#why not a sherrif?

[imaginepostingonmain]

COWBOY JIMMY COWBOY JIMMY COWBOY JIMMY COWBOY JIMMY

"I'm not...the greatest fan'o horses. Cannae stand em, really. Feckin great beasties, tramplin' everywhere... naaaaee thank ye. I'll stick with jus' bein' Finance Jimmy fer now."

[faceeeeee]

NOW EVERYONE IS HERE! gather 'round for the family photo📸

Close ups⬆️

[sunmoontruth-stiles]

I need a completely rewritten teen wolf series with Derek Hale as the main character. I think it would heal me.

[spinningbagel]

This is a copy and paste from my yap session in the MB discord but yk, something something content something something feeding the fandom

So, the Homeless au is on the mind and I was thinking about how at some point Lá Resistance find him and essentially take him back in and he like...doesn't want to? They kinda drag him back to the base despite him not wanting to and it's less out of the kindness of their hearts and more wanting to watch him, study him even because at this point it's been so long that he should be so much further along in his mutation or hell, even completely mutated but he's *not* he's feral, barely able to speak English at this point because it's been *so long* he hasn't had a need to speak the entire time he's been alone and coupled with the mutation he's just forgotten a lot of it. He can't communicate outside of broken words and noises. He's spent more time with mutants than humans as of late.

Also, I don't think they'd do anything to prevent his mutation, likely deeming him too far gone to do anything about it, they'd just wait for the inevitable and lock him up with the rest of the colossuses when he did fully turn. They don't treat him as a person, he's just a mutant with a little more freedom than the others. Sure he can roam around the base but he's watched constantly when outside anywhere but his given room and the bathroom, they don't trust him to be on his own, especially around the weapons or even the other colossuses. He has free roam but that doesn't mean they trust him, especially in the state he's in at this point in time. To them, he's dangerous, unstable, something that needs to be monitored almost 24/7.

And again, Sheriff doesn't *want* to be here, he's not here at his own choice, he wasn't given a say. He was just whisked away back to the base. He doesn't want to be here, he'd gotten so used to the space and the solitude the city offered outside of the mutants inhabiting it that now he's back at the base, surrounded by people constantly it's overwhelming, there are very few moments when he's completely on his own now, he's not used to people anymore and at this point he'd prefer to go back to being alone, if it meant that he wasn't being watched and studied constantly. The other colossuses are here though, so that's one thing. They've been through what he's going through, they're *like him* even if their memories of their lives before the apocalypse is foggy and they have no recollection of their personal experiences with their mutation, it's comforting to at least know they're there and have gone through the same thing. (Dr. White is there too but he scares him (the Dr. has done nothing but treat him kindly but his mutant brain™️ doesn't trust him at all)). But he's not even allowed to talk to them! Something stupid about exchanging information, he's in no state to be playing messenger but the thought alone is enough for everyone to make sure he didn't get the chance to talk to them at all.

He avoids them, as much as he can do which, means he spends a lot of time in his room, they'd cleared it of everything in it that made it *his* so it was bland and admittedly a really sad sight to behold but it's better than being watched like he isn't even human (is he human at this point?). He prefers it this way, even if he can't roam freely it's better than being monitored, *studied* by Lá Resistance. He misses that, being able to just roam outside freely, not having to worry about people or saving the world or debt of any kind. It's odd, he thought he'd like this better, he spent so long being upset that his friends abandoned him, spent so many nights wishing they'd take him back but now, now that he's been alone for so long where his only source of company is a bunch of mutants that essentially adopted him he just...wants to leave, he missed it, the freedom from people and the company of the mutants. When they assumed you to be one of their own, they were quite nice. He misses them, weirdly enough, he'd consider them family. (He absolutely didn't almost pass away the day they approached him)

Yuh

Some art for your troubles

[bismuthburnsblue]

this is a wip

things never fit Bunty the way they fit me

but:

heres Ginny's vest!! ah im so happy with how its coming out!!!! i dont think theres anything i need to change from the mock up, which is nice :) i should be able to trim off all the excess ive left & finish the seams, with oneeeeee exception;

when i came to look at the yoke piece this morning (the top piece on the back) i noticed its a little bit off grain. i had to cut it on the opposite grain already for width reasons and i. cannot stop seeing it. i think i just barely have enough denim to recut it if i really squeeze, so should i? do you guys think its noticable?

also the embroidery. dont look too close at it, its still a wip, buuut. i think im gonna eek it 5mm further down, i dont like how close to the top it is so much.

but!!!!!! adjustments aside! wow im really happy with how this is coming out :D

[crimmsonflower]

I've started listening to marching band covers of pop songs because of Normal and I've found my new favourite music genre

[direwombat]

wip music monday + last line tag

tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @cassietrn, @madparadoxum @adelaidedrubman, @socially-awkward-skeleton, and @g0dspeeed for some music inspiring my wip and last lines written!

tagging @detectivelokis, @gaeadene, @ivymarquis, @aceghosts, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @henbased, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @trench-rot, @neverthesameneveranother, @wrathfulrook, @jacobsneed, @confidentandgood and anyone else with either some fresh lines or some music they want to share!

last lines:

“Cleansin’?” Sybille asked. 

