#the way i had to google Basic Shapes...

[kurp-stuff]

.

[nexus-nebulae]

actually making a concerted effort to learn written japanese (since I've learned a small amount of spoken already) and. oh boy did not realise how hard it is for my brain to learn new symbols

[aureatelys]

can't lose when i'm with you

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k a/n: happy valentines day! this idea came to me as a joke but then i couldnt stop thinking about it. also i know nothing about golf or country clubs so sorry in advance if i got anything wrong.

summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

content warnings: 18+ MDNI PLEASE, dbf!hotch so age gap, kinda flirty!reader, porn with no plot, dry humping on a golf cart yessir, semi public sex, m masturbation, some dirty talk, men (not hotch) being gross and touchy

read below or here on ao3 here <3

You’ve been working as a beverage cart girl at your dad’s country club for the past several months to save money for school. At first, the bluntness of some of these older men flirting with you caught you off guard, but after you got your first $100 tip just from serving a group of three men a couple of beers and flashed them a smile, you were hooked. Flirting was part of the job, which became easier and easier for you the more shifts you took.

After all, it was easy money—refilling the drinks in the coolers, driving around a well-kept golf course while underneath the shade of the cart, and handing out drinks with a little smile and a hair flip. Sometimes, you even sat nearby and cheered Ted on as he hobbled over to take his shot.

You even got to add some personal touches to your beloved cart—a pink fuzzy steering wheel cover, a blush pink sheet covering the leather seats so your thighs would stop sticking to them, a pillow in the shape of a heart for your back, and a cute miniature disco ball hanging from the roof because old people love to pretend like they can party again.

And the men weren’t too bad. You’ve had a few run ins with some on the handsier side, or ones that straight up asked to have sex with you, but luckily your manager dealt a swift and heavy hand and you never saw them again. Otherwise, the customers were mostly decent, as long as you were okay with some heavy flirting and generous eye-fucking.

It’s a typical busy Saturday when you meet Aaron.

You knew your dad was having some sort of “business meeting” with the highly decorated FBI agent he’s been recently obsessed and hanging out with, and he knew that you were mentioned the most in the country club’s Google reviews. He wanted you to put him in a good mood, which was basically in your job description. You didn’t mind since your father promised a hefty tip for you at the end.

You spot them a few yards away—your father’s lucky red hat, muted in color due to wear and tear, and another man nearly a foot taller standing near him. You call out for them and speed your way there in your rickety little cart when your dad waves to you.

When you pull up next to them, it looks like they’ve just finished Hole 2, which means this would be absolute prime time for you if they were typical customers.

“Hey boys,” you call out. You’re about to ask them if they’re thirsty when you get a good look at your dad’s friend.

He’s tall, almost outrageously so with how far you have to crane your neck to look at him. He’s also ridiculously handsome; strong brows, intense eyes, and floppy hair that looked so soft you craved running your hands through them. Wide shoulders, thick arms, and a little soft around the middle in a way that made something flutter in your stomach.

He was definitely not your typical customer.

“Hey sweetie!” Your dad comes to give you a kiss on the top of your head. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

He’s such a good actor, you think as you beam up at him. “And I didn’t know you were going golfing today. You guys thirsty?”

“Absolutely! I’ll take a beer, how about you, Aaron?”

“A water is fine.” Christ, even his voice is hot—low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine despite the summer heat.

You make your way to the cooler in the back, squinting as soon as you’re out from the shade and into the blazing sun. “A beer and a water for my two most handsome guys coming right up!”

As always, your dad laughs, but when you peek a glance out of the corner of your eye from where you’re bent over, half of your body basically in the cooler as you fish out a water bottle, Aaron was wearing an obviously practiced neutral expression.

You finally find the bottle, your hand nearly going numb from how much ice you had to dig through, and hand it to Aaron with a grin. “Here you go.”

He meets your gaze and you’re drawn to the pretty brown sugar shade of his eyes. “Thank you.” He’s polite, not even a smile gracing his lips before he’s twisting the cap off and tipping his head back to take a long swig.

You swear your throat goes dry at the tantalizingly long line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You’re able to get a closer look at him this way— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the tight red polo was stretching over his broad shoulders, and the way his hands were so large it made the water bottle look almost comically small.

Your father’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Aaron, this is my daughter. Sweetie, this is Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the BAU I told you about?”

Boy, have you heard about him—your dad hasn’t shut up about him over the past month, talking about how he’s such a great guy, how he’s been at the Bureau for over a decade, and how he’s been bragging about his golfing skills and that the two of them just had to play some time.

