#might have over-rendered the hair a bit but. fuck you i like it

[zecoritheweirdone]

first art post of the new year!!! granted, i don't share my art here that much anyway, but– shhh.

hehehehhhooo,, here's something i've been working on for 'bout a month,, albeit not consecutively– took a few,, very very long breaks in between working on this,, but i managed to finish it in the end! am i satisfied with it? .......ehhhh? not completely, but if this took any longer, it might not have seen the light of day, so like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

anyway,, made a little poster for my favorite fic, tommyinnit's services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds, by @scorpionoesit!!! it's really really good,,, and i've always wanted to make more art for it,, so i decided– poster! at least,, that's what it's mean to resemble,,, dkdmkdmdkd.

i will freely admit,, i'm... not the biggest fan of the fan-made logo i tried to design for it,, feels a bit boring, and could definitely have used a bit more pizazz, something to make feel more like the fic itself(what does that mean? you figure that out),,,, but– again, steam was running low,, dkdnksjs. graphic design is my passion. i do also have other complaints, but i'm afraid i already punched my one-use self-critique card,, oh well,,, dkdnkxjdkd.

regardless,, even with the flaws only i can really see,, this still turned out pretty okay!! hope you enjoy it, mx. scorpio and mx. alibi!!! and i hope everyone else has a wonderful new year!!!!

[fushiguho]

For eons, I’ve been thinking about sweet, well-mannered, farmhand!Satoru ☀️ who fucks the literal breath out of you and you guys WILL hear me out, okay?

As your father’s one and only employee, Satoru is held to incredibly high standards which essentially boil down to two, very simple rules; never show up to the farm late and never, he means never pursue his daughter romantically. Seems easy enough, right?

Or so Satoru thought.

“Miss,” a thick, meridional voice utters from far behind, “miss, pardon my frankness, but I believe you just might be the prettiest woman I have ever seen.” Satoru admits candidly, briskly jogging to match your fast-paced gait as you trudge up the hill, toward the farmhouse over yonder.

“Oh, don’t be silly now,” you dismiss, waving a banishing hand, suppressing the ever-growing giddiness that threatens to invalidate your dismissal, “my father wouldn’t like that one bit, you know that. He’ll kill you ten times over, Satoru.” Surely he’s kidding, right? Surely he would never disobey your father’s wishes… right?

Now trudging beside you, Satoru nods slowly, adjusting the rusted buckles of his muddy, denim overalls. A dispirited sigh drags from his pretty, pink lips. Of course he knows. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of you plod toward the house, his lingering gaze as subtle as a sledgehammer, but when is it not?

“I’ve been made well aware,” he finally mutters under his breath as if coming to the unfortunate realization all over again, “but you don’t make it particularly easy for me, miss… you must know that.” His voice is a deep, southern drawl — beautifully elongated vowels like silken honey, the perfect melody for battered souls.

“How do you mean?” Your hand is coming up to your face, shielding your eyes from the sun so that you can peer up at the ivory-haired man beside you. “And you don’t have to call me that y’know.”

“What? Miss?” His incredulous tone forces a giggle past your lips. “Just a token of respect is all, blame my momma,” he smiles, cheeks glowing a beautiful crimson from the parching heat, “and it’s fitting… a pretty name for a pretty lady, hm?” He’s nudging you in the shoulder teasingly.

See? Satoru is sweet. So why on this godforsaken planet does he have you painfully spread apart on your family’s dining room table? Why are his large hands pinning your thighs to the stained wood so that he can watch as your desperate, drooling pussy swallows his cock whole? Why is he leaning down to whisper debauched words of praise directly into your ear?

“Look at this wet, little pussy, goddd… you take me sooo fuckin’ well fuuuuuck, miss,” he’s deliriously tossing his head back to dangle between his shoulder blades, subconsciously yanking you closer to the edge of the rustic table, desperate to feel more of you, “like it was made for me, heh. Was this pretty pussy made for me, miss? Is this my pussy?”

It’s like switch has been flipped, like he’s possessed beyond saving and is now only a shell of his former self. Has he always been this way? Has he always had this filthy of a mouth? You’re not sure, not really. The only thing you’re sure of is the repetitive, obscene strike of his swollen balls against the fat of your ass. It’s the only thing you can hear, feel, think.

“C’monnn now… asked you a question, miss,” he’s leaning closer, mockingly cupping a hand over his ear to observe the way he fucks the breath out of you, “talk to meee, pretty, I wanna hear you. This pussy too loud, huh? Is she too wet for you to hear me?”

“It’s yours! Your p-pussy mhmm,” you cry, nodding frantically in your immense rapture, “fuuuck, you fuck me sooo good… s’good!”

“Yeah, sweet girl? You like how I fuck you?” The dark, breathy chuckle that drags from the depths of his chest renders yours mind blank as you nod dumbly. “You like how I give you everything? All of my cock?” A big, greedy hand is slipping beneath the small of your back, pulling you upright and impossibly closer. “Yeaaaah, you like that cock, look at you…” his hungry gaze is scanning over your stupid expression, “eyes rollin’ to the back of your head like that. Can’t even hear me anymore, can you?”

A pool of light washed denim surrounds Satoru’s feet, the hem of his white t-shirt tucked between his teeth, baring the sweat-ridden skin of his chest and abdomen. The bruising buck of his hips as he fucks himself deeper is only scooting the large table further and further across the hardwood floor. Even his deep, guttural moans are like kindle to an ever growing flame.

It’s always the ones you least expect.

[sometimesanalice]

for the prompt party, how about: “i can’t help it,  i feel so sleepy and cozy now.” with our fave blue eyed WSO?

💖 @callsignspark

A reason to write a sleepy, cozy, domestic Bob?!?! Don’t mind if I do, Elle! 🫶🏻 (ps I still owe you a birthday fic, but please accept this humble offering in the meantime!)

There were a lot of things you liked about Bob Floyd.

You liked that he’d made a point to read your favorite book when you’d first started dating, because he wanted understand the things that made you you. 

You liked that he was the type of man to remember an offhand remark, it was as if he wanted to collect every crumb of you and nothing was too small to escape his notice. Like the time you mentioned being excited for summer fruit season, and he’d brought you a box of peaches from the farmers market the moment they’d arrived.

And you really liked the way he whispered the sweetest things as he fucked you into the mattress, the intoxicating sound of his baritone murmuring in your ear as he rendered you thoroughly boneless. His honeyed tongue was just as good at making you swoon as it did at making you come. 

But one of the most unexpected things you’d learned about him since he’d become your boyfriend, was that he could not seem to make it past the first 40 minutes of a movie without falling asleep. 

The two of you had sailed through that tentatively affectionate part of starting a new relationship, where every inch moved the two of you moved closer to each other felt like a new milestone. 

From sitting a respectful distance, pinkies just barely touching, in the getting to know you stage. To sitting snuggled close with his arm over your shoulder, enjoying getting to be curled up against him because you could and he was yours. To straddling his lap, those big hands roaming everywhere, and missing whatever was on TV completely because close enough wasn’t close enough. 

You’d been a big fan of each phase, but your favorite was easily when he was sprawled out on top of you like your own personal weighted blanket.

The first time he’d done it was after you’d made him your family’s favorite chicken soup recipe. The weather had just started to change, which in San Diego didn’t mean much, but you’d decided that since it was technically Fall it had been time to woo him with something warm.

He’d just finished doing the dishes, at his insistence, since you’d been the one to cook. You were lounging across the couch trying to find a movie to watch when he’d come over- with a groan and stretch that had revealed just a peek of skin- and flopped himself right on top of you, still ever careful in that way of his. All of his warmth, all of his sturdy weight pressing you into the cushions of your couch.

No one had ever made you feel as safe and secure as he did.

You were only a few minutes into the comedy you’d put on when you felt him stir, trying to sit up. “‘m sorry, honey, I’m probably squishing you.”

“I can take it,” you’d teased, with a wink before wrapping your arms and legs around him, keeping him in place.

He didn’t protest further, only inched himself over a little bit so that the couch was doing most of the work, while you combed your fingers through his hair.

The movie hadn’t even reached the half way point when you heard the first of his soft snores. You’d smiled to yourself and let the movie finish playing, not wanting to disturb him by reaching for the remote.

What you didn’t expect was for it to become a thing. 

You thought it was a fluke the first time it had happened.

The second time it happened, you thought he might have been messing with you. 

By the third, you were entirely amused.

When the two of you were curled up together on the couch, Bob was always slipping a hand under your shirt, his fingers idly tracing patterns onto your skin until slowly but surely they stopped moving at all. Usually right around the time you hear those first deep, slow breaths and quiet sighs of sleep.

But tonight, you’d decide to put your theory to the test. With your handsome blue eyed boy draped across you, you cued up a movie, stealthily starting the timer on your phone at the same time you’d clicked play. 

And sure enough, around 33 minutes in those long fingers of his stopped their circling. And just past the 40 minute mark you’d heard that gentle snore. 

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle. "Bob."

There's a long beat. “Hm.”

"Are you awake?” you ask, rubbing his back.

“Just resting my eyes.” It’s a sleepy mumble.

“Oh, really,” you muse. “Well then, can you tell me what just happened? It was pretty big plot twist.”

He lifts his head up, propping himself up on an arm to look at you.

“If you get me a couple minutes to google it I can,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You tip your head back and laugh, entirely and thoroughly charmed by him. “Is that what you’ve been doing after every movie night? Because I’ve been keeping track, and you sir, have yet to make it all the way through any of movies we’ve watched in the last few weeks.”

“Busted, huh?”

“Very. I had a theory and everything, backed with some serious scientific evidence,” you tease, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Bob huffs a laugh, his ears a sweet shade of pink. “I can’t help it,” he says, doubling down and nuzzling his face into your neck, “I feel so sleepy and cozy now. You’re so soft and you smell really nice.”

Fond. You’re just so fond of him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you suggest, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “As the official resident de facto cinephile in the relationship, I’ll handle all the movie related questions the next time we go to trivia night with your friends, sounds good?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You feel his smile pressed against your neck.

“Ok, you can go back to ‘resting your eyes’. I’ll send you the wiki article for you to read later.”

He chuckles softly. “I love you, honey. You’re the best.”

You were already warm with him on you, but now it radiates all the way down to your toes. “I love you too.”

[soapisahimbo]

NSFW ABC - Simon 'Ghost' Riley Edition

Here he is, finally! The man, the myth, the legend! I'll be honest, I actually had a bit of a hard time on this one, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Contains heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

warnings: senseless smut, detailed descriptions, ghost is a dirty lad but secretly a softie, hinted at female anatomy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Methodical, but not without warmth. He asks you genuinely if you're ok, if anything hurts, if you want to get in the shower or if you want him to go get a towel to clean you off so that you can lay down to rest, depending on how intense the session was - a little bit like damage control. He might take you to the shower anyways if he thinks it's the best option for you, but he'll do most of the work. He can be quite rough even when he tries to tone it down, so he wants to make sure he hasn't caused you any actual harm in the heat of the moment and he does that best by actually looking after you. He does love it if you wash him off as well, scrubbing over his chest and arms, but he won't really say much. He'll just let out a low, rumbling sigh and lean his cheek against the top of your head and honestly that alone tells you all you need to know. He lets you cup his face and plants all the kisses you want on his face and mouth, simply holding you in his arms and relishing in the moment.

Once you've started cleaning up and checking in on each other in this fashion, any extra rounds is pretty much out of the question. This is to wind down, to relax, to clean off, put on some comfortable clothes, settle back down into bed and hold each other close. Not that Simon can't go on for what feels like forever, but he greatly appreciates the peace and quiet he gets with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

As far as Simon's concerned, his body serves its' purpose well. He doesn't exactly lack confidence, but he's by no means vain, and rarely looks at himself in the mirror unless it's to get a better angle to check on wounds or to clean himself. He's found a certain pride in his arms though, mainly because he can wrap them around you like some sort of boa constrictor and there's little you can do to escape it. He finds a sort of hidden, perhaps slightly sadistic, glee in that you can't do much else but take what he gives you (he's not an asshole, though - should you give even the slightest hint that you were uncomfortable or didn't want it, he'd let you go in an instant and make sure you're ok).

As for you, he is quietly obsessed your hands and your hips. Feeling your hands roam over his body is addicting, because he's not quite used to being touched in the way that you touch him, and your hips fit perfectly in his own hands (and his own hips fit perfectly there, too). But all in all, no matter how much he loses himself in the crooks and curves of your body, it's your eyes that do him in every time. He doesn't want to admit it, but it's why he mostly buries his face in your neck or takes you from behind. Your eyes make him weak. If you look into his eyes and beg him for whatever (to slow down, to speed up, to let you come) or even worse, say his name, you'll send shivers through his entire body. He tries not to let it get to his head, but the effect that you have on him, the way something in him falls apart when your eyes meet... it almost scares him. If you get a chance to take control, even for a second, grab him by the hair and demand that he looks you in the eye when he fucks you. You'll render him not only speechless, but also absolutely feral.

He wants to be methodical about this too, but he loses himself far too easily in you, and cumming all over your lower stomach and hole scratches some sort of itch in him that he didn't quite know he had. He will keep your thighs spread just so he can watch it drip down between them, and will most likely push it into you either with his fingers or his cock, fucking you a bit more until you cum again. If he has it in him, he'll cum in you once more and spread your hole just so he can watch as it leaks back out (before fingering it back into you yet again). Won't say a word during it, but you'll feel his eyes practically burning into your skin.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

He will absolutely cum down your throat if you let him and you can take it, keeping a close eye on you so that you're not actually uncomfortable or struggling. Wants you to show him that you've swallowed it all down though, or spit it back out on his cock so that he can fuck it into you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Before the two of you actually got together, you had a fling with another soldier at the base. Simon never commented on it, but he kept an eye on you in case he turned out to be an asshole or something. He tried not to give it too much thought; he just wanted to make sure you were all right. Totally not because he was jealous or anything, obviously.