Jerome lets out a tired sigh and Mary May’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “Jesus, Dep, I know you’re new in town and all, but damn, what kind of evidence have you been gathering on the Seeds?”

Sybille leans back and crosses her arms with a frown. “Apparently not the important kind,” she bristles. “Fill me in.”

wip music:

here's a song that really hits syb in her sense of duty and obligation. is it directed towards the resistance? her brother? jacob? the cult? the answer is yes. it just depends on when in the timeline of her canon we are. she believes in peace...but she's more than willing (chomping at the bit even) to go to war. all you have to do is ask her to. :)

they call my name // like they know what it means, do you know what i mean? // they ask for blood // like they're doin' of thirst, i'm a one-woman church // they want a savior // i'll be their savior

give me your poor, your weak, your lost, your hopelessness, your fear // don't worry, i'm here // your poor, your weak, your lost, your hopelessness, your fear // don't worry, i'm here

i believe in peace, but i'll // i'll go to war for you // and i believe in truth, but i // but i would lie for you // i believe in peace, but i'll // i'll go to war for you // and i believe in truth, but i // but i would lie for you

[nonbinary-catboy]

Wanted to practice drawing scenes some so heres this silly little bit from It Devours! gonna try and draw some of the parts of it with Carlos tomorrow if I have time, because I love all of them very much. Also please ignore the fact that the building looks weird I am. not good. at drawing backgrounds.

[shinygoku]

Dr Light in most MM game verses: Ahh yes, I will name my new Robot Children Rock and Roll! :) They'll be twins and will have each other to lean on and won't run away like Blues did.... :'(

Dr Light in MMPU [Englang dub]: Ahh yes, my Robot Children. Mega and Roll.

[lyssitalennon]

Tell me why I just got a fic idea for sheriff Johnson

[orangegaytorade]

Oop the phoenix strikes again

[exist101]

I watched a review of Garten of Banban III earlier and my god it is SO unhinged

SO FUCKING WILD

Garten of Banban my beloathed

[shadyshaylee114]

FULL STORY WILL POST IN PARTS TOMORROW

Thank you @specsthesecond for letting me use your plot idea!

🐊 Crocodile hybrid Sherrif who becomes quite fond of the new outlaw in his town. Every time you outsmart him and get away it just makes his dick harder and his heart beat faster. When he finally catches you, after one hell of a chase, he doesn't drag you to the jailhouse but instead to his home. He's rambling on about how someone so cunning and resourceful would be the perfect mate and how he'll breed you full of his eggs to prove it to you.

Sheriff crocodile x outlaw reader (mild violence) (brief mention of loss) (eggs)

You pulled your hair underneath your black hat looking at the rail cart across from you. In and out. Well that was the plan aslong as the sheriff didn't show up. You had moved into town a couple months ago starting with petty theft to test the waters. Taking a pocket watch here, a womens pendant there. Snatching coin pouches with ease. You had noticed the sheriff of course taking note of all law enforcement in any town you went into. You had dealt with hybrids they where still people just normally faster and with heavy animal features. A crocodile was new to you though. Sheriff Dryeden was a sight. For being what you assumed a cold blooded reptile.

He stood at 12"6' his tail dragged behind him as he walked at 1.8 meters long.  He's a greenish-drab color with black stripes and spots on his body and tail. His underbelly was a almost white color from what you could tell from under his uniform. You found him incredibly attractive with his stupid shiny sheriff badge on his chest, his stupid sheriff hat, and his stupid yellow eyes that almost pierced your soul with ever glance.

The first time he noticed you was when you had stolen a bottle of liquor from the saloon owner. He had been meeting up with the mayor and didn't hesitate to take off after you. Luckily you where incredibly smart and fast on your feet  managing to escape him, you went down an alley way and onto the back of your horse. Dryeden was in shock he'd been a fighter since he was a boy no one had escaped him. As he watched you flee on the back of your horse he felt his heart race for the first time in along time.

He continued trying to catch you. Yet you where always one step ahead managing to avoid getting caught by him. The time you robbed the bank he nearly caught you in the vault but you slid into the crowd unnoticed. When you robbed the mayor's home and escaped on the back of a farmers cart hiding amongst his vegetables.

The more dryeden chased you the more he felt the desire to keep you for himself grow.

  Unfourtantly for you that damn crocodile was fast and smart he was always making it harder for you to get away. It started to seem like he knew what you wanted before you even did. If this town didn't have money, You would have already left town to avoid capture.

But you weren't one to let opportunities slip from your fingers , and that freshly mined gold was calling your name. The last job always being the biggest for you. It should be simple you didn't need the whole cart just a couple nuggets. Using the cover of the night you quietly slid up to the rail cart smiling brightly at the gold. Grabbing a couple nuggets sliding them into your bag you noticed the night had gone quiet.