You don’t exactly remember what today’s meeting was about, something about implementing a new training program to his agents? Either way, he had hoped you would use your spectacular customer service to help his odds, but you’re sure he wasn’t hoping for you to have the thoughts you were currently having that involved his hands on your hips and your mouth pressed against his throat.

A ringtone blares, nearly making you jump, and you watch as your father steps away to take a call.

You put on your best customer service smile and put your hand out, pink nails glinting underneath the sun. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Something quirks at the corner of Aaron’s mouth as he puts his hand in yours. You try not to pay attention to how his hand nearly dwarfs yours or how you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers. “You as well.”

“Unit chief, huh?” you ask, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “I bet that’s a really stressful job. You should come visit me more. To de-stress.”

And it’s like Aaron’s face transforms into something softer, younger. You watch in delight as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth twisting in an effort to hide an amused smile. “Should I now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, leaning your hip against your cart. You’re suddenly glad you wore your shortest tennis skirt and sleeveless top that emphasized your cleavage quite well today. “I’m here almost every day and we close at 6.”

His body turns towards you, stepping in closer. You think you catch the faintest whiff of his woodsy cologne, breaking through the freshly cut grass smell. “Is that why your dad was so adamant about going golfing today? So his daughter could flirt his way into me approving his training curriculum?”

An incredulous laugh nearly bubbles out of you at his instant ability to read through you despite only knowing each other less than 5 minutes. You assume he’s the unit chief for a reason.

“Is it working?”

He says nothing for a moment, just looking you up and down in a way that made you want to shift, though not uncomfortably. He studies you and your pristine white sneakers, the hem of your tennis skirt brushing against the warm expanse of your thighs, and your hair in a high ponytail. He glances at the cannisters of edible glitter and mini umbrellas on your bev cart. You see his eyes dance with amusement when he notices the mini disco ball swinging from your roof.

When he looks back at you, eyebrows relaxed, the professional flat line of his mouth was gone and instead replaced with something more private. “Yes.”

Excitement settles in your chest, light and golden. You feel your face flush out of your own accord and hope you can blame the summer sun beating down on you and not your father’s coworker, no more than 20 years older than you, flirting with you.

Your father suddenly appears right around Aaron’s shoulder, always with impeccable timing. He looks just as flushed as you feel, sweat building at his hairline while Aaron looks impossibly dry despite the humidity. ���Ready to move onto the next hole, Hotch?”

And just like that, Aaron’s face smoothly changes to polite professionalism and not like you were seconds away from throwing your arms around his neck. He nods and gives you a courteous smile, something playful tugging at his lips. “It was nice to meet you.”

When your father fishes through his wallet to pay for the drinks, and hopefully your tip as well, Aaron lays a hand over his before he’s pulling out his own from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, before handing you two crisp $100 bills.

“Oh,” you say before you could help yourself. And because it’s Aaron, whom you’ve never met before and not like your other customers, you didn’t feel quite comfortable in taking his money. Yet. “This more than pays for the drinks…”

He shakes his head and pushes the money towards you. “I know.”

You take his money, solely because you don’t want to cause a scene when your father was already stuttering over himself in an attempt to still cover the bill himself. You notice how thick his fingers are over the folded bills and ignore the warmth tingling up your spine when your fingers brush against his.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You don’t miss the way his eyes barely narrow at the sound of his name from your lips or the imperceptible clench of his hand at his side.

You try to hide the smirk threatening to show on your face when you get back into your cart, your silly keychains hanging from the ignition clinking with the action. You put your cart in drive and look over your shoulder at Aaron, your father’s attention already enraptured by the phone in his hand.

“See you around, handsome.”

You think you see a faint hint of pink at the tips of Aaron’s ears before you drive away.

-

You don’t see Aaron for several weeks.

You try not to let it bother you, starting to come to terms with the possibility that he just wasn’t interested in you or that you were too young and juvenile for him. So what if you’ve been picking up more shifts lately, just in case he decided to show up? Or spending your entire paycheck on cute outfits that hug you in all the right places? That isn’t anyone else’s business except yours.

So it’s totally because you’ve been bored all day when you let out a squeak of excitement at the text you get from your dad letting you know that him and Aaron were on their way to the country club.

It’s a slow Thursday afternoon, which means the men that do show up to play, clearly avoiding their wives, believe they can keep you around at their beck and call. A group of 3 older gentlemen who were somewhat regulars had asked you to drive them around in your golf cart despite regulations not allowing customers to catch a ride, but they’ve already racked up hundreds of dollars in drinks, so you’re sure your boss wouldn’t mind.

