back in. you were a moaning, creaming wreck on connie's shaft, causing his head to fall back in ecstasy.

your tightness around him caused his legs to tremble beneath him as he spread your cheeks apart, greedily savoring the sight of you devouring his member.

“creamin’ on this dick so fucking hot.” connie mewled out,hands caressing your ass as he fucked you with dirty squelching noises.

eren complimented, "so fucking pretty," as he gazed at you. a light sweat kissed at your brown skin,eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, with your lip caught between your teeth as soft moans escaped. unable to resist, he gently sucked on your breast, causing your back to arch.

you body shook as eren prodded into your g-spot.

“a-ah eren,” you sobbed out, his hips drilling into that spot relentlessly.

“cum on this dick baby.”

eren persisted in striking at it until the tension in your stomach released, causing you to whimper as you climaxed on eren's member.he sensed his own climax nearing as your walls tightened around him, eliciting soft moans from his lips.

he inserted two fingers into your mouth and you eagerly complied, eliciting another moan from eren.

you were so sexy to him, and with a loud moan, he released hot bursts of cum inside you. he filled you completely, and you could feel him pulsating as his nut spilled out of you.

connie saw this as an opportunity to gently guide you onto your back, a soft cry escaping your lips as he entered your already filled pussy.

"connie, please go slower, i’m so sore," you whimpered.

"just a little longer, baby," he whispered, and you nodded in contentment. the sound of your filled pussy excited him, his hands intertwining with yours above your head as he kissed you passionately.

his tongue sought dominance as he kissed you eagerly, a moan escaping his lips as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper inside you.

he grasped your thighs and pulled your legs above your head, causing you to cry out at the new angle. he looked incredibly sexy to you, his hazel eyes now dark brown, jaw clenched in pleasure as he moved rhythmically.

“please, it's too sensitive!" you gasped as eren reached over and teased your clit.

seeing your clit being pleasured like that made connie's stomach tighten, and he released warm cum inside you, mixing with eren's as he let out a breathy curse.

he pulled out and watched as their fluids dripped from you, your contracting pussy pushing out the thick sperm.

a shriek left your lips as the bed railing gave out.

“well, looks like we’re going bed shopping tomorrow.” eren noted.

what a night.

@ CINNN4MON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.DO NOT STEAL OR MODIFY. MWAH, BYE

masterlist🏎️

[callooopie]

Modern!Davos Blackwood headcannons (pt. 1?)

— SFW —

I’ll hit it from the back, just so you don’t get attached — i like the way you kiss me // artemas

I can definitely see myself making more of these. Adding to the modern! Davos lore. Not proofread. LMK if y’all have other ideas or headcannons too!

Benjicot Davos Blackwood. People call him Davos. Only close friends call him Ben. Only you can call him Benji. Although, he goes by his middle name usually. Now, bloody Ben? That’s a story to be told later on how he got... (There is no story. It’s just people saying “Shit.. there’s bloody Ben..” or something like that. There’s no violence to the name, only pure exasperation when people see him)

This is the boy you need to hide away in your closet or under your bed when your parents come checking in on you randomly. You could’ve been working on homework, or just hanging around. And somehow this “annoying” guy appeared outside your bedroom window—and you just had to let him in. “C’mooon, let me in sweetheart.. you think I can’t climb up there? Stand back, I’ll show you.”

He is the type of person to rant about how the education system is rigged, set up to fail students, or rant about it in general and as a whole. Anyway he’s got a 4.0, and makes it onto the dean’s list every semester in college. However he is always late to class—complete with either a Monster or Red Bull drink in tow.

He invites you over to his place like a gentleman. Ignore his “annoying fuckass” roommate.. (it’s Aeron.) He does the whole (“it’s a little messy :3”) as he leads you down the hall of their apartment. “Hello MTV, welcome to my crib.”

He cooks at that desk, game-wise. Faceit level is between 5-6. CSGO rank is Master Guardian II (He does tell you he once hit Global Elite. But he stopped the grind to focus on school, not because he’s washed or anything—maybe you could be his Valorant duo? Or be his support in League; he’ll have you know he makes a mean ADC.. do you do overnight discord calls?—)

If you play more casual games (Minecraft, stardew, etc) he will play with you, HOWEVER, he will either ruin the aesthetic of the minecraft world via automated farms OR speedrun the mines in stardew (he passes out so much it starts to affect the money you’re trying to save for farm upgrades). Every time he goes fishing in either game he puts on a country accent and makes “gone fishing, getting away from my bitch wife” jokes. “I’ve uh- carved out an area for the iron farm. Nothin’ too big—just something to get started.” (Shows you an utterly decimated and leveled biome)

Davos Blackwood fun fact no. 43; he does rallying (rally racing). He went to a rally school for fun over the summer. Ignore the price tag; yes he saved up for that! no it’s not dangerous! Regular driving wise he does donuts in empty parking lots, and takes corners way too fast. He is the type to street race a random ass pickup truck or some other car that pulls up beside him. It is thrilling, and he knows you enjoy it too despite your protests and how you grip the handle above the seat. “No it’s fine.. pfft—don’t worry don’t— I’ll smoke him. Just watch.”

Speaking of cars. Do not complain about his car. This is his baby. His one and only. It’s an old car; it’s so old it’s bordering not being considered street safe anymore. Ignore the anime girl stickers with their tits and ass out, that was there already he didn’t do that. “It’s safe don’t worry—I’m getting the bumper and everything fixed like Monday I swear.. no I did not hit anything why would you say that-“

He’s oddly in-tune with his emotions and emotions of others despite appearances. He’ll KNOW if something’s bothering you. Maybe you’re just a little too quiet, you laugh at a joke a little too late or even if it sounds unenthusiastic. Whatever it is, Davos is on the case. A hug, some pep talk, he’ll let you punch his palms to get any anger out. He’s your ride or die, of course he’d do anything for you. And maybe if it’s a person who upset you he might pay them a visit.. “Who was it this time? Oh—that bitch? Ugh. I’m sorry about that… I have a gun just saying—“