He was actually looking for you when it happened, he just hadn't expected to find you in this... condition. Peering around the corner, he froze when found you pinned up against the wall in an empty hallway, with this fucker's tongue down your throat and his hand down your pants, panting and moaning into the kiss. He was suddenly struck by a strong urge to grab that dickhead and throw him out a helicopter at full speed and show you that he could give you something much better than whatever this was. He clenched his fists, thinking to himself that if he had you against the wall like this, he'd make sure you couldn't stay quiet. He'd have you crying out his name, shaking and quivering, gushing all over his fingers. That pipsqueak had nothing on him.

He considered stepping in and interrupting you, some dark voice in his mind telling him to take over, but he settled on simply slipping away quietly, not being able to stop the images in his head of pinning you against the wall, or against his bed and taking you the way you deserved to be taken.

He never told you about how he saw you with that dipshit, or how it made him jealous, or how he's fantasized about you since even before that. But once he'd simmered on it for too long and he got the chance to talk to you, he told you enough for you to know that he wanted you, that he'd wanted you for a while now, and that if you gave him the go, he'd take you then and there.

Safe to say, you gave it to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He does have a good amount of experience from when he was younger, but he hasn't really engaged in it in a good while. He has men and women offer themselves up to him at regular intervals, he just 1. never trusts a stranger enough to put himself in a vulnerable position like that and 2. isn't really into one-night-stands, even if it were with a close friend. Before you, he took it upon himself to find relief if he ever felt the need to. Now that he has you, he doesn't need anything else.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

He greatly enjoys holding you down in a mating press, caging you in and leaning in close to your face to kiss you or to growl something into your ears. But as mentioned before, he's a bit weaker to your eyes than he'd like to admit, so more often than not, he takes you from behind in some way, like if you're standing or you're on your knees and he keeps you upright by grabbing your arms and pulling you back into him. He prefers pressing his entire body into you though, deep and close, giving you that sense of not being able to escape him. Doesn't let you close your legs, doesn't let you shy away, doesn't let you touch yourself.

If you want to take control, and happen to get the chance, take it. As hardheaded as he is and dominant as he might seem, he molds himself by your hands like the softest clay you could ever imagine, and he wants you to use him even if he's "in charge". If you wrap your hand around his throat, it puts him almost in a daze; you can see his pupils dilate as you straddle him and grind him into you, you can hear a soft rumble in his chest as you pull his head back by his hair and trail kisses and bites along his neck. If you tell him to keep his hands off or you tie them to the headboard or behind his back, you'll see his muscles tense as he struggles against his restraints, be they physical or just in his mind.

He's also a surprisingly big fan of 69 - he likes the combination of the taste and heat of you on his face and your moans on his dick.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

He's no stranger to getting a chuckle out of you; you'll tease each other every now and then and he might huff out a breath in amusement at some point or other, but for the most part he's very serious. He's focused on you, how you feel, how you sound and regardless of if this is a session to rid tension and frustration, or if it's a warmer, more tender round, he doesn't want to waste any energy on anything other than fucking you.

He might chuckle when he sees your eyes roll back or when you can't quite form coherent words, and he'll grin when he fucks the living daylight out of you after you've laughed just a little too hard at him for any reason. Some sort of semi-sadistic humour is ever-present, but you'll never hear him laugh outright, and you'll be too far out of it to focus on anything anyway.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

He's not a very hairy man, but the hair that he has is mainly light and surprisingly soft, fairly thick and curly-ish. He might give it a trim every now and then for the sake of comfort, usually before heading out for deployment, but other than that he doesn't give it too much thought. He couldn't really care less about the presence or lack of body hair, be it on himself or on you. If you were to ask him nicely to trim it down because maybe you don't like the way it feels, then sure. But if you were to find it yucky for any reason, he'd tell you to grow up. There's nothing to be grossed out about - he's very clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He might not seem like it, and he surely doesn't say anything about it, but he greatly cherishes the moments where he gets to lay down with you and relax. There's no need to say anything, no need to do anything; you can just lay in his arms and listen to his steady heartbeat. As rough as he can be, he genuinely loves cupping your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. He's not very vocal about his emotions, but he makes sure to show them to you in your most private moments.

He wants to hold you when he gets the chance to and having you lay on top of him helps ground him. He once told you that he enjoys the weight of you on him and you offered to get him a weighted blanket, but the only weighted blanket he wants is you (also he doesn't want one with him to base or to missions - it sends him into a far too deep of a sleep than what might be safe in a time where he needs to be ready spring to action at any moment).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He has convinced himself that he doesn't need to. Not that he doesn't get the urge to, because when time away from you has dragged on, he gets... restless. He's usually way more irritable in the last week or so on a mission, and the ever so observant Soap might joke that the lieutenant needs to "blow off some steam" before he blows off one of their heads - "if you need to sneak off for a minute or so, I won't tell the captain." ("Fuckin' shut up, Johnny.")

It's like he's come to the conclusion that he can hold out. He usually doesn't jack off on missions anyway, but it's gotten a bit more challenging now that he knows that you're waiting for him back home. He kind of scolds himself, tells himself that it was never a problem before, so why would it be a problem now? But he remembers you, he thinks of you and he misses you and so it adds a variable that wasn't there before. He tries to keep his thoughts at bay, but the longer he's away from you, the more salacious the thoughts become. He might get off once while back at base and in the privacy of his own room, depending on how much longer the mission is going to last, but if it's just a week or so left, he'll hold off and his teammates will just have to deal with his bad mood. Just be prepared for when he gets back to you, because he will definitely not use his own hand now that he has you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

He's not a fullblown sadist, but he does have a little vein of it running through him. Tying you down, blindfolding you and just generally forcing you to be at the mercy of him scratches some sort of itch in him. He's not doing it as a form of punishment though, and it's not meant to be just for his own pleasure; it's more like he needs to prove something to you almost. It's like he wants to give you everything he thinks you deserve, even if it's more than you can handle. If you listen closely (if you even have the ability to still hear him), you might hear him whispering for you to keep going, to keep cumming, to give him more. You will need to establish some safewords with him right out of the gate, because he overstimulates you like it's his only purpose in life.

Because of the great satisfaction he gets from feeling your weight on top of him though, having you ride him in pretty much anyway you can is greatly appreciated. Sitting on his face, on his dick, on his thigh - just any way that he can have you draped over him is top notch. He might actually have more of a masochistic side to him, because he likes it when you scratch him and pull his hair, and he loves feeling like he's practically drowning in you. Overstimulating him might not be an incredibly regular occurrence, but if you get the chance to, do it, and do it well.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Bed. He'll have you anywhere within the confines of your home if that's what you want, but he prefers the bed. That's where he can completely unravel you and it's where he feels it's safest. That's not to say he hasn't fucked you in the shower or on the dinner table, or that you haven't had your moments where you've barely made it in through the front door. You rile him up easily; almost too easily. If you were to undress right out on the street, he'd probably fuck you right there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

For anyone who doesn't know him, it's easy to think that he just never experiences emotions. The deadpan stare, the monotone voice, the way that he just seems generally disinterested in pretty much everything. But you know better. The way he tilts his head towards you, the way he discreetly takes a deep breath when you say or do something suggestive, the way his eyes follow your every move with a hooded gaze, or the way he reaches out to you but waits for you to close the last bit of distance between you. You know it well.

As established before, he has a weak spot for your eyes; when you look at him and tell him what you want or just that you love him, he feels something in him melt. Fluttering touches over his shoulders or chest, nuzzling your body in close to his and wrapping your arms around him are all ways to warm up that supposedly "cold" heart of his.

Keep in mind though, he's a man of action. If you tease him, make sure you're ready to face the consequences - especially if you're in an environment where he can't just have you right away.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

As rough as he might be, whether he has a sadistic hint to him or not, he would never want to do anything that would leave scars on you. Bruises, hickeys, scratches, sure. But never anything that would actually leave any sort of permanent mark. Also doesn't want to cause you any actual physical pain; he can overwhelm you, he can leave you feeling sore, he can make you feel like you've been run through a cycle in the washing machine, but he'll never hurt you.

If you tell him that something doesn't feel good or hurts or that there's something that you just don't like, rest assured he'll back off in an instant.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Sit. On. His. Face. Fucking sit on it and do it now. He will give you no chance to escape his grip or tongue, and he will keep you there until you're just shy of passing out. He loves rendering you nothing but a quivering mess, but he also finds it strangely grounding - the weight of you, your taste, your heat; it's like it heals something in him. He'll tell you to get on him whenever he's in a bad mood or stressed out, and you can never quite predict how long he'll go on for, but you often get to see a part of him that you think no one else has ever seen. He practically suffocates himself in you and you'd be more worried if you weren't so lost in your own pleasure. It's almost something masochistic in him that has him drive himself towards blacking out, because if you can manage to look at him the few times that he actually breaks away to breathe, you'll see his eyes roll and his eyelids flutter. He'll take a huge gulp of air and slur out something about how he wants, no, needs more before he dives back in with a rough moan. Doesn't let you pull away when you cum, because he wants you to cum right down his throat.

When you suck him off, he leans back and watches you, breathing deeply and heavily, and lets you take as much of him as you can in whatever pace you can. If you're struggling, he'll tell you that you're doing good and that he's proud of however much you can fit in your mouth. If you're not struggling at all, he'll chuckle and maybe call you a "dirty little one", but he loves it. As mentioned before, he wants to see you either swallow his cum down, or spit it back out on his cock to keep going, but he also loves shoving his tongue into your mouth, letting any residue of him left dribble out onto your chin.

He might not go for 69 every time, but he takes great enjoyment in knowing that you're trying your hardest not to stop sucking him off even if you're losing your mind at the whim of his tongue. Crosses off multiple things on his list, and so when you do indulge in it, he makes sure neither of you are rushing it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

He goes at very steady pace; it's not slow, but it's not fast either. He can speed up to drive you to the edge faster or slow down to draw it out, but no matter what the pace is, you can bet that it'll be deep and heavy. Somehow, it never gets predictable. You joked with him that not only is Simon 'Ghost' Riley an expert at sneaking up on enemies on the battlefield, but also at making you cum when you least expect it. It got a little chuckle out of him (and about four orgasms out of you), but it's true. You don't know how he does it, but somehow he brings you to climax even when you don't feel like you're that close to it. It's like he knows exactly where all your little buttons are - even the ones you didn't even know you had.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He's disciplined and he's headstrong, but he doesn't have the patience or fortitude for quickies - once he's started, he'll be going for a good fucking while. Besides, you need a proper warmup before you can actually take him - he's far too thick otherwise. If you're feeling impatient and like you really can't wait, he'll give you his fingers, but just know that it is taking every single microscopic little grain of him to not just rip your clothes off and fuck you good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

He won't do anything outright sexual in public - at least not that anyone sees or notices. He'll whisper into your ear and sneak a few touches here and there, he'll give you a heated gaze that is gone as quickly as it appeared, and for a while you'll think you're going insane; it's like he's using his tactics against you, to tease you.

Other than that, he wants to keep that stuff inside the safety of your own home for the most part. As far as experimenting goes, he'll give most things a whirl if you really want him to, as long as it's within some realm of reality.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He will practically never be the first to tap out, just so you know. While he might not be able to cum time and time again, he makes sure that when he does cum, he makes it count. You could swear that you've had like 5 rounds back to back, but honestly, it's usually 1-2 rounds that just feel like they last an eternity because he uses practically all of him to make you cum as many times as he can.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

Not for him, no. As for you though? More tools to make you cum, pretty much.

He doesn't think he needs them, and he doesn't actually care all that much for them; but every now and then, when he's feeling like a little shit, or he thinks you've had it coming, he'll have you close to passing out if given the chance.

He's not threatened by them. He knows that he can make you feel so much better than whatever toys you have. You're free to use them as much as you want when he's away, but if you use them while he's there, he'll either take over to "show you how it's done", or he'll take a seat and tell you to give him a good show.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

It's probably safe to say that Simon is not a very fair man. He'll drive you up the wall when he feels like it, acting like everything is right as rain while you feel like he's already fucked you just from looking at you.

He'll deliberately slow down or pause when he can tell that you're close and grin lazily at you when you complain, he'll whisper the absolute filthiest things to you while passing by before moving on like nothing happened, he'll sneak up on you just to snatch you up and kiss the breath out of you before he just walks away.

So if you can, give him a taste of his own medicine, will you? He deserves it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

Very quiet other than maybe a few sighs, grunts and whispers. Every now and then you might get a moan out of him, but he tends to hold them back. Not because he's ashamed or anything, but because he'd much rather hear you. He'll whisper endless praise and dirty nothings to you, but that's the most you'll get out of him, sound-wise.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

This was actually insane, and very unlike him. Well, having you up against the wall and hanging in his arms by the crook of your knees wasn't entirely unlike him - but fucking you in someone else's bathroom definitely was. You had been invited to a little dinner party over at Mactavish's place, and the whole team and some of their older colleagues were there. You were having a good time, and you were sure that Simon was, too, but at one point during the evening, he told you he needed your help with something. You were none the wiser to his plans - he had some stitches on the back of his shoulder and you thought that maybe he just needed you to check on them.