They’re also a little touchy, wanting to teach you how to play so they have an excuse to put their hands on your hips and not so subtly cop a feel, but their usual tips at the end of the day easily pays for half of your rent. So, you play along by flipping your hair over your shoulder a bit, maybe even acting a little ditsy when they talk about golf as if your dad hadn’t thrown you in lessons as soon as you were able to hold a club.

That’s why you’ve been sitting behind your wheel entertaining grandpa for the past 30 minutes, his friends actually focused on the game, as he rattles on about his ex-wife, how he’s currently looking for a younger girl to take out, and the best way to move your hips when you shoot.

“If you stand up, I can show you how,” he says hoarsely, standing so closely you can smell not only the acrid scent of beer that he’s been sipping on but also the general musty smell of old people you’ve unfortunately become familiar with.

You fake a laugh, even playing it up by leaning forward and patting his wrinkled hand from where it’s inching closer and closer to you on the headrest. “Oh, Jerry, I don’t think we have time for that. I have to make my rounds.”

When you spot Aaron and your father driving over the hill, the rattle of the shitty golf carts a familiar tune, you immediately lock gazes with him. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion the way you’re able to discern when Aaron notices the older man’s close proximity and your clear uncomfortable posture— his eyebrows drawing up in barely concealed shock before knitting in concern, eyes narrowing.

You let out a breathless laugh at the silent rage, plain as day, before scooting out through the other side of the cart and away from Jerry and his beady eyes.

“Where you going, hot stuff?” Ew.

You put on your sweet customer service smile, often used to placate the rowdier men, before you brush away imaginary dust and start throwing away the trash left on your cart. “Jerry! I still have to do my job!”

You’re relieved when Jerry finally takes the hint and shuffles away towards his golf bag that he left near the teeing area just as Aaron and your father pull up next to you with a screech, giving you a slight breeze. When Aaron steps out of the cart, the most mundane action in the world, he looks unfairly attractive. You stare at the slight flex of his biceps when he holds onto the roof of the cart before tearing yourself away and turning towards your dad.

“How are my two favorite guys?” you tease, giving your dad a hug when he opens his arms out.

“I don’t know about Hotch but I’m ready to kick his ass,” your dad laughs, patting Aaron’s back like they’re suddenly best friends. Which is almost true, seeing as how your dad has somehow become even more obsessed with him, having not stopped talking about losing to him several weeks ago and has evidently somehow roped him into another day on the course.

“Well, I don’t think I should choose sides,” you giggle and glance at Aaron. He’s squinting at you, as if you’re speaking a completely different language, his expression still strained and posture tense.  

You smile at him and give him a cheery little wave. “Hi Aaron.”

“Hi,” he says slowly, shoulders slowly relaxing, and hearing his voice makes you breathless all over again. “Are you okay?”

And it’s sweet, the obvious way Aaron is checking in on you as if you don’t do this every day. Truthfully, you’re used to it and it’s not like the men take it too far. You’re more focused on the fact that this is your second time meeting Aaron and he’s already concerned about your wellbeing and personal space like the true gentleman he is.  

You almost want to tease, poke fun at him, but then you remember your father standing mere inches away who probably wouldn’t like you flirting so unabashedly with his friend/coworker.

Instead, you roll your eyes and head towards your cart. “I’m fine. So, what can I get for you, handsome?”

You’re pulling up the POS on your iPad when you notice Aaron hasn’t answered yet. You turn to lean your hip against your cart, meeting his gaze steadily from where he’s studying you.

You decide to blatantly look him up and down— drinking in the fitted dark green polo, showing off the veins decorating his forearms, and black slacks, making him appear taller and hanging enticingly low on his hips. His hair is tousled from the wind and you notice some gray dusting at his sideburns. And then there’s something about the Rolex on his wrist, God, he’s so hot.

Aaron notices you checking him out, because of course he does. His eyes barely flicker down your body, not quite taking the same liberty as you, but you feel want curling in your stomach when he licks his lips.

“A gin and tonic sounds great, sweetie,” your father says, once again interrupting your thoughts, before he’s immediately launching into a ramble regarding what you assume is some office gossip.

“A water is fine,” Aaron says in between your dad’s breaths. He gives you a sheepish little twitch of the mouth that you shouldn’t find so endearing before he turns to give your dad his full attention.