"Why howdy Sheriff Dryeden." You said smiling turning to face the hybrid.

"I'm not letting you get away this time." He growled his eyes glowing under the lights from the mine shaft.

"What a hoot sheriff we both know you aren't going to catch me. I'm to clever for you." You purred placing your palms flat on the rail cart. As Dryden went to step foward you hoped over the rail cart taking off into the mine shaft.

Dryden pushed the rail cart over with a loud crash taking off after you with a roar. You could hear the pounding of his feet behind you. You cursed feeling the rush of air as his claws barely missed your arm. Taking a sharp turn you nearly avoided running into a empty cart.

Sliding quickly you stumbled as your feet struggled to catch traction. You panicked he was catching up fast. Finally pulling yourself together you barely managed to avoid getting slammed into by the sheriff. As he slammed into the wall the sound from the force rattled the walls. If you didn't get out he might make the mine collapse on you both.

He roared as you picked up speed. You had to find away back to the entrance it was the only way out you knew. Running as fast as you could you noticed that you where coming up on one of the stabilizer beams. You could tell that the sheriff was right behind you.

Quickly as you started to pass the pole you threw your hand out using your speed and momentum to turn you around putting you back in the direction you had come from. The sheriff snarled as he slid on the lose dirt trying to stop himself. He used his tail to try and stabilzize himself during the fall. As his chest sid onto the dirt he reached out with his hand wrapping it tight around your ankle. Yanking you down with him.

Letting out a startled cry that was cut short as your chest slammed into the ground. You kicked your leg back aiming for his face. He quickly caught your leg moving his face aside. Dryden could feel himself pressing against his cloaca what a sight you where! He finally had his claws on you after so many chases. He could hear his heart beating the fastest it every has.

Your ankles where in either hand spread out before him as you struggled to escape his grasp. His eyes focused in on your ass watching it move as you tried to pull your legs free clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to break free. He moved himself into a kneeling postion flipping you onto your back. He couldn't help but chuckle at the glare on your face.

"You're under arrest. I've caught you little outlaw so it's best you stop struggling. I'd hate to have to hurt your pretty face." He stated moving one clawed hand to grab your wrist placing the shackles from his belt securely onto you. He slid back down rubbing his snout against your cunt moaning softly at your scent. You glared at his actions pulling on your leg trying to get it free once more.

He pulled you over his shoulder as he stood to his feet. You winced in pain as some of his scutes dug into your stomach.

"Come on sheriff just let me go and I'll leave your town." You pleaded knowing the towns people would have you hanged for your crimes. But the sheriff ignored your pleas exiting the mine.

"I'm not taking you to the jailhouse." He stated you blinked confused.

"Where are you taking me then?" Was he just going to kill you himself. Crocodile hybrid didn't eat humans right?

"To my home. Where I'm going to make you my mate." Dryden was blunt not even trying to hide his intentions.

"What? Why me? I'm an outlaw and your the law!" You cried out. Dryden had noticed that you hadn't said anything about being against him being your mate. Making his crocidle face break into a wide smile.

"Your cunning and resourceful you will be the perfect mate and I'm going breed you full of my eggs to prove it to you." He almost dropped you as the scent of your arousal filled his scense of smell at his words. "See my little outlaw your already readying yourself to take my eggs."

"No way your crazy!" You shouted trying to deny that the thoughts of being breed by the crocodile hybrid hadn't already been flooding your mind since the first day he'd chased you out of the saloon. He continued to ignore your cries and struggles as he made his way to his home. After a decent walk you had finally arrived. Dryden entered his home taking you straight to the nest.

You bounced as he dropped you finally allowing you to see something other then his back. You took in the room it was bright shades of green giving a swampy look.

"You miss home often sheriff."  You said softly. Dragging your hand along the nest he'd dropped you on. The nest was incredibly soft. It was mound-like made from vegetation's mostly tall grasses.

"Yes very often but the nest was made for you." You looked at him with a glare at his statement.

"I'm not gonna keep telling you sheriff you're crazy if you think I'm staying here." He titled his head at you giving you that wide crocodile grin.

"Please little outlaw try to run again I do love chasing you." You scowled at him, he was diffently getting on your nerves.

  "So what are you going to do to me?" You asked your curiosity getting the best of you.

"I'm going to make you my mate. Watch you carry my eggs and keep you full of them so you can never leave myside. You're so wise and capable you're exactly who I've been looking for." He stated with a shrug slipping out of his shirt.

He turned his back as he undid his belt going to slip out of his jeans. You looked at the room entrance and didn't hesitate jumping out of the nest. Dryden groaned in delight he'd been hoping you'd be foolish enough to give him another chase before he breed you. After all once you carried his eggs he couldn't allow you to run.