Needs your hand in his. Or some part of you touching him. Whatever works. If he does not get a modicum of affection in 5 minute intervals he shrivels up like a plant—no he’s not being dramatic. Is the type to whine loudly about it regardless of where you’re at. On occasion he lets out bloodcurdling screams as a joke, lamenting about being denied tender love from you. You think it’s funny in private, you do not think it’s funny in public. Which is why he always does it in public. “Gimme your hand. Wha? What do you mean ‘it’s too hot out’? I wanna.. I wanna hold your hand… I don’t care if you’re sweaty—LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND”

I do believe his brain would be.. a little rotted. He sends you tiktoks, niche memes, shitposts. He will watch twitch streams or league/csgo content creators on YouTube. His vocab is normal, but does consist of slang from the gaming community. This can be good and funny, or sometimes bad if he uses it during serious moments. However he’s at least a normal human being and knows when to talk ‘normally’. He says joever unironically

Shadow boxes you. No matter what’s happening or where. You could be looking at something in a store and you just see slow, dramatic punches going toward you. He makes the whooshing sound too. This is how you know he’s bored. He’s also the type to tackle you to the bed. Not in a sensual or cutesy way but in like a WWE way that initiates a caged fighting match between you two.

Regardless of your mastery level of skateboarding he will hold your hands and pull you around on his board. Late at night when the parks or lots are empty, you both will be there. And he’ll be a smiling goof as he gently steers you around on the board. He usually says fuck helmets (his one big flaw), but carries one around just for you. His safety be damned. Yours? No question about it, you’re wearing all the gear required.

Smoker. Red flag. Marlboros, sometimes he uses zyns. It’s bad. Yes he knows he’s going to get lung cancer and succumb to nicotine. But he just can’t help it—it helps him relax. It’s why there’s a plethora of gum and also a cologne bottle in his car. Does it help? That’s to be determined. Does not smoke near you however if you don’t like that, he’s not that bad of an asshole.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All Things End 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss (death, miscarriage), and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Arvin Russell

Summary: Newly widowed, you take a job at the local grocer to make end’s meet.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your shoulder only gets worse. When you tell your supervisor about it, he’s unfazed as he sends you to restock the cans of tuna. Those are small, he suggests. No matter, the repetitive motion only tweaks the knot firmly lodged beneath your shoulder blade. 

When you finish your shift, you’re almost in tears. You still need to haul your own groceries home as you spend twenty minutes collecting the bare essentials. Even the light load feels like pushing a boulder up a hill as you leave through the front doors. 

You wince as you cross the lot, searching out the beaten up Volkswagen. You stop as you see the bumper sticker, heart dropping at the reminder. You remember that road trip and how you rolled your eyes at Ben when he slapped the sticker onto the car. You tried but it wouldn’t peel off. 

You stop and lean the bag against the hatch. Ugh, just the thought of driving makes your muscles roar. It’s not far. 

You lift the bag again and a pang ripples up your neck. You cry out and drop your armful, the can clunking heavily as the brown paper splits and sends your groceries scattering. You slap a hand on the car and reach to shakily rub your neck. 

You quiver out a gasp as you look down at the mess. You slide your hand down the metal and groan as you reach for the can of mixed beans. It’s scooped up before you can get your fingers around the dented tin. 

“You alright?” Arvin asks as he gathers up the smattering of groceries. 

“Yeah, I… tripped.” 

“You know,” he stands, hugging the loose goods, “I told you to take it easy.” 

You look at him in exasperation, he means well. Still, good advice isn't always practical. You have to work. You need the paycheck. 

“I know, thanks,” you reach for his armful. 

“Let me,” he insists as he steps closer, “pop the trunk.” 

You groan and turn to shove the key into the slot, pulling up the hatch halfway until it opens all the way. You drag the empty box from the corner for him to put the groceries in. He puts them into the cardboard as you lean on the bumper and cradle your shoulder. 

“You think you can drive like that?” He asks. 

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist through gritted teeth. 

“Is that true or just something you say?”  

“Look, I appreciate it but you don’t need to worry that much. Enjoy not having to while you can,” you say. 

“I see someone who needs help and I help,” he shrugs, “it’s what my ma taught me to do. If she was still around, I hope she’d be proud of that.” 

You wince and look away. It can’t be easy losing a parent young. You regret being so defensive and over what? Your bum shoulder? If she were alive, his mother might be around your age. Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned. 

“Thanks, Arvin, that’s considerate, I’m sure she would be,” you force a smile. “I can drive, I got another arm--” 

“Isn’t safe like that,” he shakes his head, “please, I can give ya a lift. I’ll walk back into town--” 

You open your mouth but stop yourself from repeating that mantra ‘it’s fine’. Your mouth slants and you tilt your head one way then the other. You sigh through your nose. You really just want to lay down with some ice. 

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” You ask. 

He grins and shakes his head, hair flopping, “’fraid I can’t.” 

You nod and hold out the keys, “shifter sticks, make sure you give it a wiggle.” 

🌲

Arvin drives confidently up the country roads. Everyone knows where everyone lives around here, even as the roads wind into the thicker brush. He slows as he comes onto the gravel road that leads to your marital homestead. Each time you see the arch of branches that crest the clearing, you’re reminded of the day you moved in. With Ben. 

There’s not much else left of him there. The pieces you did keep of your happiest years are all hidden away. More sore reminders of the lost. Aside from the stubborn rose bush. The petals are just as bright and pink as when Ben put it in. Your first year anniversary gift; it would be almost twenty if he was here. 

Your shoulder tweaks and the pain stokes the tears behind your eyes. You wiggle your nose and shake off the grief. It’s just this damn knot. It’s got you all twisted up. 

Arvin stops gently, the axle grinding loudly with the worn brakes, and he turns the engine off. You unbuckle your belt as he frees the keys and does the same. He’s quick but most people are quicker than you right now. 

He comes around to open your door before you can. You thank him as you get out, your purse dropping off your lap. He bends to pick it up first 

“Get yourself inside,” he hands you the keys, “I’ll get your things.” 

“You really don’t--” 

“I can hear it in your voice, just like those whiny brakes. I’ll have a look at those too,” he insists. 

“Arvin,” you utter, awash with embarrassment. 

“That shoulder won’t get any better if you keep being stubborn,” he grips the top of the car door. 

“What would you know? You got some years before you gotta worry about all this?” You kid as you slump your injured shoulder and touch it daintily. 