You make your dad’s drink, the motions automatic and familiar, before you’re opening the cooler and bending over to reach a water bottle at the very bottom. You weren’t really doing it on purpose this time, too focused on getting the coldest bottle at the bottom of the cooler for him, but you still feel a thrill run up your spine when you hear a choked cough behind you.

At least you chose a skort today and not a skirt, though you’re sure it still doesn’t leave much room for the imagination with its flimsy white fabric.

A smirk tugs at your lips, hidden by the cooler, before you turn around with a polite smile and drinks in your hands. Maybe you weren’t wrong about being too juvenile for Aaron after all. “Here you guys are.”

When Aaron’s fingers brush against yours, something hot twists itself into your stomach and settles in between your thighs. You meet his gaze and notice his eyes, dark and almost predatory, pupils nearly completely blown.

You distantly hear your name being called through the blood rushing in your ears. When you break from the hold Aaron’s stare has on you and turn to where the sound came from, you spot Jerry still standing near his golf bag. He and his friends evidently still haven’t taken their shots and moved on yet, instead beckoning you over with a wave as if you were some bumbling waitress.

“Well, duty calls,” you feign a sigh. When you turn back around, Aaron’s wearing an almost petulant frown as he watches Jerry continue calling for you.

“We’ll see you around, pumpkin,” your dad says before slapping a $50 dollar bill in your hand, tutting at Aaron when he starts to pull out his wallet. “Let’s get a move on.”

And then he’s walking away, once again leaving you and Aaron alone.

You move to clean up your cart from where you made your drink, expecting Aaron to silently follow your father and not seeing him for several weeks again. You’re pleasantly surprised, maybe even a little smug, when you hear Aaron clear his throat, as if unsure what to say. And wouldn’t that be something—causing a unit chief of the FBI to hesitate.

“You get off at 6, right?”

A lazy grin blooms across your face as you meet Aaron’s eyes. He appears composed, stoic, but you can see the uncertainty swimming in his eyes, the frown still tugging at his lips as if he can’t get the thought of you with Jerry off his mind. He’s rubbing his thumb across his fingers and you wonder how it would feel on the bare skin of your hips.

“I sure do,” you chirp. “I’ll see you then?”

You can tell that Aaron wasn’t expecting you to give him another chance at backing out. His eyebrows raise in surprise, similarly to how they did when he first met you, like he thought he had you all figured out.

“See you then.”

-

Although you’re stuck with Jerry and his friends for the next 3 hours, you can feel the heavy weight of Aaron’s watchful eyes on your back the entire time. There were even several moments where you thought he was going to burn a hole in the back of your head, or especially Jerry’s, every time he put his clammy hands on yours to help you with a swing or at the small of your back.

And so what if you played it up a little, knowing that you barely knew Aaron but you were already digging your way under his skin?

Knowing Aaron was only several yards away, you laughed extra hard at Jerry’s jokes and bent over a little more every time you set the ball on the tee. It was exhilarating, playful in a way you’ve never felt before. You couldn’t deny that noticing the carnal way Aaron reacted to you, how he stared at you like he wanted to eat you alive, didn’t get you all hot and bothered. You’re sure the wetness between your legs was proof enough.

By the time 6 o’clock finally rolls around and you’re pulling up to the extra storage shed at the back of the country club, your wallet has grown a couple hundred dollars more and your cart’s glove box has gained a couple more slips of paper with phone numbers to gather dust in.

You’ve just finished unloading your cart and cleaning out your shelves when you hear another cart pulling up behind you. When you turn and realize that it’s Aaron, that he actually showed up, you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

“Hey you,” you say over the stack of crates you’re trying to organize. “Let me finish up real quick and then we can go.” Go where, you have no idea, but you’re sure the two of you will figure it out.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, standing so close to you now you can get a full whiff of his cologne. It’s something woodsy and warm that settles comfortably in your chest.

Any other day, you would’ve taken up his offer if only as an excuse to see him lifting crates of drinks and drooling over the way his arms would surely nearly burst out of his sleeves, but you’re honestly almost done and ready to get the hell out of here. “I’m almost done, I promise. But next time you can help so you can show off.”

Aaron immediately rolls his eyes, but you watch with glee as something quirks at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I sat in my car in the parking lot and waited for you just to show off.”

Damn, he is so cute when he’s actually making jokes with you.

You put away all of the cleaning products and lock the door before you’re stepping out to stand in front of Aaron where he’s hovering near your cart.