Quickly turning around he took off after you, chuckling when he noticed you going away from the exit. He smiled deciding he wanted to see how strong of a swimmer you where. He appeared in front of you making you slip and curse. You turned around seeing a door you flung it open and as you stepped inside you fell into what appeared to be a small pond.

"Your nesting room is new. This is my pond though. I miss the water most." He said standing in the doorway watching you calmly.

"I built it myself." He added clearly proud of the pond. If it wasn't for the fact you had just fallen in, you'd notice how beautiful it was.

You were swimming with ease. You learned how to swim in a creek bed when you where 6. Your life had always been hard so alittle water couldn't stop you.

"Well thank you for the fast introduction." You snapped sarcastically. He laughed his reptile eyes almost seeming to have more of a purple color.

"I wanted to see if you could swim. The last thing I'd want is for our offsprings to drown you." He was still giving you that wide smile. You found yourself smiling as well.

"Well you succeeded. I can swim but we won't be having offsprings. The towns people will kill me for my crimes." You where cornered and need to convince Dryeden to let you leave.

"We don't have to worry about that I made it very clear to the mayor that once we are mated you will return everything you took. I also already paid for the  liquor you stole." As he spoke he slid into the water. "It's to dangerous for me to take you in the water so let's go back to your nest and dry off." He was slowly swimming towards you. You knew very well how fast he was on land in this pond. His pond you didn't stand a chance.

But still you'd be dammed if you just gave in to him. You were patiently waiting for Dryeden to swim closer to you. Just as he reached out to pull you into his chest. You divided underneath him making a break for the doorway.

Dryeden groaned feeling his cock pushing on his cloaca begging to be released to breed his mate. Taking off after you he quickly caught up wrapping his arms around your small frame. He easily carried you out of the water pressed tightly to his chest.

"My sweet mate no more chasing." He growled. You currently where clinging to him as he walked.

"I'm not returning my stuff!" You shouted starting to struggle again. He snarled at your words bringing his hand down rough on your ass. You squeaked at the sudden strike going rigid. "Did you just spank me?" You hissed out.

"I did my little outlaw and I plan on making your cute ass red until you agree to return the items you took." He slid into your nesting room and set you down on your feet keeping one clawed hand tight on your arm. "I'm going to let go don't run I'm done chasing you I will take you wherever I catch you next. So if you don't want you clothes ripped to shreds remove them now." You glared at his words and began to undress not wanting to ruin your clothes for when you try to run again.

He gave that crocidle smile that you where starting to fall in love with noticing that the purple in his eyes showed everytime he smiled at you.

"You are absolutely a site to behold my darling Lantana." He moaned out taking in the site of your naked body. He stepped foward dragging his hands along your soft flesh. He groaned as he closed his hand around one of your breast. Using his clawed fingers to roll and pinch at your nipples loving the site of them hardening thanks to him. He drew back his hand landing another solid hit to your ass. This one made you yelp jumping alittle closer him.

He used the opportunity to pull you against his chest. Your hardened nipples rubbing against his scales. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. He slid down to a almost bowing postion resting the underside of his head on the top of yours.

"I'll take care of you. We could protect the town together. You'll never want or need anything again. I'll keep you safe, full, and loved. Please my Lantana say yes. Say you chose me to." He begged running his hand thru your hair and down your back. Applying just enough pressure to have you trembling but not enough to do any harm by his claws.

  Gentle you placed your arms around his side placing a soft kiss to his scaled chest.

"Yes Dryeden I want to be your mate." You whispered against him as you trailed kisses along anywhere you could reach.

"You speak the truth little outlaw?" He whinned his grip tightening.

"You'll return everything you took?" He asked hesitating.

"I speak the truth Dryeden. I'll return everything I took. I like the thought of staying with you no more running and hiding." You where afraid. You'd been an outlaw since a child but the thought of living in comfort and stability with Dryeden made your heart race.

"Ah my sweet Lantana!" He cries in delight. Pulling back he looked down at you. At the soft look on his face you placed a soft kiss on his nose. He whinned in need. Lefting you up with ease he placed you on the nest hovering above you.

  You smiled brightly at him and it was as though his world had caved in. You were his everything. His heart, his soul if you had refused to give up being an outlaw he'd have joined you and you didn't even know it.

"Well Sherrif are you going to mate me or just stare at me." You teased. This time when you looked into his eyes it was a mix between purple and red. As you went to ask him he opened his mouth just enough to stick his tongue down your throat. You whinned as he kissed you deep. The feeling of his tongue in your mouth making you wet. He pulled back a almost soft frown on his face.

"We will have to practice kissing my mate I feel as though I'm just fucking your pretty throat with my tongue." He said a hint of annoyance in his voice as he stared down at your lips. You burst into laughter you'd had never felt such joy before.

"We will have plenty of time to practice everything." You whispered kissing along the scales on his neck. He shuddered at the feeling of you playing with one if the scutes that trailed down his spine.