“I know pain when I see it and I know you’ve had enough of that,” he says, “go on. Let me get my good deed done for the day.” 

You nod and can’t help the tug in your lips. Right. He sees an old lady in need. You’re under no illusions. You know your age, you know what you’ve lost, you know what other people think. They pity you. Somehow, you hoped he wouldn’t share that. 

You sniff and step past him. You make your way up the front steps with tunnel vision. You try not to see the empty flowerboxes or the broken bench. The things Benny would have taken care of. 

You let yourself in but aren’t fast enough to keep the screen door from clattering into your shoulder. You cry out and stumble, catching yourself against the bigger inner door. You drop the keys. You don’t even need them. No one in Hammer Ford locks their doors. 

“Woah, hey,” Arvin’s footfalls rush up onto the porch, “everything okay? What happened?” 

You cling to the door hand and shakily look back at him, “nothing,” your voice is brittle, “the door... hit me.” 

“Ah gee,” he frowns, “come on,” he urges you in with his hand on your lower back, “you needa just relax, miss.” 

[vampirevatican]

Hi, hope you're doing well!!

I love your Judd works and was wondering what your headcanons are for Judd having a sensitive girlfriend...

Like, they're polar opposites. She's quiet, sweet, and tender hearted. She keeps to herself for the most part and is good at self-regulating her emotions, but when she gets too overwhelmed, upset, mad, or stressed, she totally breaks and has a hard time cooling down. How would Judd handle her strong emotions?

I think Judd being super soft only for his sensitive girlfriend is such a cute concept 🥺

Thank you sm!! <333

omg thank you, that's so sweet!! also...

'oh my goodness i love this question!!! um, i think...'

a super soft gf for judd?? just what the doc ordered tbh

i think he'd handle her big emotions differently, mainly depending on the situation

like say she's really pissed and is about to get into a fight? i don't think he'd stop her unless it wouldn't be good for her in the long run. like if it risks her bright future or he could see her having to go to hospital

when it comes to work? be it a job or school then he'd definitely make sure she got breaks before she breaks down or burns out completely

he'd probably give her a rage room, like he'd build a cutesy shed and the inside of it is where she can scream, throw, punch, kick and break things as much as she wants

he's very much an actions over words, ya know? although if she just needed him to sit with her for a bit and repeat reassuring phrases he would

he'd hold her close and rub her back, or play with her hair, kiss her forehead and the top of her head

god forbid his family caused the break down, you're just consistently in his room as prisoner and if you have to use the bathroom he's a body guard at that point

some additionals bc gosh this is cute (and brainrot tings)

he will not do the soft sanrio cutesy things with her like matching outfits... UNLESS she found a way to make badtz maru, or another all black sanrio character, more punk

hear me out please... i can picture him 'tolerating' a lot of cute stuff for her, especially if she pulls puppy eyes

the raccoons? consider some of them dressed up with bows, silly outfits or even glitter

his van? there's holographic and cute stickers on it sometimes and yes he rides in her car sometimes and accepts that it's decked out in full girly uniform

actually his favorite sticker on her bumper is a cute bunny that says, 'i know i have a cute ass. can you stop riding it?' or it's baby baphomet stickers he picked out for her by the same artist (tiktok mention)

whenever he picks outfits for her? she has to hide whatever black she has, lest it looks more pastel goth/grunge

he loves her dearly. this is a sun and moon dynamic. this is one of those 'if anything happens to them id kill everyone in the room and then myself.'

[kekaki-cupcakes]

BONJOUR (〃^ω^〃)

if your requests are open and if you so feel like, I would LOVE (♥ω♥*) to hear your Connor Stoll HCS whether misc or x reader related I care very little, I just want more content of my fav.

Sincerely eternally yours - anon.

ciao! ヽ( 'ω' )ﾉ

Hey I know you requested this ages ago sorry about that. I've also decided to answer requests in order of which one I like the idea of the most instead of time because I feel like I'm stuck on a few old ones lol

Also this was so fun to write and I ended up writing a short story at one point or smthn.

Conner Stoll Headcanons

»»————-　★　————-««

-He sometimes forgets Travis isn’t really his twin.

-As do most people that know them. 

-He’s so sick of the jokes about his last name he and Travis just pretend to not understand anymore.

-The poison sprayed T-shirt given to the Hunter Phoebe, stopping her from going on the quest to save Annabeth wasn’t just a prank on the stern girl. It was on purpose, so that Percy could go instead, but no one really realized that.  

-Once he moved to New York years after the books ended, he rented a flat with a smashed in window and a leaky bathtub. He had to live off one dollar pizza slices for about a year [he loved them] until he saved up and stole enough to afford a better flat with three bedrooms. One was for him, one was for Cecil, and one was for Katie when she visited with Travis. He has a bunk bed that he shares with Travis, but he makes his brother sleep on the top bunk like they did at CHB.

-Unknown to him, Travis’s room at Camp Jupiter has a bunk bed too, and he sleeps on the top every night. He’s studying Law. 

-Once Conner was able to pay rent by the deadlines and had steady shifts at work [and once his diet had gotten a bit better, although pizza slice Friday is a ritual] Chiron finally let Cecil move in.

-It was only really because Cecil wanted to go to highschool properly, and finish it this time instead of being chased from the year ten open day by feral harpy’s. He works at Starbucks part time and Conner drives him to every shift and then Iris messages CHB and talks to his friends in his car while he waits for Cecil to finish. 

-He’s actually really disappointed when Cecil buys a motorbike and doesn’t need lifts to Starbucks anymore, but then his little brother needs someone to pick him up because he crashed into a phone box and he’s back to annoyed chauffeurTM again.

-He owns the shittiest car ever, like, one of those falling apart pickup trucks with fluffy dice and he actually keeps it pretty clean because he’s so proud of it. He calls it ‘Mater’, from the movie Cars, because it’s Cecil’s favorite movie. It’s also covered in bumper stickers. Like, nearly every part of it, and people just hand them to him sometimes to fill in a gap. 

-He joined the local track team, and he’s actually pretty good.

-His guilty pleasure is Taylor Swift’s 1989 album and eating peanut butter MnM’s by the bag even though he hates real MnM’s.  