When you crane your neck to look up at him, you’re suddenly aware of how alone the two of you are, tucked away in a secluded area at the back of the country club where only employees have access to. The two of you are surrounded by trees, thankfully shielding you from the sun, and there’s only one path in and out of the area. The near constant drone of cicadas would be almost annoying if your attention wasn’t all focused on Aaron.

“So, why did you wait for me then?”

And just like that, Aaron’s eyes darken and he clenches his jaw. Now that there was nobody else around, teasing him almost felt like you were poking at a grumpy bear. A cute and very hot bear, but a bear, nonetheless.

“So I can do this.”

And then he’s placing a gentle hand on your waist, hot despite your already sun-kissed skin, and leaning in slowly, as if giving you the chance to back out in case he was reading your signals wrong.

You don’t think you could’ve laid it on thicker, so you meet him halfway to finally press your mouths together.

His lips are soft and he smells like sunscreen, and the way he kisses you is so tender it makes your chest tighten just a little. But it’s not enough.

You step closer into him, throwing your arms around his neck, and deepen the kiss. You catch him by surprise, detecting the exasperated smile against your mouth, but then his hand tightens its grip on your hip and he’s pulling you until you’re pressed flushed up against him.

You can feel the muscles in his chest and the softness of his stomach this way, and it’s so fucking delicious you can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth and into his.

It’s like a dam breaks loose because Aaron groans into your mouth, now causing you to smile, and then he’s spinning you around until he’s sitting in your golf cart and you’re planted right on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his hips and the steering wheel digging into the small of your back.

You gasp in surprise, nearly dizzy with the action, but it melts into a breathy moan when Aaron’s hands run all over you—down your back, your hips, the flesh of your thighs, and then grabbing onto your ass so hard it just pushes you further into his lap. The barely there friction of his belt buckle against your pussy from the movement has you rolling your eyes back into your head, causing you to cant your hips forward again to chase the sharp pleasure twisting in your stomach.

“You’re so,” he mutters under his breath, face tucked between your breasts as he attempts to press open-mouthed kisses against the skin exposed by your black work polo. “Pretty.”

Then he’s lifting up your shirt until it gathers underneath your arms, just enough so he can move the band of your sports bra up so he could put his warm, wet mouth on the underside of your breasts. You know you must smell like sweat and sunscreen, your clothes still sticking to you, but that seems to just spur Aaron on as he moves up to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue.

“Aaron…” you exhale, pushing your chest into him to chase the wet heat of his mouth as he continues alternating sucking and licking at your nipples, hardening nearly immediately under him. It feels so fucking divine, you don’t think having your nipples played with has ever felt this good. You don’t even want to think about where else he can use his mouth. “Not here…”

He pulls back from your breasts and you’re mesmerized by the spit-slick shine of his lips as he meets your gaze from below you. His hands immediately come to replace his mouth, initially groping at you until thick fingers are grazing over your nipples before gently pinching. “There’s a banquet going on at the front of the club so no one’s coming back here.”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a whimper at the hot pleasure-pain from your breasts, your own hands coming up to tug at the damp hair on the back of his neck. Aaron groans at that, a sound coming deep from within his chest, and he jerkily thrusts his hips up as if they moved of their own accord.

You can feel the line of his hard cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you desperately want him, and your patience wanes thin for just a moment. Of course Aaron checked out the club first before coming back to meet you, as if he was planning on ambushing you behind the country club the entire time.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Aaron says, voice tight as if he was holding himself back from taking you right there on your golf cart with the fuzzy pink blanket on the seat and fairy lights hanging from the dashboard.

You’re tempted take him up on his offer and stop; climbing off his lap and inviting him back to your apartment so you can moan and scream all you want in your very comfortable bed, because Aaron seems like the type of man to want to hear every single noise.

But the thought of both of you being so desperate that you can’t help but rut against each other behind a fancy country club, where you’re at risk of anyone walking around the building and finding you? With your shirt rolled up and Aaron’s fingers nearly pressing bruises against your hips? You really should not find that as intoxicating and hot as you do.

It’s going to be uncomfortable, with the summer sun just barely moving to set over the horizon and your golf cart sometimes being too small even for you. You feel sweat already forming on your upper lip and hair sticking to your neck, internally hitting yourself for not buying that $5 fan that mounts on your dash.

Yet, as you look down at Aaron from where he’s propped his chin on your chest to meet your gaze, somehow looking both cute and ridiculously hot, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“Okay,” you whisper, grinning down at him before your fingers intertwine with his hair again to lean his head back and kiss him.