He pulled back dragging his clawed hands along your body as he reached your stomach you flinched. One of his claws had nicked your stomach. He froze licking the blood off your stomach.

"I'll file my nails down more later for now this will have to do." He said, biting off the nails of his index finger and middle finger. Gently dragging one of his fingers along your clit. You moaned at the feeling. Trailing off into a whine as the finger slid into your eager opening. "I have to stretch you for my cock or you'll never take all of me." He growled adding in the second finger sliding his thumb onto your clit. You moaned at the feeling of his scaled fingers stretching you.

"Oh little outlaw your such a site your pretty pussy clenching around my fingers. Shes soaking me wanting to be stuffed full with my cock." You cried out at his words your back arching as he pushed his fingers in deeper. It felt like he was searching for something within your needy cunt.

Your eyes rolled back and let out a silent sound as he pushed onto your g-spot. He growled in delight focusing on that spot while rubbing his thumb in circles on your clit. He continued to fuck you with his fingers. Rotating between pressing against your g-spot and scissoring you as wide open as he could.

"Your getting close my Lantana I can feel how tight you are getting  around my fingers. Cum for me my precious flower." With a cry you came undone on his fingers back arching as he worked you through your orgasam.

"Dreyden please I need you." You whinned reaching out to your mate. Pouting as Dreyden shook his head at you.

"You have to cum atleast two more times to make sure you dont get hurt taking my cock and eggs." He huffed sliding down to place himself between your legs. You looked at him taking in the look on his face. He was enchanting. The look of pure desire written on his face. He gave you that crocodile smile. Opening his mouth and snapping his teeth at the fingers you'd allowed to pet his nose.

"If your going to make me cum again what are you doing all the way down there?" You asked teasing. Dreyden chuckled at your words. He lowered himself more making sure his hands where tight on your waist. You watched as he opened his mouth wide clamping his teeth against your stomach. The feeling of his breath against your cunt made you whimper. Dreyden dragged his tongue along your ass slowly pushing his tongue inside of your clenching cunt.  He whimpered at the taste of your juices.

Your eyes rolled back as you let out a whine. His tongue was as large as a cock and stretching you wide. You looked back down at him your fingers digging into the nest. Dreyden took in every sound, move, and look that you made. His teeth clamped tight enough to draw blood as he slowly moved his tongue inside of you.

He stroked the inside of your cunt with his thick tongue. You trembled as he started to get more aggressive. Increasing the pace of his tongue as he began to feast.

You tasted better then anything he'd ever tasted he'd decided he could live between your legs if you'd let him. Living only off of the taste of you. 

You couldn't take your eyes off of Dreyden. He was lazily moving his tongue inside of your core. Feasting upon you as though you where the last fruit standing in this awful desert.

You gently places your hand on the tip of his nose moaning softly. You pathetically tried to role your hips to receive more friction, but couldn't move an inch between Dreyden's jaw holding you in place and his hands gripping your thighs.

Dreyden groaned deciding to take mercy upon both of you. He snarled using his strength to fuck your body onto his tongue. He knew he should make you come one more time after this but he couldn't take it anymore he needed to be inside of you.

He listened to your sweet sounds as you came on his tongue flooding his senses with the taste and the scent of your release. You felt tears falling down your face Dreyden had already made you cum twice and you knew he intended to do it again.

"Please Dreyden I want you to breed me now." You sniffled hoping to convince your new mate to have pity on your overstimulated mind.

"Aww my poor Lantana. As you wish I'll fill you up with my eggs now." He smirked down at you moving himself back to give you a view of his cloaca. You licked your lips following him into a sitting postion. As you gently trailed the outer lips of his cloaca, Dreyden growled his pupils dilating like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

"My Lantana lay your hand out flat for me." He moaned. You were quick to do as he asked.

Eyes widening as his huge cock slid past the barrier of his cloaca landing right into your open palm. You took in the site of his cock nothing like a humans. He had to be atleast 15in if not more. His cock was covered in small ridges that almost reminded you of his scutes. And the tip was more open clearly to allow his eggs out.

"So male hybrids can produce eggs and sperm?" You asked curious as you continued to explore his cock with your hands.

"Really little one? You wish to ask questions now?" He asked. Closing his jaw tight with a sharp inhale as swirled your finger around the opening.

"Yes. I want to know." You stated. Dreyden noticed your guard was climbing up as you continued to look at his cock.

"We will take it slow My Lantana. There is no need for you to be afraid." He snarled grabbing your hand.

"Please Dreyden just tell me really quick. I'm a human we aren't normally suppose to carry eggs." You whinned looking him in the eyes his eyes. He sighed.

"If it will bring you comfort I'll explain it. Yes the males of my kind carry both eggs and sperm. The eggs begin to form when we find someone who we select as a perfect mate. My sperm will help adjust your body to aid you in carrying our eggs." He huffed out his half hearted explanation. Once you were carrying his eggs he'd teach you everything you could possibly wish to know.