He took you into the bathroom, closed and locked the door and before you could get a word out, he turned to you, unbuckled your belt and pressed you up against the wall as he shoved his hand down your underwear. He covered your mouth with his own, making sure to keep any suspicious sounds confined to this room.

You completely lost your sense of time, but at some point, after fingering you into oblivion, he'd tugged your pants halfway down your legs, hoisted you up and there you were; trying your absolute hardest to stay quiet while you hung helplessly in his arms as he fucked you without even a moment's pause. He didn't say a word, didn't utter the slightest sound, he just stared intently at you and rammed into you with a determination that you'd never seen in any other man before. You didn't know how you were going to explain the weakness in your legs and the sweat and flush of your face once the two of you went back out to the party, but at the moment, you were far from capable of forming any sort of coherent thought anyways, so you'd just give that job to Simon once he was done.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Sits somewhere between 6-6.5 inches, and he's quite a bit thicker than most others that would have the same length. As mentioned before, you need a proper and thorough warmup before you can take him and he's generous with it, so even though you always feel the stretch when he pushes into you, it's never a painful one. It just leaves you speechless, that's all.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

While he always wants you near, it's not always sexual. He needs the calm and domestic moments just as much as he needs the more intimate and sexual ones. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen often though; it might not be an "every single day"-thing, but it's not far from it. He's clear to let you know when he wants you, but he likes it more when you initiate.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

He actually stays awake for a good while after that, taking the time to simply listen to you breathe and feel your heartbeat against his chest. He usually doesn't like complete and utter silence because his ears are most likely ringing from chronic tinnitus, but the sounds of your sleep are just enough to keep him distracted from it. He also takes this time to commit everything about you to memory (as if he hasn't already). He oh so carefully caresses your cheek, strokes your hair and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but you never notice, and he'll never tell you. Once he's satisfied and once he's finally convinced himself that you're not going anywhere, he'll finally settle and close his eyes to sleep.

[ragingbookdragon]

All Work And No Play Makes Dull Boys

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: Suggestive Themes

Author's Note: Guess who's back with an actual fic? Fantastic render by @ave661 Go check her out! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

If there’s one thing Simon “Ghost” Riley knows about Spades, it’s that she, in all her infinite glory, never spares any expense when it comes to how she looks, and what her gear is. And the same has begun to occur for the 141 as well. It started small, bits and pieces rearranged, a few new knives and sidearms to try out, then it went to bigger things, new rifles and shotguns, and then it hit the gear. At random moments, Spades had pulled each man of the 141 into her room and stripped them down to their tighty-whities before she measured each inch of them—Soap and Gaz had gone willingly, it took Price a few days to convince, and Ghost? Ghost didn’t step foot in her room or anywhere near her when he learned what she was doing—no need though, she already had what she needed from him.

***

It’s a late evening in October when she comes to his door. She doesn’t bother knocking, never does, and unlocks it with a key she had made (he has no idea when and how she did it), stepping into his room. He looks up from the mission brief he’s been reading while laying on his bed, an unimpressed, almost annoyed look in his eyes as he glares at her.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, Simon,” she says with a sickly-sweet tone. “Someone might accuse you of actually liking me.”

“Out.” Is all he says.

She tuts and beckons him with a finger. “Come.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute before he exhales through his nose, annoyed and exasperated, and rolls off the bed; he stretches and rolls his shoulders before following her down the hall into her room.

“I’m not getting measured,” he says as he closes the door behind them.

“As if I don’t already have your measurements, Simon Riley,” she retorts and now he’s a bit unnerved because he’s never given her time to measure him, so how did she already have them? She doesn’t answer his silent question, merely walks to her room divider, and rolls out a fancy looking set of black gear. “I give to you, ‘The Gilded Reaper.’” She announces with a note of pride in her tone and a helluva lot of it in her expression.

He takes one look at it. “I am not wearing that.”

“YOU HAVEN’T EVEN TRIED IT ON!” Spades yells and thrusts her hand to it. “I spent a lot of time and money on this, and you are going to try it on for me whether you like it or not.”

“Am I?” he dares and it’s obvious he’s going to go for the door as she points at him.

“If you make me chase you down and drag you back here, I’m going to make you regret it entirely, do you understand me, Simon Riley?”

He’s almost tempted to do it just to see her follow suit with her threat; he glares her down before he lets out a long breath. “Fine.”

Spades smiles and chirps, “Thank you.” Simon dips behind the divider, tugging the mannequin with him and she rolls her eyes. “It’s as if you think I haven’t seen anything you have before.”

“It’s called ‘common decency,’” he retorts. “Maybe you should look it up.” She throws one of her shoes over the divider at the tuft of blond hair she can see. “That hurt.”

“I meant it. Now hurry up, I want to see it.”

It’s another few moments before he steps outside the divider, and she stares wide-eyed as he does.

“Well?” he asks, and he really means, “This is so fucking stupid.”

Spades takes her time walking in circles around him, pulling at belts, at the straps, checking if everything is fitting well enough before she stops in front of him, staring up into his golden mask.

“I like it,” she notes, and her voice lowers an octave, a tell-tale sign that she’s being honest; she only ever does it with him. “I think it’s you.”

“It’s ostentatious,” he deadpans.

“Careful, that’s a big word for a caveman’s brain.”

He rolls his eyes, not taking the bait of the insult. “I can’t wear this out on missions. It’s practically a neon sign that says, ‘Hey, shoot me!’”

Spades reaches up and strokes the gold mask. “Who said it was missions?”

Simon freezes up, body still as he gazes at her, and Spades looks awfully innocent as she dips her fingers below his golden mask, feeling his masked face beneath. It’s not often that Spades can render Simon completely silent, the two practically have a raging desire to be each other’s constant pissing match that there’s always something to say, and yet, he’s still quiet as she pulls her hands away and twirls around him to his back. Her hands slide up his sides beneath the cape, feeling firm muscle beneath.

“I made this just for us, Simon,” she coos, hands slipping down to his belt where she tugs it. “I was thinking we could take a trip to the mountains where I have that cabin and we could…play.”

“You mean hunt each other,” he breathes, and it’s low and heavy, she knows exactly what he really wants to say.

“All work and no play makes such dull boys,” Spades muses. “We’ve spent so much time working, Simon, we’re awfully dull, don’t you think?”

He lets out a low noise from his throat, a warning that should send bells off in her head, but all it does is urge her on, a grin worming its way onto her lips.

“Please, Simon,” she begs and lifts a leg on the outside of his hip, her thigh just beside his hand. “It would be so much fun.”

His head tips to the side, hand grasping her knee in an iron-clad grip and he spins them; Spades is back up against the wall in a flash and she gives him a flash of white teeth in a smile as he takes her jaw in a firm hand, tilting it up to get a good look at her. “We haven’t played hunt in a while. What makes you think you’ll win this time?” he challenges.

It’s true, Simon often wins their games of hunt, but it’s only because Spades gets tired of waiting and lets herself be hunted down. “Call it a feeling,” she replies, tugging at his center belt. “Should I give you the coordinates for our game, Ghost?”

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off of him and he remarks, “I’ll get ‘em on my own.”

As he pulls away, she watches as he turns and stalks for the door, only stopping when her voice reaches him in a provoking, “May the best hunter win.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓘 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾 (say it back): Sour 🔞

You know people think you're just using him. And he knows that people think he's just getting used by you. And maybe it's time for him to stand up, and make some things clear.

Tags/Warnings: Girly!Reader, Introvert!Jungkook, non-idol AU, opposites attract AU?, established relationship, Angst, Major Fluff, some drama, Slice of Life (like Good Girl AU for example), mc is kook's biggest simp, kook is kind of overwhelmed by her love sometimes, but it's fine they both cute, Jealousy oh no, possessive kook!, multiple rounds, boob slapping like.. once, cumplay, creampie oops²

Length: Long, didn't count oops

A/N: There is no taglist. There is no taglist. There is no taglist. There is no-

-> Masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━.~°♡°~.━━━━━━━━━━━

"Ah, by the way!" His trainer asks, while Jungkook quietly unwraps his hands after his boxing training. "I wanted to ask you, who was that girl you were with when you came here earlier?" He asks, referring to you.

Jungkook doesn't really know any other girls besides you, after all. So it has to be you- you've tagged along to the boxing studio with him, leaving him to walk inside on his own however since he'd offered to simply take you along, so you could go to your appointment at the hair salon while he was working out, and bring you back home once he was done.

"..my girlfriend." Jungkook says, continuing to unwrap his other hand before flexing the fingers a bit. It's a bit odd to say it out loud- but not a bad-odd. Just unfamiliar.

Maybe because he doesn't say it much.

Maybe he should.

"Really?" His trainer wonders, looking genuinely surprised for a second as he looks at Jungkook- who feels a bit challenged, almost. Jungkook has noticed that the start contrast between you and himself has caused some people to look at him with almost something akin to pity- as if he's the prey in the cougars claws, about to be chewed and spit out once you're done with him. He gets it- but at the same time, it irritates him to no ends, because you're pretty much the sweetest cursing little angel he's ever met up to this point.

So it's unsurprising that his answer might sound a bit more offended than he's intending it to. "Yes." He answers, brows lowering.

"Oh, wow." His trainer seems to catch up on his mood. "No offense, really! Just- surprising, you know?" He tries to explain himself. "You're always so quiet, and you know… Are you sure she's in it for the right reasons?" He asks, and at that, Jungkook puts everything down to look up at his trainer with a serious face.

"What are you implying?" He demands to know.

"Man, I'm just saying! You know, I know girls like that. They use guys like you! They might fuck you well but-" He tries. "-I just-"

"You want to fuck her instead, is that it?" Jungkook calls him out, and by the look on the guy's face, Jungkook had hit the jackpot. And just as he gets up to walk closer, the door opens, and you walk in with a rustling paperbag that smells like takeout food.

"Uh.. am I interrupting something?" You ask, a little unsure- and both men stare each other down for a bit longer, before Jungkook walks off to walk over to you instead, hand on the back of your neck as he gives you a short but heated kiss- rendering you a bit speechless for once. He's never this bold in public.

What's going on?

"I'll go shower real quick, okay?" He tells you, and you just dumbly nod, left by yourself as he walks past his trainer into the changing rooms and showers.

"I'm just- not gonna ask." You just say, more or less to yourself as you sit down in a chair close by, throwing one leg over the other before pulling out your phone.

"He's just having a bad day." The trainer tells you, walking closer. "So, you and him?" He asks, and you nod at that, big grin on your face.

"Yep!" You chirp, tapping away on your phone.

"Don't make him spend all his money on you." The trainer tells you, somewhat joking- though you can hear the hint of honest threat in his tone, which makes you stop what you're doing. "I know he's a softy, but come on. Just cause he's easy doesn't make it right." He says, and you become a bit insecure at that.

You know that's what most people must think of you- but hearing it said out loud makes it sting just a bit more.

You want to stand up for yourself like you always try to do- but somehow, you can't, not in this moment. Not because you don't want to- but because you're just realizing how little people think of Jungkook. You're not even the victim here. It's not your place to even be offended in the first place.

You can take the weird rumors about yourself, the glances and looks, the stereotypes and boxes people put you in. But the fact that just because Jungkook cares, and loves, and treats the people around him with kindness, he's seen as someone weak and pitiful, just makes you angry. Because if you stood up for him right now, it would only cause more issues- the guy in front of you would only feel validated in his opinion, would never let your boyfriend live it down that his own stupid dumb girlfriend had to defend his poor self from the world.

"I'll send you my cancellation for my membership via E-mail." Jungkook suddenly says as he emerges from the showers, grabbing his bag before he helps you stand up from your seat, brushing down the back of your skirt with his palm. He almost instantly reaches for your small bag as well, holding it for you while you put your phone away.

"Hey man, I was just looking out for you-" The trainer starts, but Jungkook puts himself between him and you as if to prove a point, calmly speaking.

"Don't. I'm very much capable of doing that myself." He says, simply takes his bag to throw over his shoulder before he takes your hand in his, and leaves the gym.

It's only in the car that you dare ask what's happened. "Is it because of me?" You wonder, and Jungkook perks up at that, face completely devoid of the anger he'd had just a few minutes ago.

"What do you mean?" He asks, even his voice not in the slightest irritated any longer.

"At the gym, earlier." You say, opening the paper bag to steal some fries for yourself. "Like, you said you'll cancel your membership and stuff. And you love boxing." You shrug, and he shakes his head.

"I think I just realized that I need to start putting my foot down." He offers, changing lanes as he drives you both home. "And the membership was also pretty overpriced anyways. There's other gyms I can check out." He tries to joke, though you don't seem too convinced next to him.

"You know I'm not using your for, you know, sex and money right?" You ask him, and his eyes widen. "Like, I really really do love you-" You begin, and he laughs.

"I know that, don't worry." He tells you. "Is that what he told you?" He wonders, and you shrug.

"Lot's of people think that." You huff to yourself. "Comes with the style, I guess. And like, I'm not mad about that- I don't really care if people think I'm a money-grabbing whore." You laugh, making him cringe. He doesn't like you talking about yourself like that. "But it just makes me mad that people think you're a pussy who needs to be babied all the time." You complain.

"So you're getting angry on my behalf?" He chuckles, and you nod, crossing your arms.