You think Aaron chuckles but you’re already swallowing it, shuffling somehow closer until the entire line of your body is against his. The top of your head keeps bumping into the roof of the cart and your thighs are already burning from the uncomfortable position of sitting up, but just then you angle your hips differently when you drop down and his bulge rubs against your clit in a way that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty riding on my cock,” Aaron breathes against your lips, the grip he has on your waist tightening as he starts to move you up and down on his lap. “I bet you’re so wet for me.”

His left hand trails down your thigh, moving inward, and you squirm when you feel his thick fingers pressing against your cunt, wetness already seeping through your panties and the shorts of your tennis skirt. He briefly rubs through down your slit, spreading the wetness around and causing the fabric to cling to you.

“Is this all for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, not even giving you the chance to answer before he’s moving the fabric aside to press his hot fingers against your soaked cunt.

You let out a long moan at finally being touched, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. You try to angle your hips in an effort to get more of his fingers on you, maybe even inside of you, but Aaron annoyingly avoids your hole and instead intently traces them gently through your folds before moving up to rub circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes nearly fluttering shut and your thighs trembling as the tight coil in the pit of your stomach builds so fast it knocks the breath out of you.

Aaron hums. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, at a loss for words as you chase the building pressure. He rubs your clit agonizingly slow, like he wants to prolong this as he intently studies your reactions.

You’re about to beg him to hurry up when he stops and removes his fingers from underneath your skirt. Your breath stutters at the loss of sensation until you notice Aaron holding his hand up to eye-level.

His thick fingers are obscenely drenched in your wetness, nearly glistening. You should feel embarrassed, that you’re so horny for him that you’re getting off at the possibility of being caught, but you don’t. In fact, noticing just how much Aaron is enjoying you enjoying yourself makes you feel even more flushed, more needy.

You lean in to bring his two fingers into your open mouth, swirling your tongue around the rough callouses as your own musky taste infiltrates your senses.

When you look down to meet his eyes, yours no doubt glossed over, he nearly growls as he yanks his fingers out of your mouth and kisses you, tongue prodding against yours. You feel a rumble from his chest as he chases the taste of your pussy in your mouth.

When he pulls back, he has a wild look in his eyes that does nothing to quell the fire in your stomach and the growing ache in your pussy. He runs his hands up and down your sides, nearly reverent, before thrusting his hips up so his cock presses against you. “Do you think you can come like this?”

Honestly, you think you could come in 30 seconds, with the way he grabs and moves your hips so deliciously you swear you could feel every inch of him, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were giving him the time of day.

“Yes,” you breath, and then Aaron is giving you a wicked grin, something dangerous in his eyes.

He moves you until you’re fully seated on his lap, giving your knees a break, and then moving you back and forth against his cock, the drag of his slacks against the fabric of your shorts rubbing deliciously against your clit, causing you to nearly choke on your own saliva.

You rest your forehead against his, both of you panting, as you start grinding against him. Even through the several layers of fabric, you can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing in between your cunt and against your clit. You nearly feel dizzy, like the heat was getting to you, as your hands scramble to find purchase on his broad shoulders.

“Just like that, honey,” Aaron pants as you watch a droplet of sweat run down the side of his face through half-lidded eyes. “Make yourself come just like that.”

You’re shamelessly whimpering in between your moans now as you grind against him faster, the tightness in your core growing at the lewdness of his words. Aaron just lets you rut against him, essentially sitting still besides his hands on your hips helping you move back and forth. You feel the stickiness on your inner thighs, a mixture of sweat and your arousal, and you bet if you glanced down, there’d be a wet spot on his slacks. That image in your head sends you reeling and nearly over the edge, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

“Come on, sweetie.” Fuck, even the low tone of his voice adds to it, the raspiness giving away how just as equally turned on he was. Your chest is heaving, thighs trembling, and you’re so fucking close. “I can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy later, make you come, over and over on my cock.”

Aaron rolls his hips then, and the new angle has the head of his cock pressing against your clit just so that has you gasping, back arching, and you finally fall over the edge as your orgasm hits you like a fucking train.

Your breath is knocked out of your chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you desperately chase the feeling of his cock against your clit as your clench around nothing. You distantly feel Aaron still grinding your hips back and forth as you ride it out, the tight hold he has on your hips just adding to your bliss. The repeated motions eventually become overstimulating, almost too much, but it deliciously adds to your aftershocks and causes you to release a choked whimper.