Dreyden pushed you back down using his strength to flip you onto your stomach. He cupped his hand around your belly partially to keep you stable but mostly because he wanted to feel you swelling with his eggs.

You whinned as Dreydens cock dragged along your folds seeking out the entrance to your wipping cunt. He pulled back taking his cock into his free hand he slowly slid the tip into you.

He growled as he took his time slowly pushing inch by inch into your clenching cunt. As he hit half way in, he dropped himself down using one hand to keep his weight off you. All while incasing your body with his own. Keeping his other hand cupped tight against your stomach his claws digging in just enough to bring you a light pain amongst all the pleasure.

"Your so tight around me my Lantana. I can feel ever ripple of your sweet little pussy as she begs for me to stuff her full." He moaned out pushing himself in deeper. You where a whimpering mess beneath him letting out moans everytime he pushed himself in more. As he found that he couldn't go any deeper he let out a annoyed rumble.

Pulling himself out he flipped you onto your back smiling at the site of you. Your hair was a mess and your pupils had expanded. Soft sounds left your lips as you reached out to him.

"Bite into my scales." He ordered. He dragged the side of his mouth along your head. Letting some of his canines scratch along the top of your ear. You moaned biting down lightly onto his chest. "Oh sweet heart your going to bite harder then that."

He pushed the tip of his cock in. You let out a cry biting down onto hard onto his chest. He thrusted all the way into your cunt. You could truly feel him now he was pressed right into your cervix the ridges on his cock gently rubbing against your g spot. Dreyden started with slow shallow thurst allowing you to stretch around him. Your fingers dug into his back while your teeth tried to pierce his scales.

You felt tears falling down your face in full force as Dreyden began to move faster. His rough pace rubbing your chest along his own. He pounded into your poor cunt finally pulling back to hear your sweet cries.

"Your crying my Lovely Mate. Yet I won't stop. The site of your pretty little pussy clenching around my cock is all I'll ever think about again." He snarled watching the way your stomach bulged with every thrust.

"Your so good taking my cock so well. I can't wait for you to cum all over my cock and swallow my eggs into your womb." He growled dragging your leg up against his side pushing himself in deeper. You let out only what could be described as a high pitch whine. As you began to coat his cock with your cum. Dreyden let out a growl.

"That's it. My Lantana your cumming so hard for me." He moaned continuing with his brutal pace.

"Dreyden! Please I need just a second." You sobbed trying to wiggle away from him. You where to sensitive and Dreyden wasn't letting up.

"It's to much for you is it? My poor girl, I won't be stopping tell your womb is heavy with my eggs." He growled pulling you up to push deeper and rub your clit against the softer scales on his abdomen.

"Ah I could keep you cumming on my cock." He moaned rocking his hips slowly giving you a moment to catch your breath. You let out soft moans as he slowly rocked his hips keeping his eyes on you.

"That's it beautiful relax on my cock I can't have you so upset and tense when I fill you up." He cooed at you wiping the tears from your cheeks with his large hand. You nuzzled his palm sniffling from the tears you had shed. Dreyden let a couple minutes pass tell the ripples of your climax dulled down to soft clenches. Softly biting your lip you looked at your mate.

"Oo..okay.. Dreyden. . I think I'm ready. I want your eggs." You whimpered out nibbling on your lip. He nodded starting back up with some soft shallow thrust. Building up into a rougher pace.

He began to brutally pound against your cervix listening only to your sweet cries as his eggs began to push against his cloaca. It was time for him to fill you up.

He pulled back almost slipping out ,before thrusting back down roughly. This allowed the head of his cock to slip into your cervix giving his eggs access to your womb.

You tensed up almost trying to pull away as unfamiliar pressure began at the entrance of your cunt. You closed your eyes grinding your teeth. You felt the first egg work it's way up to your cervix before it pushed it's way inside settling against the wall of your womb. You moaned softly trembling trying to pull away as the next egg began to make it's way.

"Don't fight it Lantana, you doing such a good job for me. Already holding one of our eggs you can take the rest." He whispered trying his best to keep you at easy. He reached down using one clawed thumb to play with your clit as the second egg entered your womb. You moaned once again feeling tears fall down your face.

How could something feel so incredible yet uncomfortable at the same time. Dreyden rocked his hips watching your tight cunt swallow his eggs as they pushed there way inside. He swallowed,  your belly was beginning to swell as the third egg had made its way inside.

"Dreyden... how many eggs are there?" You whimpered eyes sliding closed as the eggs continued to make there way inside.

"My eggs have been forming since we meet at the saloon my little outlaw. I'm guessing atleast six." He grunted out thrusting a little deeper to adjust the eggs already resting inside of you. You whinned out at his actions cracking your eyes open enough to glare at him.

"We are only at three right now My Lantana. You can only take one egg at a time." You looked at him feeling a little annoyed at his words.

"All I can feel is you and the eggs." You whimpered rocking your own hips. Feeling the fourth and fifth egg push there way in.