"I hate when people don't take you seriously." You huff to yourself, staying quiet the entire rest of the ride until you both reach his apartment where you're staying over at tonight- when his arms reach around you from the back, his face hiding in the crook of your neck where he kisses the skin.

"I love you."He hums, and you shiver at the sound of that sentence. He doesn't say it often, his love language non-verbal, rather expressing his feelings in acts of service or fleeting touches. So whenever he does say it, it's special. "And I'm.. really happy you're my girlfriend, you know that?" He says, and you shrug.

"I'm.. you know, I'm sorry I'm always so much trouble." You sigh, but he shakes his head.

"You're not." He denies. "I need to.. say it more often to people. You know. Stop introducing you as.. you, but as my girlfriend instead." He tells you.

"You don't have to-" You start, but he chuckles.

"No, I do." He argues gently. "Because I can't stand it when people think you're easy to get. Or that you're someone that's available in the first place." He complains, walking you closer to his small bedroom, where he suddenly picks you up and let's you fall on the bed, your body bouncing from the impact a little.

"Jung-" you start, but he's already crawling closer to you on hands and knees, leaning in.

"You're mine." He almost growls under his breath, kissing you feverishly. You're not sure what's gotten into him, but you're also not complaining- or maybe you do, as you hear fabric rip and buttons drop to the floor around the bedroom.

"kook!" You whine. "That was one of my favorites-!" You complain, while he's busy pulling your skirt from your legs.

"As if I care." He growls, before he pulls you closer by the backs of your knees. "I like that lingerie though." He almost purrs, hands pulling on the straps of the lace body, letting them snap back against your skin playfully so.

"Yeah I like it too-" You pout, crossing your arms. "-So don't break it." You huff, making him raise one of his brows before he moves to push your wrists into the bed up above your head.

"I won't promise anything." He comments, before he leans down to kiss you, lips eager to claim your breath while his hands roam around your body, grabbing onto the softness of your breasts before they travel lower, over your sides, stomach, one pulling your leg up, while the other moves between your legs.

Your toes curl as he finds a way to slip his palm inside, teasing you for a good while before he throws his shirt over his head, shedding the rest of his clothes as well, before he grabs at the lace bottom of the lingerie.

It rips as he creates an opening, making you whine.

"I'll buy you a new one." He hums, one of his hands pumping his cock before he guides himself into your leaking core, pushing in slowly to help you adjust. "I'll buy you ten, I don't fucking care."

"You'll rip them all.." you sigh partially because of the feeling of him filling you up like this.

"Damn right I will." He chuckles darkly, pulling out before he pushes back in.

It's the start of what you think you know by now- but he's catching you off guard as his hips move at an aggressive pace, skin against skin echoing in the room as he clenches his jaw, a hard grip on your thighs, making you wonder if he'll leave bruises.

You wouldn't mind if he did.

Your head spins as you're left taking whatever he gives you, one of his hands leaving your thigh to instead pull down some of the straps on the upper part, pulling out your tits for him to see freely move. He can't help but grab onto one of them, hold it before he slaps it once just to see how it feels.

You, meanwhile, feel like you're having an out of body experience. You can hear yourself moan almost obscenely, whining and whimpering as he pounds into you, but its like your body doesn't respond to you any longer, as you arch your back and curl your toes.

And like the devil he is, he doesn't slow down. Instead, he grabs your hips, and adjusts you to lay over his thighs, gaining the ability to aim even deeper inside. And your body freezes up as you hit your orgasm full force, thighs shaking violently as he slows a bit, erratically moving to reach his own high as well, your cunt clenching around him tightly.

And as he finally cums, pushed as far inside you as he can, he finally gains back the ability to year, and notice his surroundings.

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, your eyes are closed, skin shining in a light layer of sweat as he can't help but run his hands over the pale pink lace lingerie covering your body.

You're just so pretty.

He moves the straps and lace around, helps you out of the garment, slipping out of your core for a moment, causing you to whine in complaint. "So pretty.." he hums, as he finally has full access to your bare skin, lips peppering kisses from your stomach up to your neck, hands never staying still. "All mine." He speaks against your skin, when you feel him suddenly harshly suck and bite at your neck and shoulder.

"J-jungk-" you stammer, legs rubbing against one another as he chuckles.

"Already wanting more?" He wonders, and you nod, hands clinging onto his arms. "Think you can take it?" He jokes, and you nod again.

"Please-" you beg, and he leans back, pulling you with him to straddle his lap, adjusting you properly on his still sensitive cock. You've never had sex in this position before,but you immediately decide that it's one of your favorite- the way he holds you, his body all over you, the way he's able to provide such an immense feeling of safety and comfort to you, is otherworldly almost.

Or maybe it's just jungkook himself. You're not sure.

He's overly sensitive but pushes through that first wall, moves a lot slower and more sensual now as he helps you bounce on his lap, before you instead start to roll your hips into his- earning a very vocal response from him as he holds onto your ass, assisting you in your motions while your hands are on his back, nails scratching a little over his skin.

And he loves it, loves the idea of wearing your marks just as much as you do his.

He really should show his love for you more often. It's still a bit odd to him why you're with him in the first place, but he should stop trying to figure that out- because that's not what it's all about, isn't it? Your relationship doesn't need any other reason to exist than live alone, and love is something you both have a lot of.

The love for your body, your mind, your soul. The love for the way you nap around whenever you can in the most random of places. The love for your random kisses you place on his cheek, on his neck, on his hands, on his shoulders. The love for your cooking, your care and your hugs at night.

He's got so much love for you, and he should show that.

He's sure he can't cum again, but he knows he's reaching his second orgasm however, hips moving erratically just like yours as you pick up your pace, lips chasing after his, as he licks at your lips, open mouthed kisses sharing breaths as you reach your highs.

You cling onto him for a good while after, feeling him fill you up once more as his cock spurts his release up your cunt, making it leak out down your legs, as he lays your limp body back down on the bed, pulling out.

His hand can't help but try and push his seed back in- and when he notices he can't, he instead uses it as lubricant to instead let his thumb circle over your pulling clit, a frail whimper coming from you as he softly lures another orgasm out of you, his breath finally normalizing as he watches his cum leak out of you.

He's tired, exhausted, but forces himself up at least to help you and him clean up and so you go pee, while he simply throws the stained sheets into the wash. Neither he nor you get dressed after showering and drying up, rather opting to sleep wrapped in simple blankets on the couch instead, holding each other close.

And the pain in his muscles the next time he wakes up is so worth it-

Just like the honestly amusing sight of you struggling to walk straight.

[subliminalbo]

Internal Affairs #1: The Rookie

By the third week, Lydia’s revulsion was turning into arousal. By the third month, she struggled to remember the assignment at all.

I’m a cop, she reminded herself before rolling her hips, sliding down the john’s cock until it was pressed deep up inside her pussy. A soft moan staggered from Lydia’s lips. Again, I am a cop. Hips roll, cock deep, soft moan. I am a cop. Repeat until the john was satisfied.

It was all part of establishing her cover. Nobody would believe Lydia’s work if she didn’t do the work. Why couldn’t she enjoy it too?

I am a cop.

But she wasn’t a cop. Not really. It had once been Lydia’s dream. When she was eleven, two officers visited her class. The man looked like any other cop on the eleven o’clock news: wide shoulders, short cropped hair, carrying all that “fuck your civil rights” privilege with pride. Most of the boys stared at the gun on his hip, waiting for the little shit brave enough to ask, “Have you killed anybody?”

But it was the female cop that Lydia couldn’t take her eyes off of. She respected the children, spoke to them like people. Not like her partner who addressed the class like he was facing a courtroom. She didn’t look like any woman cop that Lydia had ever seen either. She was tall, and a statuesque beauty made her all the more intimidating. The boys only saw the man and the gun, but Lydia saw the looks between the two. How the man would turn to his partner before giving an answer. He only did it a couple of times, but it was enough for Lydia to know who was really incharge. No one had told her a woman could have that kind of power.

But Lydia’s dream of carrying a badge didn’t make it past high school. She ultimately chose a criminal justice degree at Carpenter State University over the police academy. She never expected that it was less of a path to a future, and more of a strange, meandering way back to her dream.

I am a

“...mindless whore,” the john said as she rode him.

Lydia stared down into his eyes. His face twisted between embarrassing expressions as he fought back the inevitable orgasm. The way he grunted his words, it surprised Lydia that the john could even try to talk dirty to her, most of his mental bandwidth allocated to holding out as long as he could. Lydia wasn’t cheap and she only took one shot for each service rendered. Every John wanted it to count.

“Is that how you like it?” Lydia playfully responded. “Young, dumb, blonde bimbos without a thought in their heads?”

The john grunted something back that a generous listener might say sounded like, “Yeah.”

“I am a mindless whore,” Lydia bit her lip. “My mind is just a wet hole aching to be filled by its Master’s cock.”

“Fuck,” the John gasped. “Say it again.”

“I am a mindless whore.”

“Again,” he pleaded.

“I am a mindless whore!”

“Again!”

I am a mindless whore.

Lydia had been applying to law schools when her professor approached her with the opportunity.

Lydia,

I was hoping you could set some time aside in your calendar to meet with a friend of mine from RPD. I think you’ll find it educational. If you’re interested, shoot me over some dates and I’ll set up the meet.

Best,

Dr. Bloom

Lydia met with the friend from RPD the next week in Dr. Bloom’s office. Lieutenant Barbara Keyes sat across from her at Dr. Bloom’s desk. Dr. Bloom briefly introduced Barbara then excused himself to let the two of them talk. Barbara wanted the meeting to feel informal. “Call me Barbara,” she quickly said when Lydia referred to her by her title. But the location betrayed the intention. Not a lot of people knew that Lieutenant Keyes was there.

Lydia did her best Sam Spade, studying the woman across the desk. Mid-thirties to early forties, no ring on her finger. More likely a divorcee than a spinster. A married to the job kind of cop, she figured. But most important was the confidence–Lydia realized as she watched Barbara speak that she carried herself with the same confidence that had first caught her eye all those years ago in her sixth grade glass.

They chatted for a moment about Lydia’s education, Barbara’s background, and quickly found a comfortable place where they were just talking like old friends until Barbara said, “So Charlie tells me you’re his best student."

“Best,” Lydia laughed. “I don’t know about best–”

“I do,” Barbara cut her off. “I’ve known Charlie a long time and I trust his judgment.”

Lydia sighed, considering her next move, then decided that it was best to just cut through all the bullshit. “So is this a job interview?” she asked.

Barbara sat straight, unmoved by Lydia’s candor. “Lydia, I work in IAD. Do you know what that is?”

“Internal Affairs,” Lydia blinked.

“Unfortunately, I find myself in the position of trusting absolutely no one in the Romero Police Department, which means when it comes to recruits I need to look in unorthodox places.”

“Like Carpenter State,” Lydia said.

“That’s correct.” Barbara nodded. “Now, on top of my position in IAD, I’m also the deputy director of the RPD sex work task force. Since the task force formed two years ago, we’ve managed to clean up much of the areas around Carpenter State, which is a point of emphasis for the commissioner. That being said, River City remains frustratingly impenetrable.”

“I don’t understand,” Lydia said. “So is this a job interview…to go undercover?”

“I need young, female cops,” Barbara said. “But more specifically, I need young, female cops who don’t look like cops.”

Barbara was right. It was unorthodox, even downright unethical. But it was hard for Lydia not to admire the risk she was taking. Barbara Keyes was the kind of woman who valued education over brute force, that’s why she’d turned to Carpenter State for new recruits. And Lydia understood her reasoning too–her dream of becoming a cop came to an abrupt end in high school after a highly public, sweeping police corruption case in Romero upended the department. It had shaken Lydia’s faith in justice, but she couldn’t totally let those values go. If anyone else had come to her with this offer, asked her to play the role of a prostitute as an inexperienced, secret cop? She wouldn’t have just turned them down. She would have blown the fucking whistle. But Barbara was different. Lydia couldn’t stop seeing that cop from sixth grade. For some reason she wanted to do what Barbara asked of her. She had no choice but to accept.

I am a mindless whore.

Lydia always came with the john. That was what made her one of the most popular and expensive whores in River City. She’d been trained that way. She’d been trained that way because it made her a good cop. A good whore was a good cop. But she always seemed to forget about that when she was on top of them, bracing herself against the headboard as her body rocked from the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. It was always better when she was with a john.

They’d leave the money on the small table by the door and before they exited, Lydia would always offer something to keep them thinking about her.

“Your cock felt so good,” she said, dreamy eyes selling the illusion that this fuck was anything more than a transaction. “Next time I’d even let you cum inside my pussy.”

“You do that?” the john smiled.

“Well,” Lydia pondered as if she wasn’t reading a script. “I’d have to charge an extra five grand. Secret menu, you know? High premium for the risky stuff. But it’s worth it for my favorite.”

The john melted as she batted her eyelashes. They never had that kind of money, but goddamn they would fuck anyone over for that opportunity.

Lydia worked tirelessly through the night. Fucking, sucking, even occasionally offering her shoulder to cry on. She didn’t stop until she saw the pale blue light of the morning sky through the hotel room’s yellowing curtains. She took a quick shower, collected the evening’s take into a fat envelope, then flipped through her phone’s camera roll. 

The johns blurred together until they became one universal face. The only way she remembered them was by the pictures. She insisted on snapping a photo of every john’s ID before taking them to the hotel. “For security,” she would innocently say. 