When you blearily blink your eyes open, Aaron is staring at you like he’s drinking you up, memorizing every little detail about you. The hair at his forehead is curling from the sweat and his face is tinged pink, but his eyes are a pretty molten brown and there’s something soft tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey handsome,” you say breathlessly, giving him a weary smile as you bring your hand up to wipe away the sweat on your own forehead. When you purse your lips, Aaron huffs a laugh and immediately leans in to give you a chaste kiss that does nothing to calm your racing heart.

You feel Aaron languidly move his hips up against you, making you hum against his mouth. When you look down, not only do you see the line of his cock where he’s still impossibly hard, but also a barely visible wet spot on his black slacks. From you.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, embarrassment burning hot on your ears.

“I’m not,” Aaron says before his hands come down to swiftly unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and briefs until his cock springs free.

Your mouth instantly waters because fuck, is he big. He’s thick, a drop of precum beading at the slit with a delicious-looking prominent vein that runs on the underside that you can see when he wraps his left hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

“Do you want me to…” you trail off, your hands twitching from where they’re still on top of his shoulders and eyes zeroing in on his large hand on his cock.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he huffs. “I’m close, just sit there and look pretty.”

You think your brain short circuits, because no way is this man not only okay with you rutting up on him, but also got close enough to coming from watching you come? And now he doesn’t even want you to touch him, he’s okay with just looking at you as he gets himself off?

Your heart thumps erratically because Aaron looks like the absolute definition of sin; hair slightly damp and tousled, his bicep flexing from where he’s erratically jerking himself off, and his chest heaving deliciously. His lips are parted and he’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, your shirt still bunched under your arms and exposing your breasts and your aching thighs wrapped around him.

You lean back against the steering wheel, ignoring how it digs harder into your back, as you decide to flip up your skirt until your clothed cunt is exposed. The piece of fabric is nearly see-through with how wet you are, and you bite your lip when you bring a hand down to move the fabric aside and angle your hips up until your bare pussy was exposed.

Aaron lets out a strangled noise, and you watch in awe as his hand around his cock pumps faster until it’s nearly a blur. You look up to see his eyes trained on your pussy, wet and puffy. The squelching of him fucking into his own hand, so turned on that he was steadily leaking precum from the slit of his cock was so fucking filthy that you felt the beginning sparks of arousal tugging in your abdomen again.

“Are you going to come all over my pussy?” you whisper.

Aaron suddenly lets out a deep and guttural groan, his breath stuttering and hand stilling, before he comes with his head thrown back. You watch, mesmerized, as hot spurts of his come land on your bare pussy, some even catching on your folds as you clench around nothing.

It’s so fucking hot, he’s so fucking hot.

It’s silent while you both catch your breath, the mindless chirping of birds dwindling down as the sun finally starts to set and the air begins to slightly cool.

You pull your shirt down before you lean over to reach for the tissues you usually keep in your purse on the floor. The way you have to twist your body while still on Aaron’s lap is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he helps you sit back up with hands on your sides.

He wordlessly takes the pack of tissues from your hand to clean you up. He’s meticulous, eyebrows almost comically furrowed in concentration as he makes sure you’re presentable again. When he’s done, he looks around for a trash can and, upon not finding one, he stuffs the tissues in his pocket. You give him a teasing disgusted look, to which Aaron responds by rolling his eyes.

When you climb off his lap with a groan, your hips and knees pop. You stretch your back out a bit by twisting your body back and forth and notice Aaron getting up as well, watching you with a confused, yet fond, expression.

“You’re too young for your body to crack like that.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say, grandpa.”

You’re suddenly being pulled into Aaron’s embrace with a squeal, an arm snaking around your waist, instinctively putting your hands up on his chest as you steady yourself.

“I think I’ve more than shown you that I’m not a grandpa,” he mutters, lowly and directly in your ear, making you nearly swoon against him.

You clear your throat, using him as leverage to push back at him until you’re able to meet his eyes. “Well, not-grandpa, would you be able to wash my cart blanket? Since it was your idea to dirty it up.”

You can tell Aaron is holding himself back from rolling his eyes again. Instead, he chuckles, letting you go so he could grab the fuzzy pink blanket that is actually most likely devoid of any suspicious stains.

“Can I ride in your car?” you ask, giving him a shy smile. “So I can… see how efficient your washer and dryer is? The material for that blanket is very expensive, you know.” Never mind the fact that you got it from Target nor the fact that you drove yourself to the country club.