-He never really wanted to go to University, and the strictness of Camp Jupiter would’ve killed him, so he got a job at the lolly store Sally used to work at, but was fired when he let too many little kids shoplift. 

-Now he’s working at a backpackers lodge instead, and he actually really likes meeting all the traveling people that come through, even though he knows it’s because of his dad. His relationship with Hermes is questionable, mainly because of Luke. 

-He loved his brother but after the Titan war and all the shame put on their cabin he hated Luke with a passion, as did most of his siblings, even if they sort of did understand why he did it all anyway. Conner wouldn’t have joined the Titan Army, but he knows that if the majority of Camp Halfblood was to stage something like that again he probably would. He’s loyal to his siblings and friends, not the gods. 

-Chris Rodriguez agrees on that part. They’ve talked about it a lot. 

-Chris stayed over on the fold out couch enough for him to get a toothbrush in the bathroom and his favorite cereal in the pantry, which is weet-bix bites with honey and blueberries [if someone went to the shops for something other than pink monster energy drinks and grain waves]. He stills lives at Camp Half-blood with Clarrise most of the time and he’s going to University online but has to come in once or twice a week for tests and practical classes. He wanted to be a paramedic but he knew that would be too much stress on him and so would being a therapist.

-Chris is studying nursing and catches a ride with Pollux [who is studying to be a paramedic] sometimes.  

-Then Pollux began staying over sometimes as well.

-And of course there were times when Clarrise would come into the city with her boyfriend to find late night underground fight clubs and visit Coach Hedge [he was the satyr that brought her to CHB].

-Six months pass and Conner’s apartment is a mini Camp Halfblood stop by.

-This is confirmed when Lou Ellen bursts in at three am with a hellhound on her heels and the app Malcom Pace had invented that directed demigods to nearby safe havens when they were in danger.                                                                                                               She explained that his flat had come up and she needed to talk to Austin [who was sleeping on the couch] about how somebody from his cabin had stolen her voodoo doll of Will that they liked to tickle while he was stitching someone up in the Infirmary. 

-He’s accepted it now but sometimes when a random kid shows up covered in blood he sends them to Sally’s apartment [she’s on the app as well]. There’s only so many blow up mattresses and showers long enough to scrub monster grit off a twenty something year old can afford. 

-He gets promoted at the traveler’s lodge, and ends up sending a lot of demigods, nymphs, and satyrs there as well. 

-Chris’s nursing skills help out a lot more than they were hoping.

-So does having Pollux the paramedic on speed dial. 

-He pirates anything he watches, and his favorites are The Last Of Us and Ferris Bueller's day off. He is obligated to watch Cars at least once a week with Cecil, but his favorite Disney movie is The BFG [it used to be the Lion King but then Luke happened and it hit too far home]. 

-He also really liked watching The Hunger Games but then he realized what it reminded him of and now he steers clear. 

-That, and the fact the Castor and Pollux trope is used. 

-Conner hates musicals. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

hiiii!!! i’ve just now been really getting into ur fics (and to preface idk what you do and don’t write) and i actually love ur style sm! could you ever so possibly write a pedro pascal x fem reader except she isn’t famous, like at all, and is actually a cop? also with a bit of age gap in there..? thank you soo much!!!!

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Pedro Pascal x Cop!F!reader | WC : 1.7k | Proof read : NO | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN

Summary: From giving him a ticket to him asking you out.

Warnings: Cops? its fluffy just

A/n: Just a simple oneshot of how you met Pedro Pascal, and I'll probably make a post about my dos and don'ts for asking. You are 100% okay though, there's nothing wrong with this question.

You were doing your usual rounds about the city, the brisk morning air a refreshing contrast to the monotony of your job. The streets were starting to bustle with the early risers, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods wafting from nearby cafes. As a parking enforcement officer, it was your duty to ensure that everyone followed the rules, even if it meant being the bad guy sometimes. Today, though, was just another ordinary day.

You walked along the row of parked cars, your eyes scanning for any infractions. Then you saw it—a car parked in a metered spot without any quarters in the meter. The car was fairly nondescript, an average sedan, but two bumper stickers caught your eye. One read "I love Baby Yoda," and the other proclaimed, "I'm a Cool Uncle." You chuckled softly to yourself, appreciating the stickers for a moment before pulling out your ticket book.

As you began writing the ticket, the door to the nearby Starbucks swung open. Out walked a man, coffee in hand, looking relaxed and content. You glanced up casually, ready to inform him about the parking violation. But as your eyes met his, your breath caught in your throat.

It was Pedro Pascal.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. There he was, your celebrity crush, right in front of you, and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed and starstruck. He looked exactly as he did on screen—charismatic, charming, and effortlessly cool. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, making him look almost ethereal.

You quickly snapped out of your reverie, reminding yourself of your duty. Even if it was Pedro Pascal, he still hadn't fed the meter. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, ticket in hand.

"Excuse me, sir," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm afraid I have to give you a ticket. Your meter's expired."

Pedro looked down at the ticket in your hand and then back at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Ah, I knew I forgot something," he said, his voice as smooth and captivating as you'd imagined. "I got a bit distracted by my need for caffeine."

You couldn't help but smile at his candidness. "I understand, but rules are rules," you replied, handing him the ticket. "Even for someone with such great taste in stickers."

He glanced at the back of his car, then laughed. "Yeah, my nephews insisted on those. I couldn't say no."

The two of you stood there for a moment, an easy silence settling between you. It was surreal, having this casual conversation with a man you had admired from afar for so long. You noticed his eyes, warm and friendly, and you felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze.

"Thanks for being understanding," he said, taking the ticket from you. "I guess I’ll have to make sure I have some quarters next time."

"That would be a good idea," you said, trying to sound professional but feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. "Enjoy your coffee."

The next day, you were doing rounds once again, the early morning light casting long shadows on the sidewalk. You and your coworker Jeff had decided to take a break and get breakfast. It was a rare treat to have some company during your rounds, and Jeff's jovial nature was a welcome distraction from the routine.

As you approached the same Starbucks where you'd met Pedro the day before, you felt a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. Jeff nudged you playfully.

"What's got you so excited today?" he teased.

"Nothing," you replied quickly, trying to hide your smile. "Just looking forward to some coffee."