Nobody had been busted by Lydia yet, so why should they suspect that it was anything more than a safety precaution? The johns liked Lydia and they wanted her to feel safe. But truthfully the IDs were part of the operation, one of the few things that actually made her feel like she was a cop. Barbara had been frustratingly vague on the details of her job, but Lydia knew that she was looking for somebody. Many of the johns were cops, and given Barbara’s role at IAD, Lydia assumed that she was trying to catch one of her own. But who?

She never recognized the faces. And try as hard as she could, she couldn’t match the names to them. They were right there next to the pictures, but something made it impossible for her to think of them as anything other than, “john.” The blue-eyed john, the brown-eyed john, the john with the scar next to his lip. Lydia selected the photos from her roll, a dozen for this night, and forwarded them in an email before deleting them from her phone forever.

Why had she done that? The details of her night’s work were better off with someone who understood it. No reason to burden herself with that knowledge anymore.

Before she could finish dressing, the room's phone rang. She was reluctant to pick it up, but the mechanical sound of the old fashioned landline phone drew her toward it. Something is wrong, she thought. I shouldn’t answer this.

It rang again, and she was powerless. Lydia lifted the receiver from its cradle and pressed it to her ear.

I am a cop.

“Good morning, Lydia,” the voice on the line said.

I am a cop.

“Good morning,” she slowly replied.

I am a

“I trust the evening was productive.”

I am a

“Yes…” she breathed.

I am

“And the IDs?”

I am

“I forwarded them to your email,” she said.

I

“Good,” the voice said. “And the night’s take?”

I

“Twenty-four grand.”

I am a mindless whore.

“That’s very good, Lydia,” the voice replied. “You know where to drop it off.”

Everything Lydia believed she was evaporated at the tinny sound of the telephone’s ring. By the time she heard the voice speak, that Lydia was already gone, replaced with the mindless whore she’d been trained to be. And she was one of the best in River City. She couldn’t fight that truth no matter how hard she tried to lie to herself. It felt too good.

“Tell me what you are, Lydia,” the voice commanded.

“I am a mindless whore,” Lydia said without hesitation. Speaking it out loud now drove her to the edge of another orgasm.

“That’s right,” the voice said, “And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

[lixenn]

OCtober 2024 day 23: community

@myrmyrtheorca one science girl coming right up! Anemone is also working hard, pipetting lots for qPCR 🫡 what a legend!

A yapping essay under the cut, I will talk science so you have been warned.

Now before I ramble about science I'm just gonna talk about the art for a bit. I did use a reference for this because I'm not insane and drawing the lineart with it was ... alright I would say. I actually looked through my own pictures and my uni website first in case I could find something as a ref but no dice so I needed to look it up anyways. I think the most difficult lineart to draw was the fucking pipettes... I need everyone to know that all the lab equipment (except maybe the blue regant holder) is a simplification of what it actually looks like because by god I could not replicate the real thing with my current skill set. I know most people will not give a fuck but I do so it needed to be said.

Otherwise colouring went okay and rendering wasn't extremely tedious. I noticed that I actually really like rendering blond hair, years ago I found this hack where you use red for the shadows and turn the opacity down and it works so well every time, I'm a bit obsessed tbh. I need to give more of my OCs blond hair lmao.

Okay enough about art let's talk science! Honestly this is really just me explaining science stuff, so feel free to skip because this can get long.

As I mentioned above I drew Anemone doing qPCR and I chose qPCR because her focus is genetic research. So basically she looks into the human genome (entire set of human genes) to see how it correlates to the Pallid Flame.

qPCR stands for quantitative polymerase chain reaction or real time polymerase chain reaction (RTpcr) and it's a valuable tool for analysing stuff down to genetic aka DNA level. You might have learnt about PCR in school but if not or if you've forgotten: PCR is the amplification of a specific gene aka you take one specific part of someone's DNA and replicate it a bunch of times. This is useful if you want to proof if a specific gene is present in the DNA you are analysing. Now qPCR also does the DNA amplification but as it already implies with the name it also counts how much the gene was amplified. You can use qPCR in many applications for example I used this method in my thesis to test if skin related genes are upregulated (higher gene expression aka genes are more activated? <- me trying to simplify genetics I'm not sure if this is the correct term of phrase) or down regulated (lower gene expression) when I put mast cells in my skin models. It gives you insight how certain factors affect cells on DNA level and since it will give you number at the end you can do statistics which is what everyone will really care about. I hope this explanation was at least somehow understandable if anyone has any questions I can talk more about this no prob 🫡

In fact I will talk more about it just... less why you do qPCR but more on how you do it. Because the thing is with this method... You need to pipette, you need to pipette A LOT. And honestly I'm really not a fan because you need to be so exact with this pipetting since each mistake you make stacks up and shows in your data at the end. It's very frustrating especially because there are a lot of steps where you can make mistakes and you need to be fully concentrated the entire time. I... I would say I'm good at my job but I really don't like this part of it because it grates on my nerves. But I think Anemone would be good at it, it's something repetitive that requires a steady hand and patience. Normally post Docs and even some PhD students let assisstants handle this job but I'd like to imagine that Anemone likes doing small things occasionally. Maybe not the entire process (there's a lot of prep work required for qPCR) but the last few steps she can take over, just for a change of pace.

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: pomegranate seed

Group: B

Prompts: Theft, rose, “how long?!” Pillowfort. Turn the tables.

-

Priceless

Mr Gold peered across the cramped floor of his shop with a crooked smirk on his face. Lacey French was in the process of pocketing a piece of jewelry that had been dangling from the rack–a necklace with a locket pendant, featuring an enamel face emblazoned with a deep red rose.

The same color red as the lipstick she was always wearing, he reckoned. 

The necklace was a piece of decent quality–but it lacked the sort of provenance that might render it worthy of a spot in the glass case he was standing behind. In truth, he ought to have melted the thing down for scrap. Jewelry simply didn't move in a pawn shop–plenty of sellers, rarely any buyers. But he'd found it a charming thing, and hung it up front in the hope that someone might be willing to part with some of their hard-earned cash in exchange for it. 

Evidently not. 

Lacey was making a display of pretending to admire a few of the other pieces on the rack–costume jewelry mostly. Picking them up, turning them this way and that in the dim, incandescent light, and humming before putting them back. 

Mr Gold cleared his throat. “Miss French.”

She froze for a beat, seemed to catch herself, then looked up at him with a friendly smile. “Yeah? Mr Gold?”

He scoffed. That smile didn't suit her. After all, Lacey French didn't have a friendly bone in her body.

“Will you be paying for that?” He asked.

She furrowed her brows and pouted her lips, feigning innocence as she looked around the shop. “Uh… paying for what?”

He supposed he had to admire her effort. “It's a lovely little thing, isn't it?” He said, grabbing his cane and hitching out from around the counter. “Late nineteenth century. Timeless motif, the rose. Gold plated. There's some imperfections in the wiring of the cloisonné–but that only adds to its charm, I think.”

She swallowed, knowing she'd been caught, but not prepared to admit it just yet. 

He held out his hand with his palm up. “Miss French.”

She glanced desperately around the shop again as if looking for her escape, but there was none. With a resigned sigh, she reached into her bag and dug out the necklace. “How long have you been watching me?” She grumbled as she dropped it into his palm–the delicate gold chain falling in a soft cascade around the pendant.

The corner of Mr Gold's mouth curved into a smile. “Why–since the moment you walked in, dearie,” he said, closing his fist around the necklace and dropping it into his jacket pocket. 

She folded her arms tightly across her chest and shifted on her feet–those deep red lips set in a defiant, pillowy pout. “You know, you really shouldn't admit shit like that,” she snorted. “Makes you sound like a bit of a creep.”

He swept his eyes over her, his grin widening. Storybrook was a dreadfully provincial little town–and Lacey French was one of its few treasures. Behind that vulgar mask of hers, was a woman who was as bold and clever as she was stubborn. 

“...So says the thief,” he said. 

“I didn't do anything,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “Maybe it fell in.”

“Leapt off of the rack and straight into that knockoff bag of yours?” he scoffed, tossing a pointed glance at the cracked and peeling finish on the edges he'd spotted from a mile away.

Her nostrils flared at that, and he felt a small trill of satisfaction course through him.

“...Better a bartender with a knockoff bag than a fucking landlord,” she snorted.

Mr Gold gave a light chuckle of amusement. A decisive blow, but an expected one. “You know, it was a pity to hear about what happened to our good friend Leroy Herzberg last month,” he sighed, looking down at his hand where it rested on the handle of his cane and flexing his fingers as if to check his nails for cleanliness. “As I understand it, he was on his way home from the Rabbit Hole. Had a few too many to drink.”

At this he looked back up, tossing his hair out of his face and waiting to see what retort she'd make next. But she only clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes hard as stones.

“...Last I heard he was well on his way to a full recovery though,” he added. “I'm sure that must come as a great relief to you.”

Lacey drew a deep, steadying breath. “You really are a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He chuckled and bobbed his head, reaching back into his jacket pocket and pulling out the necklace. He tossed it gently in his palm, letting the chain unfurl and slip through his fingers. “It's not a terribly valuable piece,” he said, smiling down at the pendant cradled in his palm. “At least not to me. But the woman who sold it to me seemed quite attached to it.”

He staggered back over towards the counter, only to pause halfway and turn around. “You know, it's funny–” he said, “you seem her spitting image.”

He spun on his heels and continued to the counter, setting the necklace down and beginning to unlock the case. Perhaps it deserved a place inside after all. 

“Fine,” Lacey said. “How much do you want for it?”

Mr Gold paused, his lips curling into a grin. “What's your best offer?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not stupid, Gold. How much did you pay for it?”

He wet his lips like a dog awaiting a meal. “...A price that your mother found fair enough, I can assure you.”

Lacey huffed and stormed up to the counter. “Cut the shit and name a price, asshole.”

Mr Gold's heart thumped pleasantly in his chest. Colette French had been a lovely woman of many charms–but her wayward daughter possessed a far rarer kind of beauty. 

“Something you learn in my line of work, Miss French–” he began, “is that the value of goods changes over time. What was considered junk a decade ago might be highly-sought treasure now…” he mused. “Supply and demand and all that,” he finished with a shrug. “I'm sure you understand.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “So then what is the value of it now?”

He picked the necklace back up and pretended to study it anew for a moment. In truth, he'd expect it to go for no more than forty dollars on the market. But to Lacey French, it was worth far more than that. 

He ambled back around the counter and gestured for her to turn around. “If I may?”

She narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, but indulged him nonetheless.

And what an indulgence it was, as he strung the thing around her neck. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her chest rose and fell shakily with each anxious breath. His own fingers trembled too, as he fastened the small clasp.

“There we are,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

She spun around quickly, her cheeks colored by a blush that hadn't been there before–and my, was she beautiful. Exquisite. Blue eyes, fair skin. Red lips, red rose.

And thorns. Lacey French had thorns.

Mr Gold reached for a hand mirror that he kept on the counter for such occasions as this, and handed it to her.

She shot him another wary look as she accepted it, turning her back to him again as if she needed a bit of privacy.

“...I'd say it's quite priceless,” he said once enough time had passed. “Wouldn't you? Miss French?”

-

[lancer-the-blue]

Going to finally watch the full Ninjago Dragon's Rising season 1 and 2 since everything's out rn and live blog throughout the experience

1.30 in and man the animation is crazy, Arin is already pretty compelling. Really good vibe so far

*"Jay the Lightning Ninja!" nooooooooo, not this foreshadowing!

Kais voice was weeeeeird there for a sec... ohhh that's Arin my bad

Oooh as someone who is obsessed over the map of ninjago ngl that's a sick map of the Merge, I need a copy as a map nerd

OMG THAT SEAGULL WAS A REFERENCE TO ZANES FALCON

Arin with Lloyd's hood is so cute! *i need to draw that*

I need those rottweiler dogs as fig accessories

"It's called having money, which isn't exactly our situation" moood Sora mooood

"Wannabe ninja go!" Damn the writing this season is snappy af

Just noticed how fucking gorgeous the backgrounds are in this season like damnnnn

"Who doesn't like pie?" Feels like a reference to Cole and cake but that might be me looking waaay to much into it

Kingdom of Imperium smashed up against Ninjago does looks snazzy I agree Arin

"And the perfect chance to meet me" dawwww that's so cute

Ooooh it's called the crossroads, nice

"My bff, my fam" ☠ never did I *ever* expect that from Ninjago

I agree having your own penthouse is pretty cool, damn Sora is so relentlessly shsmeless I fucking adore her

Noticing again how *clean* the animation looks, the inside of the room is so highly rendered wow

"Whennn we win" gods damn it Sora you fucking rock!

"And invite everyone else who lost their parents to live with us" noooo gods noo the feels, jesus these kids are putting me through it

Damn I'm sensing potential arc tension between Arin and Sora after that earthquake exchange

First time actually seeing Lord Ras on screen and not through fanart he's giving me Chima reject /lh

Golden helm horn guy with the autism yeeeees relatable

*Omg gimmie frog faced minifigure it's a whole mood will be my sigfig*

Quick serious question tho, is the frog person and Ras' spieces from Chima tho? Lord Ras is giving me Sir Fanger vibes

I LOVE LABO, will not ask about mom noted tho

OMG THAT SCENE PAYING WITH THE PIE DIDN'T HAVE TO HIT *THAT* HARD

Ngl love seeing the random Hypnobrai walk around is peak

Dawwww baby riyuuuu

"Labu avoids hazards" awwwww

Sora being peak again about money

RIYU AWWWWW

"The things they'll do to him" oh gods what does that say about jay...