He groaned the sixth was the biggest he could fell his own cloaca struggling with the size.

"My little Lantana this last egg is big. You have to stay calm. Once its inside ill make you cum again. " He whispered nuzzling against your chest. At the pressure forming inside your cunt you knew his words to be true. The other eggs had been uncomfortable but this egg was thick spreading you open even wider on Dreydens cock.

"Dreyden. I can't." You sobbed out trying to wiggle away from him and the egg.

"You have to be a good girl and take it." He snarled grabbing your hips and thrusting himself foward. You whinned shaking your head as the pressure intensified.

You wanted to do nothing more then to make Dreyden proud of you for being able to carry all his eggs. Plus the thought of one of your eggs not making it because of you broke your heart. So half heartdly you rolled your hips back taking the egg and Dreydens cock deeper.

"There we go. Look at that so spread open for me so willing to push yourself to take all my eggs." He cooed spreading your lips open to get a better view of his cock being swallowed up by your cunt. As the final egg pushed into your womb you let out a broken sob sinking your teeth into your own hand. Dreyden reached out wipping away at your tears.

"Shhh, your okay it's all the way in now sweet." He cooed licking at your knuckles.  As you settled your head onto his chest breathing slowing he chuckled.

"We aren't done yet My Lantana your gonna cum one more time so I can fertilize our eggs." He purred rocking his hips.

He settled into a steady pace allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. Slowly thrusting into you. You where already worn out and he wanted to let you rest. Appling more pressure to your clit and giving a couple more thrust he smiled as you came.

He growled as he pulled back to take in the site of his beautiful mate. Your stomach bloated with his eggs your face covered in tears. Dreyden came at the site coating your womb and his eggs with seed. He moaned giving shallow thurst to keep the cum pushed into your cunt.

Dreyden finally pulled out after a couple minutes. Slowly watching as thick glops of his cum slid out of your cunt. He slowly pushed the cum back  feeling inside your cunt to make sure the eggs where being held safely.

"You did such a good job!My beautiful Lantana all six of our eggs are safely in your womb." He said rubbing his face against your swollen belly. You slowly touched your own stomach feeling the eggs.

"Six babies?" You whispered in awe.

"Yes six! Ill keep you full of my cum for the next 90 days then we will lay the eggs so they can hatch on there own." He stated his eyes shinning with excitment. He had found his perfect mate. You would now be his forever nothing would take you from him.

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

[anexperimentallife]

The US far right has been working on their plan since AT LEAST the 1960s, when I was a kid listening to evangelicals talking about their plan to take over the US, and eventually the world. It's called "Christian Dominionism," and it's a fascist ideology which goes hand in glove with the GOP's plans.

Although it was not expressed so much to the world at large, this plan was OPENLY and FREQUENTLY discussed in far right circles. We kids, if we asked about it, were told that it was "God's Will." Ask any exvangelical about it, and they'll confirm. (Part of why I know so much about these dangerous and deluded folks is I WAS ONE OF THEM in my youth.)

And where has that plan gotten them? Well, the GOP recently released a hundreds of pages long document filled with their intentions if they win--including a nationwide abortion ban and a repeal of anti-discrimination laws, among other things.

Trump has already signaled his intent to create a military dictatorship if elected, by repealing laws against using the military against US citizens on US soil sp he can deploy them against dissenters, etc., and if the GOP pick up a few more congressional seats, he can do it. The GOP has already pushed to repeal presidential term limits, and Trump has indicated he'd like to be president for life.

So I'm amazed at all the people who think withholding their vote and letting the GOP win is going to somehow fix things and "push the Dems left."

You wanna know how to push US politics leftward? You're not gonna like it, because it takes actual work beyond stomping your foot and pouting and performatively showing everyone how "pure" you are by refusing to vote.

You have to start the same way the far right did (and again, they've been OPENLY talking about and pursuing this plan since I was a kid in the 1960s, AT LEAST)--they started by getting the most extreme right wingers they possibly could into any position they could. Positions like school board member, police chief, sherrif, city prosecuter, city council member, municipal judge, mayor, governor, hell, fucking dog catcher.

They encouraged far right extremists to become police officers and military personnel and work their way up the ranks to the point at which even the famously-racist FBI reported that major city police departments across the nation were pretty much taken over by members of white supremacist organizations.

In formerly reasonable churches, right wingers pushed for the hiring and training of more and more right wing pastors and mire right-wing theology.

More affluent right-wingers bought local papers and broadcasters, and as their political power grew, they changed laws to make it easier for a single entity to control the news--until now a mere handful of entities own nearly every major media outlet in the US.

And then they used every victory as leverage for the next one, and worked their way up. I mean, there's more, like the capitalization on economic and social anxiety and their inentional exacerbation of same so they could take advantage of it, but that's intertwined with the rest.

Essentially, they got this far because they put the work in.