The two of you entered the Starbucks, the familiar aroma of fresh coffee and pastries enveloping you. You got in line and scanned the room, half-hoping and half-expecting to see Pedro again. To your surprise and delight, there he was, sitting at a corner table, engrossed in his phone.

You nudged Jeff. "Look who it is," you whispered, nodding in Pedro's direction.

Jeff's eyes widened. "No way. Isn't that Pedro Pascal?"

"Yeah," you said, your heart pounding. "I met him yesterday. Gave him a ticket."

Jeff laughed. "No way! Did he freak out?"

"Not at all," you said, remembering the encounter with a smile. "He was really cool about it."

As you waited for your coffee, you couldn't help but steal glances at Pedro. He looked up from his phone, and his eyes met yours. A smile spread across his face, and he raised his coffee cup in a silent toast. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as you smiled back.

You and Jeff grabbed your drinks and headed for a table, but Pedro waved you over. "Hey, join me!" he called out.

Jeff raised an eyebrow at you. "Looks like you're in demand," he said with a grin. "Go on, I'll hold down the fort here."

You walked over to Pedro's table, trying to keep your composure. "Hey," you said, sitting down across from him. "Fancy seeing you here again."

"Yeah, what are the odds?" he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "How's the ticket-writing business treating you today?"

"Not bad," you replied, relaxing a little. "No major infractions so far."

"That's good to hear," he said. "I made sure to feed the meter this time."

You both laughed, and the conversation flowed easily from there. You talked about everything from the weather to your favorite movies. The more you talked, the more you realized how down-to-earth and genuine Pedro was. He had a way of making you feel comfortable and at ease, and before long, you were laughing and sharing stories like old friends.

"So," Pedro said after a while, leaning back in his chair. "What do you do when you're not writing tickets and keeping the streets safe?"

You hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I read a lot," you began, "and I watch TV shows and movies. I'm a big fan of... well, a lot of things."

Pedro's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "What kind of things?"

Before you could answer, Jeff, who had been eavesdropping from his nearby table, piped up. "Oh, she's a super fan of a bunch of stuff. She's got all the merch, too. Posters, figurines, the whole nine yards."

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Jeff!" you exclaimed, giving him a look that you hoped conveyed your exasperation.

"What? It's true," Jeff said with a grin. "Don't forget to tell him about the fan fiction."

Pedro raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Fan fiction, huh? What shows are you into?"

You took a deep breath, deciding to own it. "Mostly dark romance," you said. "I love exploring complex characters and intense emotions. Shows like 'Game of Thrones,' 'The Mandalorian,' and 'Narcos.'"

Pedro chuckled, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "Ah, so you're a fan of my work?"

You nodded, feeling a little shy. "Yeah, I am. You bring a lot of depth to your characters. It's inspiring."

"Thanks," he said, looking genuinely touched. "It means a lot to hear that."

Jeff, not missing an opportunity, added, "She even has a Pedro Pascal marathon every few months. It's like a tradition."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "Jeff, you're killing me here."

Pedro laughed, a rich, warm sound that made your heart flutter. "No need to be embarrassed," he said. "I'm flattered. Really."

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were kind, and you could see he was genuinely amused and touched by your admiration. "Thanks," you said softly. "I just didn't expect to meet you like this, let alone have a conversation."

"Life's full of surprises," Pedro said with a wink. "And I'm glad we did meet. It's not every day I get to have coffee with someone as interesting as you."

You felt a rush of warmth at his words. "I could say the same," you replied.

Pedro seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked, "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

You smiled, a bit amused. "I'm twenty-six."

Pedro's eyes widened slightly. "Wow, you look younger. I would have guessed early twenties."

You laughed. "Well, thanks. I guess good genes run in the family."

Pedro leaned in a bit closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Good genes and a youthful spirit. You know, I should probably make sure you're over eighteen before I ask you out."

You felt your cheeks heat up, a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. "I promise, I'm well over eighteen."

Jeff, who had been listening in with a grin on his face, couldn't resist chiming in. "Yeah, she's definitely over eighteen. I've seen her ID."

Pedro laughed, turning to Jeff. "Good to know. Wouldn't want to get myself into trouble."

Jeff shook his head, still grinning. "You're safe, man. Just make sure you treat her right."

Pedro turned back to you, his expression softening. "So, how about it? Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "I'd love that."

Pedro's smile widened. "Great. How about tomorrow night? There's a nice little Italian place not too far from here. My treat."

You nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. "Sounds perfect."

Pedro glanced at Jeff, a teasing glint in his eye. "See, she's an adult. We're good."

Jeff laughed, clapping Pedro on the shoulder. "Just remember, I'll be watching. I've got her back."

Pedro chuckled, turning his attention back to you. "I'll keep that in mind. So, how about I pick you up at seven?"

"Seven sounds great," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside you.

As Pedro stood up, he held out his hand. "Looking forward to it."

You shook his hand, feeling that familiar spark of connection. "Me too."

As you and Jeff walked back to your patrol route, he nudged you playfully. "Look at you, making plans with a celebrity. You're living the dream."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I can't believe it either."

Jeff grinned. "Well, just remember us little people when you're famous."

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes. But you couldn't help but smile, thinking about the date tomorrow night. Your life had taken a surprising turn, and you were excited to see where it would lead.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

this is literally all i could think about on my drive to work today so i present to you

what cars would vox machina drive?

keyleth: you know she's a subaru girlie, olive green and dented (bc lbr keyleth would not be the best driver) and covered in just ALLLL the bumper stickers, for state parks and liberal politicians from like two decades ago and charities she doesn't even remember donating to (she has three different "who saved who?" bumper stickers and she doesn't know how she got any of them). there's a rattle that starts whenever she gets over 40 mph but she's choosing to ignore it.

percy: this is an old money bitch so you know he has a bunch of cars, mercedes and aston martins and bentleys, but i think his go-to is a brick of a rolls royce, dark gray bc black is too obvious

vax: an olllllllld black thunderbird that is absolutely falling apart, just a complete hazard to have on the roads, but vax pours any excess dollar he has into keeping the piece of shit running bc he loves it so much

vex: a sensible, clean honda civic sport (blue) that has every single bell and whistle offered but that she negotiated down to $10k below the sticker price. she will drive this thing into the fucking ground before she gets a new one. the back seat has a special protector/sling thing for trinket.