"What would the ninja do?" "LET'S SAVE THAT DRAGON"

OH NO NOT LUBO GIVING A RESENTFUL MOTHER SPEECH

The scene with Riyu giving Sora powers is sick. Need to draw that

That grey haired raz goon is pretty, funny top 7 ninjago evil side bitches

Need to draw Arin doing Spinjitzu like that that was also sick

Damnnnn Raz was intense, "hunt down your entire family" I don't think ninjago ever got *that* explicitly threatening

"Runs on dragon power" ngl that's a little bit too goofy for me

Arin hyping up Sora is goals ngl

Uuuuh Sora roasting the ninja that's funny

Lloyd coming in that last second was low key kinda unexpected, was thinking it would happen in part 2 but still cool tho

Annnnnd we're done with Ep 1 S1, on to Ep 2!

Rating solid 8/10, writing and pacing was cleannnn. One of the best season openings

[blue-grama]

A teeny Boston fix-it fic

Had some feelings about Boston's ending (like everyone on this website), decided to channel them into fix-it fic (like half the people on this website). Please enjoy this missing scene that would have fixed everything for me had they shot it (or something like it). [Edit: A slightly amended version now lives on AO3.] New York, February 2024

The text comes while Boston is enjoying a post-fuck joint at the window of his shitty shoebox apartment in Washington Heights.

“Huh,” he says, passing the joint to the boy next to him and unlocking his phone. The guy takes a hit and blows the smoke out the window, elbows propped on the windowsill. He leans over Boston’s shoulder.

“That’s fucking cool,” he says, and it takes Boston a second to realize he means the Thai alphabet, not the fact that Boston has just received a cordial text from that shithead Mew, of all people.

“Mmm,” he says, trying to process the text. He’s high enough that he feels less relaxed and more stupid, like he’s got to parse each word individually. Mew is thanking him for the photograph he’d sent for the hostel. It looks good on the wall, he’s written.

“Anything important?” the boy next to him asks. He’s blonde, with shaggy, tousled hair, now all the more so for the way Boston had pulled it while he had him bent over his bed. They’d met at a bar not long after Boston had arrived, and now they have a nice little booty-call thing going on. The guy is a graduate student in something Boston doesn’t give a fuck about – biochemistry? bioengineering? – and he probably couldn’t find Thailand on a map, which is fine by Boston because he couldn’t find wherever this guy grew up in on a map, either. He has the vague impression of the middle of the country, something something deserts and corn. They know no one in common and have nothing in common, which is also fine by Boston. He’s learned now not to fuck anyone he might end up liking.

The only problem is that the guy’s name is Nicholas, of all things. “Nicholas or Nick,” he’d said to Boston, when he’d first sidled up to him with the promise of sex in his eyes. “I don’t care which.” Boston has never once shortened it, even though he knows his accent renders the syllables just a little bit off.

“Important?” Nicholas repeats, and Boston realizes he’s been staring at his phone screen for too long. Six weeks ago, even a month ago, when he was lonely and exhausted from operating in English all day, he would have said yes, and maybe could you get out of here, I’ve got to make a call. But now that he’s found his feet and daily life comes a bit more automatically, he’s not so sure. Mew and his sanctimony and Nick and all of Boston’s mistakes are so far away.

“Nicholas,” he says, instead of answering. “You wouldn’t catch feelings for me, would you?”

Nicholas looks alarmed. “Uhh. Look, no offense, because you seem like a cool dude, but I’m super not looking for anything serious right now. I’ve got so much work with school, and I just thought we were blowing off steam—”

Boston can’t help but laugh at his own panic reflected in someone else. “It’s good, it’s good,” he says. “Relax. That’s what I want, too.”

Nicholas takes another hit. “So what, ex-hookup texting you?”

“Ex-friend,” Boston says. “Long story.”

“Oh,” Nicholas says, nodding with the wisdom only half a joint of primo cannabis can confer. “I lost friends when I came out, too.”

Boston snorts. “It’s not that. I fucked his situationship.” He’d learned that word from another hookup a couple weeks back, and he loves it. Excellent fucking idiom. “He got a recording of it and threatened me that he’d play it for my dad –”

“The fuck?” Nicholas says. “Jesus. Dude.”

“What?” Boston says.

“That’s like, deeply fucked up.”

Boston shrugs, feeling half a step behind. “It was my fault,” he says.

“Bro,” Nicholas says. “I think that’s like, a crime.”

Boston can’t quite figure out what to say to that. He’d thought Mew was taking it too far that day, but no one else has ever suggested that Boston deserved any less.

But then, Americans are quick to tell people to fuck off. And Nicholas doesn’t have the whole story.

“He’s talking to me again,” Boston says, showing Nicholas the phone, which he can’t read so why did he just do that? “I tried to say sorry before, but he didn’t forgive me.”

“Do you forgive him?” Nicholas says. “I mean, is that ‘I’m sorry I tried to revenge porn you’ in Thai?”

“Um,” Boston says. “No?”

“Well then,” Nicholas says. “You didn’t ask me, but I’d leave that shit on read.”

Boston blinks at Mew’s text a couple of times. His head is clearing a bit. Maybe he doesn’t need, like, closure or anything. Maybe he’s a dick, but maybe his old friends are dicks, too, and maybe he can just … try not to fuck anyone’s situationship in the future. To the best of his ability.

“Yeah,” he says, putting the phone down. “Yeah, okay.”

[that-1d-blogger]

Plot - a two shot where you marry the love of your life - Liam Payne

My hands shook slightly as Salem carefully pinned the last piece of my elaborately styled updo into place. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to keep the rising tide of nerves at bay. Today was the day I had dreamed about for years - my wedding day. The day I would finally become Liam's wife. Mrs Payne .

Fucking god

I don’t know how long it had been until Salem kissed my cheek, told me she loved me and ushered everyone and herself out of the room to give me some space .

A sharp rap on the door made me jump.

"You decent, love? Only got two handsome blokes out here looking to escort a bride," Louis' unmistakable voice called out in a cheerful rasp.

"Come in!" I managed to reply, my voice coming out higher than normal.

The door swung open and Louis strolled in with Zayn right behind him, both of them looking devilishly dapper in their immaculately fitted blue suits. Their jaws dropped almost comically when they got their first look at me.

"Bloody hell..." Zayn breathed, running an appreciative eye over my form-fitting white lace gown. "Payno's one jammy bastard, isn't he?"

A wide grin stretched across Louis' face, crinkling the corners of his bright blue eyes. "You're not wrong there, Malik. Although our little blushing bride has rendered me speechless for once."

I felt my cheeks flush ever deeper at their compliments. Zayn gave an exaggerated bow while Louis swept into a courtly gesture.

"My lady, might we have the honor of escorting you to your prince on this most blessed of days?"

Rolling my eyes good-naturedly, I linked arms with the two men who had quickly become like brothers to me over the past few years. I still remembered the first time I met Liam's tight-knit group of friends...

It was a quintessentially dreary London evening, rain lashing against the cafe windows in sheets. I had been freelancing some writing work and stopped in for a coffee break, never anticipating that the curly-haired bloke at the next table would change my life forever. Our eyes met across the dim, crowded shop and something indescribable passed between us. All I knew was that I had to talk to him.

With uncharacteristic boldness, I had scooped up my things and slid into the empty seat across from him before my nerves could fail me.

"This is probably incredibly forward of me..." I began. The stranger's features shifted into an undeniably handsome smirk.

"Forward? From a gorgeous girl like you? I don't mind one bit, love."

We spent the next few hours chatting away like old friends, losing track of time until the barista had not-so-politely informed us that they were closing up shop. I learned that his name was Liam, and those warm brown eyes and crinkly smile tugged at something deep in my soul. When he asked if I wanted to grab dinner sometime, the word "yes" had tumbled from my lips before I even had a chance to think.

We became inseparable after that first date. Liam's positivity, affection and quiet strength grounded me in a way I'd never experienced before. He had an incredibly close-knit group of friends, a bit of a lads' club really, but they welcomed me with wide open arms from day one. When he finally introduced me to Louis, Zayn, Harry and Niall over beers one night at their local, I instantly knew why their friendships all ran so deep.

Louis, with his biting wit, devilishly flirtatious charm and surprisingly soulful warmth...

Zayn, the quieter, more mysterious one but with hidden depths and an incredible loyalty to those closest to him...

Harry, the playful, shameless flirt with the raspy laugh and dimpled smile...

And Niall, forever the sun-bleached golden retriever puppy, ceaselessly positive and silly and kind to the core...

As different as they all were, their bond was palpable. It was like gaining not just a boyfriend, but a whole new wacky chosen family that fully embraced me as one of their own. Stumbling out of the pub well after closing time on that first night, cheeks flushed from too many pints and ribs aching from marathon laughter sessions, I had known there was something profoundly special about this whole crew.

Two years later, and here we were - Liam and I taking the ultimate plunge and sealing our commitment for life. Just the thought of it made my pulse race.

As a child I always wished of that fairy tale wedding with my parents walking me down the aisle , my hundreds of people cheering , but all of that shattered when I lost my parents in a car freak accident , and got stuffed in a orphanage home . So when I asked Louis and Zayn to walk me down the aisle, we all started crying and hugged each other for 30 minutes straight .

I met Salem and Sabrina while interning at Fine line designs, after an awkward run in , we were assigned to a group project and we bonded even after it ended . Sabrina then introduced me to her long time girlfriend and now Fiancée Jasmine, who gives the best advice and is an elder sister to me. We four got pretty close . Salem , Jasmine and Sabrina , aren’t close with the lads as I am but when they get together they mix well.

Well Salem nearly balded Niall once for saying she got wrinkles , and Jasmine broke Liam’s nose accidentally but they mix well….

"Ready, love?" Louis murmured, suddenly looking almost choked up despite his customary bravado. "Last chance to run, you know. Although Tommo might have to chase you down..."

"Don't you start!" I admonished through a watery smile. "I've never been more ready for anything. Besides, you'd only come rescue me from those other bridesmaids out of some knight-in-shining-armor complex."

Zayn barked out one of his distinctively rough laughs. "She's got you pegged there, Tommo. C'mon, let's get this princess to her charming prince before the lads start placing bets."

With Louis and Zayn bracketing me on either side, we headed out into the hallway and made our way toward the main hall where the ceremony would take place. My breath caught in my throat when I heard the first swells of music - this was really it. I was about to walk down the aisle toward Liam and pledge the rest of my life to him.

"Don't worry, I'll be here to hold you up if those knees start shaking too bad," Zayn murmured in my ear with a wry smile. I shot him a grateful look, pulse thundering in my ears.

"And I've got the fainting couch ready just in case," Louis chimed in with a wink. Taking a fortifying breath, I gave them each a playful shove.

"You two are terrible..." I grumbled, but my lips twitched with suppressed mirth. Honestly, I was grateful for their teasing banter and lame jokes. It helped steady my frazzled nerves.

At long last it was time to make our entrance, and the ornate wooden doors swung open before us. A soft gasp escaped me as I got my first glimpse of the resplendent scene awaiting us. Every surface seemed to sparkle and gleam with opulent white florals, crystal drippping from the soaring ceilings in glittering chandeliers. At the end of the long, lavishly decorated aisle stood Liam beside the officiator, hands clasped tightly and practically vibrating with nervous energy.

His entire face lit up like a thousand watt bulb when his eyes finally landed on me. The tender adoration in his expression very nearly buckled my knees, his warm brown eyes shining with unshed tears of joy. Harry and Niall flanked him in sleek black suits, the latter rocking back on his heels in apparent excitement while the dimpled Cheshire Cat grin stretched across Harry's face. I couldn't help but laugh at the cheeky winks they shot my way as Louis and Zayn led me closer and closer down the aisle, the music swelling all around us.

My best friends, Salem , Sabrina and Jasmine standing in navy blue dresses standing beside my side of the alter gave me tearful smiles. Jasmine made inappropriate whoops, as Salem blew kisses with one hand, the other hand cradling Sabrina who smiled widely at me, tears running down her cheeks. Thankgod the makeup was waterproof.

It felt like an absolute dream, this perfect slice of time almost shimmering around the edges with its beauty and poignancy. All too soon though, we reached the end of the aisle. Louis pecked my cheek firmly, sniffing in a distinctly un-smooth way.

"Love you, kid," he murmured gruffly. Zayn pulled me in for a tight hug, dark eyes looking suspiciously bright.

"You've got this," he mouthed, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed them both back fiercely before taking Liam's outstretched hands, losing myself in the endless warmth of his loving gaze.

"Hi," I mouthed, feeling drunk on happiness and disbelief that this was actually happening.

"Hi yourself," he mouthed back, dimples winking as tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I felt my own eyes well up at his words, the love blazing between us almost a palpable force. The ceremony itself passed by in a dazed, blissful blur. Liam's vows were incredibly emotional and heartfelt, each vow and promise twining inextricably around my heart as he professed his eternal love and devotion to me. When it was my turn for vows, I had to take a few calming breaths before finding my voice.

The low murmur of the guests faded away as the officiator, a dignified looking man with silvery hair, stepped forward and raised his hands. A hush fell over the room.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony..." his rich baritone rang out.

I felt Liam give my hands a reassuring squeeze as the solemn but joyful words washed over us. My eyes traced over the familiar faces of our nearest and dearest - Louis giving me an over-exaggerated wink and cheesy double thumbs up, Zayn smiling softly beside him, Harry throwing a roguish air kiss in my direction and Niall practically vibrating with poorly contained excitement.