If the US left is going to turn things around (and if it's not already too late), we've got to do the same, but it takes RESEARCHING and PROMOTING your local and state candidates, attending city council and school board meetings, and shit like that. It's actual fucking work to fix a country.

And then, after you've done all that--and after you've shown up to primaries to try to get any non-authoritarian leftist candidate you can nominated--then you vote for the leftest folks you're able to in the general. If there are no remotely leftist candidates, you vote for the centrist or right winger who will do the least damage.

Again, that's what the US far right has been doing for decades. Taking action. Wherever possible, taking new ground, but when they couldn't do that, ceding as little ground as possible. If they couldn't win, they made damn sure to do everything in their power to try to keep actual decent human beings from winning.

Actually doing the work doesn't have the emotional satisfaction of a grand gesture, but it definitely shows who is serious about making a difference and who would rather let everything burn than sully their imagined purity by voting for anything less than perfection.

Listen, Trump is not going to end the genocide in Gaza--in fact he increased tensions between the Israeli occupation and Palestine. And the GOP will never be persuaded. Hell, they want to let Russia take Ukraine and declare open season on asylum seekers.

The Dems suck. But the GOP is far, far worse, and will do MORE damage, and kill FAR MORE innocents. And if allowed to do so, will make it even harder to change the system than it is now. They've already PUBLICLY ADMITTED that their only chance of victory is keeping people from voting. Don't play into their hands.

Under current circumstances, you know what the Dems are going to do if Biden and a bunch of other Dems lose for not being pure enough? You think they'll be all like, "Oh, no! The left sure taught us a lesson by handing the country to the GOP! We'd better shift to the left!"

No. They're going to sip champagne in their multi-million dollar mansions and have meetings about how they need to move FURTHER RIGHT to win elections, because the left doesn't vote.

And if the US becomes a military dictatorship, most of the high ranking ones will simply take their fortunes and leave.

Yup, it'd sure teach ol' Joe a lesson to force him to spend the rest of his days sipping cocktails on the Riviera.

Look beyond the single battle and think strategically. That's how the GOP keeps gaining power. And refusing to act strategically is why the left is losing. We cannot take the hill we want right now. But if we lose the hills we've already taken, we risk losing the entire goddamn war.

So fucking vote. Work to get every leftist you can in any office you can. And if you can't do that, support the one who will do the least harm.

And if it takes voting for that shitbag Biden to keep Trump and the GOP out, hold your fucking nose and pull the goddamn lever.

[thecursedjazz]

Sorry but Postal 1 dude being Dude Sr just doesn't work at all because all of the traits that define Postal 1 Dude (and the demon) are absent in Dude Sr

Not sure that I really need to elaborate on this one.

I mean Postal 1 Dudes core fundamentals as a character is that he's a mentally comprised individual who's damaged to the point where he believes he's under attack from the whole world, he kills not because he's a sadistic and cold killer but instead because he's fully under the impression that he's left with no option but to fight back because the world is out to get him. Like his ramage wasn't even a planned thing, the first thing he does after he's "attacked" is go to the sherrif for help so he's literally just a traumatised everyman prior to Postal 1s events.

But Dude Sr...just lacks any actual substance or sign of that, there's no paranoid lunatic there, there no mention of the hate plague (which is even wierder since it literally becomes real at the end of Postal 4).

His goal is to have complete control of edensin which is fine and dandy but why would Postal 1 dude wanna run casino's and a whole city and shit? Not only that but he's fully incapable, man couldn't even keep his house and isn't even able to distinguish cries of fear from fleeing civilians from actual hostiles, his ass is NOT running a whole city.

And on top of that it can't even be connected to the demon, the demon (or dudes alternative personality if you see it that way) just simply wants to causes as much death and destruction as possible, I struggle to see how running casinos links to that.

The rampage mode ending literally tells us the Postal 1 Dudes mental health and deteriorated so much that he's trapped inside his mind, so he's either braindead by this point or the demon has full control of his body so his ass ain't acting as level headed as Dude Sr.

Dude Sr saying "we are the place called climax, and the time called now" isn't even enough to bridge that gap because EVERY postal Dude uses Postal 1 quotes.

Postal 1 Dude is also younger than P2/Postal 4 Dude, with him being 27 and being portrayed as young in the manual (the pic of him holding his gun in the corner), P2 Dude is stated to be early thirties to late forties by Postal 2 as stated by RWS and he looks alot older than P1 so how can he be his dad if he's younger?

And like, Dude Sr just doesn't have the same vibe as Postal 1 Dude or like anything related to Postal 1 as a whole, his whole setup, placement in the game, his dialogue, theme song, and motivations just....don't match to Postal 1 at all.

Of course i don't wanna come across as a douche, if you wanna headcanon that he is Dude Sr then cool, don't let me discourage you.

But if this guy IS considered as Postal 1 Dude and that is the last we see of him...as a portrayal that makes him acts nothing like himself then that just seems like such a cop out.

Anyway this whole thing was written as improv and on the spot so apologies for any typos and shit.