pike: just the most absolute unit of a gargantuan pick-up truck you can imagine. something that no self-respecting construction professional would even drive, just so fucking mammoth that the TIRES are taller than pike. she has special electric stairs that descend so she can get in. she has this because a) she is a monster and she deserves it and b)

grog failed his driver's test (both written and practical) six times before just giving up, so he just goes wherever pike goes

scanlan: a tricked-out cadillac he had specially painted the most gnarly shade of purple with sparkling gold rims and LED lights along the undercarriage that are linked to his illegal stereo that he is always bumping way too loud with the windows down. just a fucking pimpmobile of a vehicle. leather seats that you do NOT want to look at under a black light and special hidden compartments for the contraband he insists he has but absolutely does not.

tary: this twunk drives a gold porsche 911, and he hates giving his friends rides when they need one but when he does, he makes them take their shoes off. do NOT ask him for the aux, it is a waste of your time. he is an insanely reckless driver, and once he finally wrecks the porsche for good, he's shocked to learn how much they cost (this one was a gift), so vex drags him kicking and screaming to honda to get him a civic of his own (not as nice as hers bc without daddy's money he definitely can't afford it).

[aceistheplace86]

Strawberry & Pine pt 3

//Y'all don't understand how badly I just want to make everything heartbreaking sad but I have to do somethin called "groundwork" or whatever... You guys are safe for now.

How on earth did she know his name? His real name!

“Look lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stan said quickly “I’m Stanford. Stanford Pines. Mister Mystery. Always have been.”

Julie held out her hand “Show me your hand” When the man made no sudden movement she nodded “I knew it”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed together “I don’t understand what's happening right now.”

Julie glanced around the mostly empty diner and then back at him “I knew something was odd when I started seeing your face on bumper stickers for the “Mystery Shack”… his face” She said quietly. “Look. I have lived here in Gravity Falls for a long time. I knew your brother. I helped him with his studies” She paused “I was there when he…” she trails off.

“I don’t know what scam you’re pullin’ but I’m outta here” He stood up and walked out of the dinner quickly. He got in his car and slammed the door shut. He started his car and looked in his rearview mirror, that’s when he saw her sitting in the back seat “What the-!” He screamed.

“Please let me explain” Julie spoke softly but hurriedly.

“How did you get in my car!”

Julie sighed and in a blur had disappeared, a streak of red light trailing behind her before reappearing in the passenger seat.

“Gah! Stop doing that!’ Stan yelps.

“I am one of the many anomalies that lives in Gravity Falls” She starts “I ran into your brother, Ford, one day in the forest. He almost got himself killed by a creature he was unprepared for” She gathered her curly hair and pulled it into a ponytail feeling a bit overwhelmed with it in her face. “I taught him about some of the creatures here, how to stay safe. Even made him a contraption that he could use to keep the powers of the stronger creature at bay. I taught him about myself”

Stan just stared at her confused “What are you exactly”

“To put it simply, a witch,” she tells him

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

Julie opened her mouth and then stopped for a moment. “I thought you were him” She whispers softly. “I thought he came back, I thought he was okay” She looked out the window “So I went to the Mystery Shack and saw how different it looked. I tried to keep a positive mind until I saw you, shook your hand”

Stan looks down at his hand and sighs softly “Sorry to disappoint.” He mumbled.

“There is no disappointment Stanley,” She tells him “At least not because of who you are. I figured you were the only other one who could understand something like this.”

He looked up at her and gave her a weary smile “So you knew my brother then huh?”

Julie nodded “Brilliant guy. But so hard on himself” She mumbled.

Stan just nodded “So you were there that night when I… when he…” He couldn’t find it in himself to say the words about the portal.

“I was there before that” She starts

“Wait. Before? Well, why didn’t you try and stop him before he even made the damned thing!”

“I did!” She looks at him “I tried to bring him back down to reality, but he was too far gone” She rolled her shoulders back and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “We got in a fight. He didn’t trust me” she tells him. “He used my own contraption against me. I was powerless” She recalled the memory. “I freed myself with tools while he was distracted and teleported out of there. I needed to regain strength before I faced him again” She looked down at her hands “I wanted to have a plan on how to help him… But I was too late”

He watches her, remembering how scared his brother had been that day he had finally been reunited. “Why didn’t you come to see me earlier?”

“I left Gravity Falls in search of a solution to bring him back,” She says “I know he wrote everything in those journals but I was under the impression that he had gotten rid of them.”

“Yeah,” Stan mumbled. “It ain’t an easy fix”

Julie looks up at him “But, I think I can help”

[4awny]

Sp Driving Headcanons that literally nobody asked for

Stan:-

first one to get his licence obvs

usually a calm and defensive driver

gets a scratch on his car and says aw man my dad's gonna kill me

even when he's 30

drives drunk probably

car is a mess. shit everywhere

overall? man can drive. 8/10

Kenny:-

doesn't have licence. couldn't afford that shit

drives anyway

and it's his brother's piece of shit car

can't park for shit, usually just hopes for the best

has a bunch of naughty bumper stickers for sure

can fix his own car

something always broken

huge dent on the side. "jeez man, how did that get there?"

knowing full well it was a hit and run

felt bad so left a note on the dude's car: hit your car but I'm broke and dont have a licence. my bad sorry. hope you get it fixed

somehow never gets pulled over

overall, dude shouldn't even be on the road. 1/10

Kyle:-

suspect to road rage. man's got issues

hates traffic with a white hot passion

no one is allowed to eat in his car... ever.

cartman is the only one that ignores this rule and is constantly hiding wrappers in random places to annoy him

it annoys him

has run a red light on more than a few occasions

got caught speeding. argued his way out of it. thanks dad

overall, a decent driver but mf needs to chill. 7/10

Cartman:-

hates slow drivers

will happily park in disabled spots

and will say "not every disability is visible!"