Shaking my head fondly at their antics, I refocused my attention on the officiator as the traditional recitations began. Liam and I turned to face one another, his warm brown eyes shining with so much pure love it nearly took my breath away.

"The couple has prepared their own vows to share with one another," the pastor continued. "Liam, if you would..."

Liam swallowed hard, giving a jerky nod before inhaling deeply. For a moment his eyes flicked over to the groomsmen and I couldn't resist a cheeky aside.

"Don't worry, your mates already told me you've got this," I murmured with a wry smile. A beat passed before Niall gave a badly muffled snort of laughter, making Liam's lips twitch upwards.

"The bride's got a point, Payno. Don't blow it now after all our pep talks!" Louis cackled in a carrying whisper.

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Liam gave me a look of pure adoration before finally starting in on his vows.

"My dearest love...from the moment you boldly plopped yourself down across from me at that cafe and started chatting me up, I knew you were someone incredibly special," he began, voice thick with emotion. "Your warmth, your spirit, your kindness and bravery in the face of everything this crazy life has thrown your way - it all captivated me right from the start. You came into my world during some really dark times, but you were the shining beacon that showed me the way back into the light again."

My own eyes welled up at the raw truth ringing in his words. Liam had been in a very unhealthy place, both mentally and physically, when we first met. The sadness and hurt he carried from past trauma had nearly consumed him. Yet my stubborn refusal to give up on him gradually chipped away at the walls he built up until the beautifully kind, sensitive and strong man I knew was waiting inside emerged once more.

"Our connection was cosmic, fated - something that transcended this earthly plane. You are quite simply the other half of my soul," Liam continued fervently. "Your unshakeable strength, spirit and compassion inspire me every single day. I promise to spend the rest of my life cherishing you, protecting you, lifting you up and supporting your dreams and ambitions. I vow to nurture, respect and care for you always. You have shown me how to live and love again...and I will spend my forever showing you the same in return."

By the time he finished, I had dissolved into a teary mess while the officiator discreetly passed me his handkerchief. Louis openly blew his nose beside me, already having lost the fight against his emotions. Zayn wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, giving me a subtle "okay" gesture to indicate it was my turn.

Taking a steadying breath, I willed my voice not to shake as I met Liam's reverent gaze.

"Liam, you are the strongest, bravest, most generous person I know," I began, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "I saw glimpses of your beautiful soul that very first day at the cafe, but I don't think even I could have anticipated how immense and profound your capacity for love and healing truly was."

A sly chuckle escaped from Harry's direction, making Liam's brows furrow slightly. Zayn discreetly elbowed the green-eyed flirt before I continued.

"When we met, I had resigned myself to a life of solitude. As an orphan, I never expected to find that elusive place of safety, of true belonging...of home. But you showed me that even those of us who started out alone in this world could create our own extraordinary family through the people we choose to keep close."

I couldn't resist pausing to gesture at Louis, Zayn, Harry and Niall then, all of them straightening up proudly.

"These ridiculous lads you somehow conned into being your best mates are proof enough of that," I teased, successfully Breaking the tension with a ripple of laughter. "Thank you for welcoming me into your wild, weird, wonderful brotherhood from the very beginning and making me feel so cherished. I'll never be able to properly express what that's meant to me..."

Swallowing hard, I locked eyes with Liam once more.

"My love, you are my happy ever after. You are my peace, my joy, my home. I vow to spend the rest of my days showing you the incredible depth of my love and devotion for you. I promise to respect you, cherish you, challenge you and nurture the profound goodness inside of you that makes you so undeniably special. I will celebrate your successes, catch you whenever you fall, and remind you of your unique power and magic whenever you lose sight of it. You have given me a life and love I never could have dreamed of...and I will spend my forever making sure that you never for a single moment doubt how indescribably lucky and grateful I am to now call you my husband."

Liam's breath escaped in a watery rush at the end of my vows, squeezing my hands until our knuckles turned white. Over his shoulder, I saw Niall passing around a wad of tissues, hastily wiping away at his own suspiciously bright eyes.

"And now, the rings, if you please," the pastor's voice carried over the reverent hush that had fallen.

Salem and Louis both stepped forward, those ridiculous matching dimpled smiles plastered on their faces. Tradionally the best man gives the rings over, but of course these four had to put their own spin on it. Harry carefully plucked the simple platinum band from the plush velvet pillow he carried and slipped it into Liam's waiting palm. Louis did the same for me before leaning in entirely too close.

"You hurt him, I hurt you, got it love?" he stage-whispered, winking cheekily to take any sting out of the words before rejoining Zayn and Niall.

It appears Salem made a similar comment to Liam , whose eyes widened and made a visible gulp before nodding immediately. She gave me a cheeky wink as she went back to join Sabrina and Jasmine

She definitely threatened to chop his dick like sausage.

With a rueful chuckle, Liam met my gaze once more, eyes shining.

"Ready to make it official, darling?" he murmured.

"Forever and always," I replied fervently.

We repeated the age-old words after the officiant, sliding the rings onto each other's fingers with hands that somehow weren't quite as steady as we would have liked them to be. Looking up from our joined hands, I was struck by the pure radiance of the joy on Liam's face.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife..." The words triggering a thunderous outbreak of cheers and applause from our assembled loved ones. "You may kiss the bride."

I barely had time to draw a breath before Liam's hands were cupping my waist , twirling me as he crashed his lips fervently against mine. Distantly, I could make out the unmistakable catcalls and whistles from our groomsme- no, our brothers. Liam and I sealed our new beginning as a married couple with that searing, loving kiss, only breaking apart when Louis and Niall's increasingly lascivious hooting and hollering grew too obnoxious to ignore any longer.

Laughter bubbling up from both of us, we turned to face our exuberantly cheering guests - husband and wife at long last. Harry, Louis, Niall and Zayn all surged forward to engulf us both in a tangle of hugs, laughs and playful roughhousing. In that singular moment of joy, I felt so overwhelmingly grateful not just to have found my life partner in Liam, but a whole family of true brothers as well. Bound together by far more than just friendship, the five of us wild, weird souls had created something magical and unbreakable through the inexplicable circumstance of fate and destiny.

-------

Part 2 with a drunk fun party will be uploaded tomorrow!!! It's better i promise

---

Mainblog

[tetraharmonic]

Rating the TriStamp Designs based on Suitability for Desert Travel

So, to give this post some context, in my character design class from two semesters ago, it was a super big thing for our professor that characters were dressed to the environment, ie hot weather causing folks to wear short-sleeved clothes, or combat focused characters dressing based on their style of combat and mobility requirements. I was doing some sketches yesterday and realized, man, some of them are actually fucked when it comes to the environment itself. And...well, here's my hotcakes.

Zazzie the Beast: 9/10

Clothing is the loosest out of the group, with the lightest over all colors. The outfit has not just one but two possible ways to cover the face, such as the mask and that scarf thingie. The main reason I'm marking the fit is for the pants, which would give them one weird sunburn. They'd also need more warmth once the suns go down.

Meryl: 8/10

Loose fitting and light clothing is a huge plus. She also has layers, allowing her to adjust better as nightfall hits. However, she has almost no face and eye protection, which would leave her with a nasty case of windburn.

Knives: 7/10

Tight fitting clothes trap the sweat against your skin, increasing the odds of overheating. His feet are also bare, so you know good and well that they're going to get roasted and burnt by the hot sand, causing blisters at best. However, having the cloak could, in theory, keep him cool during the day, and its looseness should allow for more airflow. Would've been a 6, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to his skintight suit. Who knows, it could be some real damn breathable fabric.

Roberto: 7/10

Light colors, layer potential. He's doing really well in terms of clothing. However, a suit coat would absolutely be too heavy for day wear. Also, he doesn't have any sort of face, eye or ear protection, so fighting the sand would be difficult.

Legato: 7/ 10

Same thought process here as Roberto. His clothing is light on the outer layers, which could help with heat management. However, his under layers are black, which would make him feel a whole lot hotter in the case that he had to remove his jacket, which he probably will need to, because it looks thick as hell. No facial protection.

Wolfwood: 6/10

Dark clothes, not good. But they're at least pretty loose and unbuttoned quite a bit. He has eye protection in the form of sunglasses, which would help with both sand and UV protection. Loafers might be an issue, though. If he can't keep the sand out of them, he could end up with some vile blisters.

Vash: 4/10

Has eye protection. It doesn't look like it would block much sunlight, but it would help for the sand, so that's a massive boost. However, tell me that jacket isn't going to be hot as hell out there. I dare you. He's also wearing very tight-fitting black clothing, which is not going to work out too well for him. He also runs the issue of his prosthetic. There isn't any way for him to keep sand out of the joints, which will, after some time, render his prosthetic unusable or extremely uncomfortable. His undercut gives him an extra point, though, because it'd help with the weight of hair and help keep his head cool.

Livio: 3/10

Dark clothes, not very lose. No eye protection. He'd be absolutely fucked. Keeping his hair out of his eyes will provide a slight advantage when it comes to seeing things, but it's completely irrelevant when compared to the horrible sun exhaustion this poor man is going to face. And he's got a turtle neck so he's just going to have more sweat trapped close to his body with nowhere for all of that to go. Dehydration and heat management would be a horrible issue for him, besides the fact that the metal thing on his face would heat up from the sunlight and begin to scorch his skin or even blind him. His outfit when he was young would've been fantastic, if his shorts were longer, but, yknow, three layers of black suits.... Poor dude. Someone get this man a kool-aid pouch.

Thats all for now folks. Enjoy!

[sideblogformindtrash]

prev

cw: dubcon, pet whump, substance abuse, ableism, classism, sexual conversation and flirting

He walked a lot looking for that prostitute last night, and it took its toll the next morning. 

He can feel the awful ache on his hips and knees before he even opens his eyes, worse than the headache he got from crying. 

But he also has the pet in his arms, and it gives him a wonderful smile, always so grateful for the small gentleness he gets. It seems over the moon today, having been rescued, bathed and allowed to sleep cuddling with its master on the bed. 

Farlan smiles back, pets the white hair. Sometimes he regrets allowing himself to care about the pet as it only made things worse for him. Other times, seeing that devoted smile, he thinks it was worth it.

“M-m-mmor…mor…”

“Morning pet” He sits up and looks around the room wondering where he left the damn thing “Get me my cane, please”

The pet nods and rushes out of bed, walking oddly and with shaky legs. Maybe he needs the help more than Farlan does today.

Still, with some struggle it manages to complete its task.

“Good. Back to bed now” He grants him that small mercy “I’ll bring us breakfast”

The pet nods, grateful that he wasn’t ordered to go back in the middle of those people. 

Farlan groans as he gets up, a sharp pain setting through his hips, but that was the harder part, as he makes his way to the wardrobe and as he struggles to get dressed he almost considers abandoning his plan and just calling room service.

But no, he wants to see if the whore is still down there and how well it survived. He doubts anyone respected any of his limits, or cared that he was drugged out of his mind. 

Not that it was his problem… after all the whore had betrayed him for a little extra money. But he felt a little responsible being the one who brought him into this wolf den. 

“T-t-t-t….-t-thank….” pet stutters, wrapped in blankets like a little nest. 

Farlan lifts his hand and it silences and tenses up. Then he sighs - he shouldn’t do that anymore. Their therapist had said the… incident rendered him partially mute, and stopping him from his attempts would make the condition worse. Even if Farlan didn’t often want to hear what a pet had to say… he wanted to fix that. He did promise to fix their relationship, after all.

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. I’m not mad” he explains “I just have a bit of a headache right now. So why don’t you try and get some more sleep?”

He expected a little ‘yes master’, but the pet nods and quietly seeps back on the sheets. So he fucked up that too, and might not hear pet speak again today. 

He sighs, making his way to the elevator, ignoring that it still hurts. He is not using a wheelchair today, not here where all of them will fucking stare at him.

The hotel staff worked fast. 

He expected to see a mess when he arrived at the hall, but they had already cleaned up most of it and set up the usual decorations and an extensive selection of breakfast food in the dining room.

Farlan could see why his father liked to throw parties here.

He scanned the room. Only a fraction of the guests were here, looking horribly hungover. He guessed the rest was still asleep or had called for room service. And thankfully his father wasn't here. 

But he did find the whore.

He wasn’t allowed on a table. There were plenty of empty ones, but they would never let someone like him take it. 

He figured that at least, he wasn’t kneeling by their feet licking the food out of their fingers, but sitting in a corner on the floor, surrounded by plates of every type of food. He already had eaten way more than what seemed to fit on such a scrawny body.

He’s starving, Farlan realized. 

He tried to access his state, but someone had given him a shirt and briefs, both too big for him. The black dress hadn’t survived the night. His eyes were hollowed out and surrounded by black bags. He was pale and sickly looking.

Feeling the star the whore lifts its eyes and bares teeth at him, clutching a donut and groaning like he’s afraid Farlan will take it away. 

“...Easy boy, easy. I’m not taking that” the whore narrows its eyes “I just wanted to see if you were still here”

“...Just barely”

“Well. Why don’t you tell me what the fuck last night was about? We made a deal”

Out of habit Farlan hits the tip of his cane on the floor twice. It’s a warning to his pet, but it means nothing to the whore. 

“I don’t fully remember, to be honest” he puts the donut aside and chooses a cupcake out of the pile, licking up the icing slowly, batting his eyelashes “But you know… I’m not exactly known for my loyalty”

"Lesson learned" 

“Besides” he continues, licking his lips exaggeratedly “You seemed disgusted by me last night. You only wanted me because I was the most repulsive thing you could find”

Farlan averts his gaze. It 's kind of true. 