and then actually gets offended when someone calls him out for doing it

usually kyle

the type of asshole to say "someone better have died for this" when driving past a collision that got him stuck on the highway for 2 hours

tailgates people for fun

hates being tailgated

gets cut off. follows them for 20 mins just to call them a useless cunt

1 ticket away from losing his licence

overall? 4/10. enuff said

Butters:-

taps the wheel along to songs

sings a lot

sometimes oblivious to road signs

because he's usually looking at the scenery around him

drives 10mph under the speed limit

just to be safe

always offers to drive the guys

the guys: 😒😒😒😒

overall, 6/10. score would be higher if the singing stopped

Craig:-

finds driving a chore

but also likes having his own transport so he can bail anytime he wants

like that one time clyde surprised him with a huge birthday party. but that's another story

parks at the back of the parking lot

then regrets it when it rains

never gets to play his own music, because whoever's in the front is in charge of the bluetooth. it's always clyde

mf always giving lifts to people

for free too

always questions himself why he does it

overall, dude deserves a medal for putting up with so much shit. 10/10

Clyde:-

never drives. simple as that

thank fuck for craig and drive thrus, huh

overall, the leech gets a solid 0/10 and that's being generous

Tweek:-

6 failed attempts before he eventually passed

thought he was cursed

turns out he cant drive for shit

only drives to places he's familiar with

so basically a 3 mile radius from his house

drives in silence. man cannot concentrate

tells people to shut up if they are talking to him when he's driving

like I said, man cannot concentrate

overall? I mean, at least he tries. 5/10 for effort

Tolkien:-

listens to the same radio station

pretty observant. can see the accident before it even happens

the most sensible driver out of everyone

somehow never gets asked to drive tho

takes advantage of that

always offers to pay for gas

is the only one that does

overall, a great driver. 9/10. wd buddy

[prince-liest]

Sooooo what car do we think Once Bitten Alastor drove ?

I wish I knew more about cars and could give this a thoughtful answer, but I didn't get my license until I was 25 (grew up somewhere you didn't need a car) and so I really am new to the world of having to care about vehicles, hahaha.

I feel like he would have an appreciation for something classic and nice-looking but still functional and not overly expensive. Definitely not the kind of guy to pay dozens-to-hundreds of thousands on a classic car (frankly not sure if he could afford that in the first place) but also giving him a '97 Corolla like I currently drive (extremely widely-produced and thus easy to source parts for, demonstrably keeps rolling 27+ years later, very "if it ain't broke, don't fix it") seems like it's not classy enough. Maybe it was originally his mom's and he inherited it!

He definitely has exactly one (1) carefully-positioned bumper sticker, and it's a tasteful logo advertising his podcast.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore. 

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees. 

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family. 

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May. 

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet. 

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps. 

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her. 

Athena takes a deep breath. 

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive. 

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway. 

“You want backup?” He offers. 

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone. 

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another. 

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car. 

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up. 

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality. 

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.” 

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says. 

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary. 

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met.  Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe. 

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street. 

“Architect,” Athena explains. 

Well that accounts for that. 

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that. 

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure. 

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code. 

The gate clicks open. 

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her. 

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly. 

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it. 

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Driving Habits -Diasomnia Edition

Can they drive? If so, what kind of drivers are they? What are their car habits?

Characters; Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Silver & Sebek Zigvolt

Content; road rage mention, car crash mention, Sebek, the joys of public transit

Word Count; 700+

Find the Rest of the Series; Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde

Author’s Note; As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

Malleus Draconia

Can’t drive. It’s a mix of not being tech-savvy, and not having the need. He’s the future king, he logistically has no need to drive. Also it never turns out well when he tries.

Will stare out the window in silence, pondering; be it gargoyle design and history, what Lilia, Silver and Sebek are doing, to a future invitation. In short, he daydreams.

He also does not see the appeal of modern vehicles. Horse-drawn carriages have worked stupendously for ages. And then there’s also magic. Humans are odd creatures for inventing such things.

Only so many people who work for him are able to drive, so his options are rather limited… but he knows better than to have Lilia be his driver; his only real safe option is Sebek.

Did take public transit once, out of curiosity. It becomes a ritual of his to take it once a week for the full route just to people-watch. He saw Azul one time, Kalim the other time chatting to a man with a saxophone, and he could have sworn he saw Idia sulking in the corner.

Lilia Vanrouge

He doesn’t have a license, and he really shouldn’t drive, but he does. He is THE speed demon, putting Epel to shame [I am speed]. Do not get in the car with Lilia under any circumstance.

He blasts a deafening mix of screamo, bagpipes, tavern music, and ‘Throw Back Thursdays’. You can hear him coming before you even see him. An absolute madman, but a great racer.

Takes phone calls all the time and has almost crashed on several occasions; don’t be like Lilia.

Before his car somehow disappeared during the night, he had it decked out to the nines; bumper stickers, a small army of bobble heads on the dash and back, fuzzy dice on the rear view mirror. His car also had a few dents from some scrapes he went through.

He has to stick to horse drawn carriages and teleportation now since there seems to be a ban on him at every dealership. But they are no where near as fun as taking good old Mim out for a spin, yes he named his car. Again, I question how Silver survived his childhood.

Silver

He decides against driving due to his sleeping condition, and doesn’t want to put others in danger due to it. 

He sticks mainly to his horse, brooms, and joins Malleus along his weekly public transit adventures. He enjoys the bonding time he and his horse have, and provides as an outlet to reflect. Whereas he joins Malleus on transit due to safety reasons, and also as added bonding time without Sebek.

Speaking of the bus, he has noticed a few others every now and then; Azul looking flustered next to a screaming toddler. Kalim with some saxophone person. And Idia sulking and trying to disappear in on himself. Wait, where did Malleus go?

He NEVER gets in the car with Lilia, EVER; thank Sevens he only acquired the car when he started attending NRC and he only had it for about a year before it “disappeared”.

He encourages Sebek with his driving lessons, and also acts as a moderator since the only people willing to teach him are humans. Overall, he isn’t bothered that he doesn’t drive, and is confident in his decision.

Sebek Zigvolt

Defensive driver, heavy on the breaks and goes below the speed limit. Looks at Lilia as a clear bad example, so he has to resort to taking lessons from Trey, who was kind enough to offer, and his dad. He’s the only hope for Diasomnia.

He refuses to listen to anything while driving, as it is a distraction and he can’t tolerate distractions. Probably would have the radio removed from the car if he were able to.

His phone is on silent, the only notifications he gets are from his emergency contacts; Malleus, Lilia, and his mother. Each one has a different ringtone so he knows who is calling.

Insists that there be no decorations. The only thing that is remotely personal is a novelty gargoyle air freshener Malleus had gifted him from one of his outings. Otherwise it looks like it came straight from the dealership.

Has road irritation and will shout about how people shouldn’t be on the road. He only gets proper road rage when Malleus is in the car. Do you know who you endangered with your tactless driving, human?! DO YOU?!

[muppetears-stuff]

do you have any headcanons about Warren or other characters you like ?

Yes. Yes, I do. Thank you for asking!! ^^ more under the cut cause this gonna be long- :3

so, headcanons vvv

Bisexual. But that's just fanon-

I have a whole bunch of headcanons for double exposure Warren/design concepts that I have only thought of yet😔😔 but I will tell!!!

I love the idea of him having long hair, longer hair than original game Warren. He has it in a low ponytail, or I might just keep it down.

He's a lot more confident in his style and personality than teenage him, so I like to think he still sports the undershirts but wears jackets a lot more now, too. Lanyard covered in pins, and his student ID/regular ID, taking that from his original concept design for the first game because a lanyard feels SO Warren to me,,,,

Breaking away from double exposure thoughts. It's canon that he's friends with most girls at Blackwell. I like to think he's invited to sleepovers and hangouts sometimes, even if he's awkward around them, but he's one of the nicest guys at Blackwell. The girls are taking advantage of that.

I love the thought of nervous characters biting their nails (like me. And Warren is me /hj), and so he paints them/let's the girls paint them, it's to keep him from biting his nails off. If they're pretty or have something on them, he's not gonna wanna bite :]

Listens to bloodhound gang and Weezer. Specifically, "I wish I was queer so I could get chicks." By bloodhound gang and "I just threw out the love of my dreams." By Weezer. And weird al,,,,

He would've had such a wonderful dynamic between Chloe and Max, and I love to think that some rebel/mischievous part of him admired Chloe. He would drop everything to help Max and one of her friends if they needed help, as shown in the game. So he would've definitely helped with the mystery behind Rachel.

The type of guy to take one compliment from someone and think about it for the rest of his life. keeps him up at night type thing. /pos

Flocked to Max and thought he liked her, but it was just because she was the first person who made him feel seen and appreciated and made him feel like a person. He says it in the game, and it makes me cry, so it's not really a headcanon, but the first part is-

Gifted kid shame and burn out. Cries over getting a low grade or score and can not physically function for a week. I would love the idea of in game, him hanging around Chloe and Max, where some of his dialogue is him talking about how he should be back at Blackwell studying but finding what happened to Rachel is more important than an English paper.

If he does something cool as hell, he's gonna recognize it's cool as hell and gets giddy when someone else recognizes that it was cool. (the craving for validation, I get it.)

Mom friend, I have decided. Warren is not opposed to a little tomfoolery, maybe a bit of property damage, but if anyone got hurt while doing so, he's there with a bandaid and disinfectant immediately.

Presented Max with the idea of matching costumes for Halloween, Paulie Bleeker and Juno Macguff from Juno 2007, but she declined ,:3 (they are literally them!!!)

He's overly dramatic about things and will pull out the puppy dog eyes to get what he wants (which isn't a alot, he's a simple man.)

Bag, lanyard, jacket. COVERED in pins and patches of his interests/bands he likes

Has bumper stickers of movie references

Named his car. Her name is Lauren.

Mom knits things for him like sweaters, beanies, and mittens, and it's always a lovely gift during December<33 complete momma's boy.

Has vocal stims of random references that make him giggle way too much, repeats them for no reason. Picks at his cuticles or underneath his fingernails or messes with his undershirt sleeves. Constantly wiping his hands on his jeans. Big hand talker too :3

Wears a ton of wrist bands/bracelets and definitely ends up wearing concert wrist bands they give to you at the door for longer than needed because he forgets to take them off-

Is creatively stunted and can't visualize things properly. He wishes he had the creative brain that Max does so he can maybe see the world outside of facts and pre-established knowledge. Has a hard time writing because of it.

And that's it :DD I could probably do a part 2 with other characters,,,of course, if that is desired💖💖 thank you for asking!!

[scentofpines]

there's this couple living in my neighbourhood and they get a "new" dog every 2-ish years. when we moved here a little less than 5 yrs ago they had a pyrenaen mountain dog that was maybe 2 yrs old (and kinda aggressive, at least towards other dogs, bc she was not trained at all and just didnt have anything to do), then a sloughi (arabian grey hound) for a little under two years and now they have an irish wolfhound. The "old" dogs just disappear one day and then there's a new puppy. And they always go for pure bred, large dogs. And I kid you not, they have a bumper sticker on their car with a pic of the dog breed they currently have and both "changes" of dogs that we witnessed, they just took the old sticker off and put the new one on omfgggg. And I know nothing about these ppl ok, i hardly ever see them actually walking their dog (i can count the incidents on one hand) but their vibe is very weird and i just dont have an "innocent" explanation for their habit of replacing their dogs.

Just now I went for the evening walk with my dog and I walked past their garden and there was the wolfdog like 15m away and looking at us, so i stopped and showed my dog and we waited a bit and just when i thought the dog wouldnt approach he (?) very slowly walked towards the fence and very shily wagged his tail and my dog usually doesnt like other dogs at all and is pretty jealous but she was rubbing noses through the fence with him and tried to initiate playing, it almost looked like she was trying to cheer the other dog up ;-; he seems so extremely shy and uncurious/cautious for such a young dog :( He stuck his long nose through the fence and i pet him and he layed his snout into my hand and just looked at me so sadly and just begging for closeness and appreciation it almost made me cry, such a sweet little angel :( and i'm not sure but i think their dogs stay outside in a fenced area of the garden overnight, which is not unheard of, but this dog is just so sensitive and imo really needs closeness to his family. also he is really skinny (and so was the sloughi - definitely a lil more than is natural for the breed imo) and also had a tick under his jaw and ugggghhh idk i feel so bad about this and i'm for real contemplating writing them a note saying that they can call me when they want to get rid of their dog again bc i'd take him in a heartbeat. i mean who fucking knows where these dogs go to once these ppl apparently grow tired of them, i can only hope they have a nice home now :(((