The whore sighs. “Whatever, I don’t care. I can afford a taxi today. And I got some new contacts. It’s a good day”

“Look… did they hurt you?” 

Once again he narrows his eyes, stares at Farlan for a long while, before picking up some coffee.

“A little. Nothing I can’t handle. There were just too many of them” he shrugs as if it’s nothing “I don’t know how many fucked me last night. I might need to take an STI test, I don’t know”

“How can you be alright with that?” He twisted his nose.

“Eh. It was kinda hot. Sometimes I bite more than I can chew and I have to swallow it either way” he winks. “Oh I’m sure you swallowed a lot” he rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway, what’s even your deal” he takes another cupcake, licking the icing off it and ignoring the rest “What was that all for? Your dad does seem like an ass but he wasn’t really all that upset about it”

Farlan smiles, shakes his head. 

“Well, it backfired yesterday. But looking back, I think it still worked out. I got my pet back”

Orfeu makes a pause, searching his scrambled memories for it. 

“...There was… a little guy tied up…?”

“Yeah. Him. He 's mine. But my father doesn’t seem to be able to keep his hands away from him. Even worse when… it’s for this”

He gestures to the tables filled with guests.

“Ooww. You love your little guy, hm?” He smirks “In love with a pet, dear?”

Farlan blushes. 

“NO. NO- I mean. He’s mine. And I don’t like when they touch my things” he crosses his arms “That’s just it”

The whore just lifts an eyebrow. 

“Enough to get your father to hit you for it?”

…He sees red. The audacity to talk to him like that… He tries to kick him, but his legs hurt far too much and he can’t keep balance, the whore just curling up and protecting its face, while he falls on his butt.

He groans, burning in shame as the guests have their eyes on him now. Orfeu tries to help him get up and he just slaps his hand away, struggling but managing.

“How much would you charge to just let me beat the shit out of you, freak?” he whispers.

“...Hm. Same as yesterday” he shrugs, kind of setting Farlan back. He wanted to threaten him, he wasn’t expecting this reply “...But I can’t right now. Hurts too much”

He sighs, anger subsiding. 

“Man… you’re really fucked up aren’t you”

He gets no replies back. 

“I’ll get going” he picks up some of the food, stacking it on his shirt and reading to leave.

Farlan follows him to the hallway.

“Wait - wait. Do you want a ride?”

He turns, frowns.

“Why the fuck would you offer?”

He doesn’t have a good answer for that. 

“I just want to leave this hotel for a bit” he tries. He figures the pet will be okay for a little bit.

“Fine. But I mean it. If you try anything funky, I’ll stab you” 

“I’m sure you will”

He drives according to his instructions. It leads them to the edge of the town, to a creepy looking gravel road in a forest, and he starts to wonder if he actually plans on stabbing him.

Finally they reach this tiny run down shack. Truly the stuff of nightmares. Seems appropriate for that guy, anyway.

“Thanks” Orfeu purrs “You know… I still owe you a fuck. I did take your money… and I’m not giving it back”

Farlan lifts an eyebrow. The guy looks destroyed.

“Can you even after all that?”

“Well. Honestly, I think my poor ass deserves a break. But I’ve got fingers, and a greedy little tongue” he licks his teeth and winks “Or if you are up for it, we could surely invert things a little”

“Invert?” He frowns.

“Yeah! Have you never considered getting topped?” he winks “Maybe even a little dommed, love?”

He nearly chokes, his cheeks getting hotter. 

He’s never even been with anyone who wasn’t a pet. And being topped by a pet felt like an insult. 

“That’s ridiculous”

“Well. You seem embarrassed” he teases and giggles, leaning closer “I’m good at figuring out what people desire. I can make you melt under my hands…”

“No. No I would not enjoy that- stop” He blushes harder, realizing he’s pressing himself against the door.

Orfeu leans back and gives him space, so he can fucking breathe again.

“Well if you don’t want that, it’s alright… But it seems to me that you are just afraid~”

“I’m not afraid” he groans.

“...Shame goes a long way to make your life miserable. There’s nothing wrong with subbing. I know what you associate it with but - it’s cathartic. It feels so intimate” he shrugs “And we can take as many breaks as you like. Go slow. Safeword if you need. You’re the boss after all…”

“Yeah - yeah I’m the boss and I want you to stop-” he demands, sweating and gripping the wheels “I need to go back now - I want to take my pet home”

“Well. Thanks for the ride then” he shrugs, opening the door ”You know where to find me”

He doesn’t reply, just speeding off from there as fast as he can.   

@whump-blog

[thesinglesjukebox]

'WEIRD AL' YANKOVIC - "POLKAMANIA!"

"Weird Al"'s first Jukebox appearance... today, we have finally truly become the Singles Jokebox.

[4.38]

TA Inskeep: Oh look, vaguely recent pop hits set to polkas. <Miranda Priestly voice> Groundbreaking. </Miranda Priestly voice> [2]

Kat Stevens: There are a certain subset of songs which I've only ever encountered in "Weird Al" polka medley form: I have no idea what the original "Cradle of Love" sounds like, nor have I any real interest in finding out. So it spoils the fun a little when it turns out I know all the tunes already. [4]

Julian Axelrod: "Weird Al" Yankovic was one of my first favorite artists, which means I was exposed to some of the biggest pop hits in history via parodies and polka medleys. So while "Polkamania!" might disgust and confound the average listener, I find it charming that he's still committing to this incredibly specific bit forty years into his career. It's been a decade since "NOW That's What I Call Polka!", which means Al has a wide array of hits to cover, from the obvious ("Shake It Off") to the inspired ("Vampire") to the baffling. (My biggest laugh came not from his polkafied version of "WAP," but the censored rendition of "Thank U, Next" that immediately follows.) It's hard to judge this through a contemporary critical lens when it exists mainly as a funhouse inversion of pop's immediate past. Listening to a "Weird Al" polka medley in the year 2024 feels like returning to your hometown and finding out your favorite old haunt is still standing and still run by the same curly-haired weirdo, untouched by the evolution of taste and the passage of time. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: A foil to Eminem: Em is crass where Al is gosh-darn unoffensive, dying to offend where Al is dying to please, but the two artists share a drive to present themselves as more chaotic than they actually are. (I interviewed "Weird Al" once, and he was so unwaveringly on-message that it felt like interviewing a career politician.) Their pop-culture medleys are as routine and unsurprising as holiday concerts, though Al's are more event managed: doing the press circuit, he was happy to break down all the logistics of the "Polkamania" assembly and approval process. In doing so, he critiqued the song better than I ever could: SZA ghosted him, but Lin-Manuel Miranda returned his call in like 30 seconds. [4]

Tim de Reuse: I'm sorry, Al. This kind of thing was your bread and butter, but we've pulled the rug out from under you. The genre-cloud of "recognizable song awkwardly re-rendered in different style" is the basis for a million clickbait YouTube thumbnails, ten percent of all videos on TikTok, and probably a quarter of all audio-based generative AI prompts. I've already heard all of these songs as Gregorian chant, as Norwegian black metal, Midwest emo, using the soundfonts from Super Mario 64, performed by a bad Kate Bush impersonator, in fucking "Negative Harmony" -- never of my own volition. This stuff is just in the air now, competing for my attention, and it all sounds the same as every cell phone ad. Wat's left here? Polka? Is polka still funny on its own merits? Was it ever? It's not you, Al. It's us. I'm sorry for what we did. [1]

Joshua Lu: "NOW That's What I Call Polka!" was a guilty pleasure of mine, operating as a genuinely catchy and humorous summation of then-recent hits made by a man with a palatable appreciation for pop music and a knack for taking on unserious tasks with the utmost seriousness. "Polkamania!" is mostly the same, and in being his first mashup since then (aside from some Hamilton thing I can't bring myself to listen to), he's had to distill over a decade of hits down instead of just a few years' worth. All of these songs included make sense, but every other song just instills a sense of "Oh yeah, that was a thing once," culminating in a Taylor Swift remake that surely would've amused me in 2013 but now just feels a dozen lifetimes old. It doesn't help that some of these songs are just kind of boring and don't offer much by way of humor, forcing pretty straightforward polkafications and awkward transitions.  [5]

Ian Mathers: Look, none of these will ever equal "Polka Your Eyes Out" to me, both because of the song selection there and because I was 10 when it came out. But I'm happy Al's out there doing his thing, and I hope he never changes. [6]

Mark Sinker: OK, back in April some clown called on him to become our beloved worm-man god-emperor, and now look what happened: “Brat Al” Yankovic! There’s a whole slab of cultural and music theory to be explored one day, about what happens when you convert modern pop into sheet music and then convert it back out again into your favoured local sound-style: what gets elided, but also what’s gained (not nothing)! And maybe some day someone will write it up — but that day is not today and that someone is not me.  [5]

Hannah Jocelyn: The polka medleys were never my favorites; it's almost always the same shtick and there's none of the cleverness of his usual material or his (underappreciated!) style parodies. There's inspiration here to be sure, "Weird Al" doing "Bad Guy" as klezmer gets this a positive score on those grounds alone. Maybe if he released this five years ago or in five years it would work and not fall victim to the Anxious Interval. But this is "Weird Al", long-reigning king of kitsch. Who wants him to be in touch? [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Both 10 years out of date and 10 years into the future. Welcome back, polka. (And "Weird Al," too.) [10]

Taylor Alatorre: I appreciate that there's a person out there who can get me to say with a straight face a sentence like "I miss when the polkas were more thematically consistent." [5]

Jonathan Bradley: "Weird Al" sucks. I feel so mean to say that: people love this guy who, let’s face it, is completely harmless and has been delighting (mostly) children for decades, and here I am telling you how appalled I feel that we celebrate such a pristinely executed vision of pure crappiness. And yet, here we are blurbing him, so: I hate the querulous insipidity of Al’s interpretation of pop music. His schtick demands familiarity with pop — otherwise the parodies make no sense — but shies away from the music’s flair and vision and emotion, as if the pleasure these things offer is too terrifying and too adult, and must be remediated through the lens of banality so as to be controlled. His jokes rarely riff on details of the texts themselves, the way a Lonely Island video might, but replace any intensity of feeling with artefacts of suburban triviality: crappy television, crappy minor medical ailments, and so much crappy, crappy food. Even the verisimilitude of his productions — his greatest actual talent — runs headlong into the crappiness of his adenoidal voice, reassuring us that he’s not so proficient at his craft as to be mistaken for a star. And then there’s his sideshow of playing covers with an accordion, which we understand to be a joke instrument, in the style of polka, which we understand to be a joke genre. Is his polka any good? None of his listeners care. Do they go on to explore more polka? Why would they? Do people who enjoy polka think Al is contributing anything to the music they love? Who cares; the incredible notion that someone somewhere might enjoy polka is part of the joke. Because the most desiccated and shriveled aspect of Al’s relationship with pop is that he can’t imagine it has its own jokes. Cardi B is funnier in “WAP” than he is here. Lil Nas X was a better troll on “Old Town Road.” Billie Eilish had better comic timing with her interjected “duh” on “Bad Guy.” And I understand how churlish I sound saying all this. I am Seymour Skinner; I am Ed Rooney. But I like jokes! (I’m not mad. Please don’t put in the newspaper that I got mad.) The problem is that there is nothing fun happening here! [0]

Alfred Soto: I'm happy Al exists. This song sucks. [2]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[foxieskullz]

Hello! 👋

I hope you don't mind the ask, considering I'm sure your busy with more important stuff atm.

But I just went scrolling back through your "ask mystery shack cipher" blog and it had me... like [that one old vine meme where the dude is crying while trying to pick up spaghetti that fell out of his pocket]. That kind of sad balloon emptying whine-

It melted my heart. ^^

You draw bill so well and your stuff has inspired my art for years now! It helped me allow myself to be more genuine and try to enjoy the characters and takes I do unapologetically.

Your rendering is crisp and colourful and your lines are so long and bendy and flow wonderfully! :]

Your characterisation is on point and I especially appreciate your straightforward and relaxed take on Stan of all characters.

Also your oc daughter is adorable and I love the ice powers angle and her fashion and hair- all so well designed! ^^ Her name escapes me atm, sorry, I'm terrible with names.

I have trouble with linking ocs and canon in my head but your art has a level of cohesion wich bypasses that wierd mental block very well! (I know that's an odd comment and by no means a fair standard to hold your work to, but I'm just saying.)

And much more importantly, I hope things turn up for you soon. 🙏

You've been an inspiration. And I can only express my appreciation through the limited lense of your gf fanworks, but I hope this message can hit father than just that, so to speak.

Hi, and thank you so much! You're a big inspiration to me (I don't think I can express enough about how much I love the way you draw Bill and Ford!) as well and I'm so happy you enjoy the Mama!Bill blog!

Fuck yeah, Be unapologetic and love what you love, don't let anyone take that from you!

I'm so happy to hear I've been doing a good job at characterization, there's always a little bit of worry that they won't be enjoyed or might be too different from some of the other takes, or I've made Bill too soft.

And the fact you like Edna too really delights me. I will say I've been back end tweaking her as she develops and I figure more out about her (turns out she doesn't have ice powers anymore, oops, I do plan to explain the new ones at some point), but I think I've got her design down. She's been so much fun to develop over the years.

This message really meant a lot to me, especially with how hectic the last couple months have been. It was such a nice message to get.