Aaron obviously sees right through you, not bothering to hold back a soft laugh. Witnessing him joking with you, his guard down, has your heart thumping just a little bit harder.

He stretches his hand out to you, palm up. “Come on, let’s go inspect my house appliances then.”

You place your hand in his, silently giggling to yourself when you notice how large his hand looks compared to yours, and sidle up next to him despite both of you still damp with sweat.

“Let’s go, hot grandpa.”

The laugh that Aaron lets out, soft and sweet, makes you so grateful to your dad for getting you this job.

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover lmk if you would like to be added!

[saltymarshmall0w]

Another Dp x DC prompt inspired by a Danny Phantom episode.

Identity Crisis- The episode where Danny flies through one of his parent's inventions (A dream catcher, but let's all replace that little detail with a net or a strainer) and separates into Phantom and Fenton. Fenton is glad to give up being a hero and be lazy with his friends while Phantom turns into the embodiment of a heroic archetype.

----

There was an empty, gaping chasm in him nestled somewhere between his spotty memory and the apathy that constantly settled over his brain like a weighted blanket. 

He could see it in the way it felt like something was missing when he looked in the mirror.

In the way Danny enjoyed things but couldn’t list what exactly he liked. 

His parents knew it too. His dad didn’t look him in the eye anymore, and his mom always made a disappointed “tsk” noise when they tested his blood to “check if his levels were going down yet” then questioned if he was using the decontamination soap. He did, even if it made his hands burn and left Danny feeling lethargic after every shower.

They moved to Gotham of all places overnight, before Danny could so much as say goodbye to his friends. 

(He knew it was weird. He didn’t even remember packing his stuff—but he didn’t have to do the work so, whatever) 

They locked him in the house all day as if he would go out on the streets and fight crime while they weren’t looking or something. They were being controlling freaks!

(He should probably run away. It was obvious, even to him, that he was being abused… but that sounded like a lot of effort and not all that fun, so he’d rather just stay in his comfy bed and watch tiktok. He could ignore the sounds coming from the basement until he was 18.) 

Uncle Vlad would occasionally stop by to say thinly veiled threats and act all weird– once or twice asking about “Phantom” or a “core” whatever that meant. It was easier to just let Vlad send him to a rich-people school and drag him to a couple galas. At least he was actually getting out of the house. 

Whatever was going on with Danny was probably something he should be concerned about. He should go to a doctor, or the police, or his obviously-a-vigilante classmate for help rather than attempting to create half-thought out inventions to solve a problem he couldn’t even describe that he inevitably would forget about in favor of watching tiktok. 

According to google, the headaches, the tiredness, the dry skin, the disorientation- it all pointed toward dehydration. So, he was just overreacted anyway and should probably just drink more water. 

Whatever, Doomed came out with a mobile version for phones so, he’s way more interested in that anyway.

-

Basically, Human!Danny does not remember anything to do with Phantom and he’s missing a lot of his key components. 

lots of procrastinating, lots of apathy and emotions are extremely dull. 

He doesn’t realize how much he misses his friends or his obsessions unless they’re directly in front of him. 

I think it would be a fun writing exercise, questioning how Danny would act without Phantom based on the events in Identity Crisis. 

-Emotional incompetence. (He’s awful at identifying how he feels about things)

-Shameless Dopamine-seeking behavior. 

-Doing things without thinking of the consequences.

-A completely gray moral compass

-

Meanwhile, with Phantom—There are different levels of messed up we could take this. 

After Jack and Maddie separated Phantom from Fenton, they tried their best to get their son (who, thankfully, doesn’t remember being possessed for nearly a year) to decontaminate fully by moving to Gotham, while keeping their subject in the lab so they could keep running tests on it. 

Unfortunately, the ectoplasm levels in Danny’s blood aren’t going down, despite weekly tests. 

Last night, Danny had a nightmare where his parents cut him open.

It was only a nightmare, of course. His parents were inventors. They specialized in making every-day objects into the shape of his dad’s face; they didn’t work in biology.

Still, the phantom pain of his mom snapping his ribcage open was too realistic, and he still didn’t have an explanation for the surgical scars he kept finding on his body. 

OR

Jack and Maddie separated Phantom and Fenton and decided it was time they gave up ghost hunting for the safety of their son. So, they sold the ghost to the GIW and used the funds to move to Gotham, the city with the least amount of ambient ectoplasm in hopes to fully decontaminate their son. 

Phantom is in the hands of the GIW until Fenton comes across him (probably due to Bat-related shenanigans) and instantly goes “Oh, shit. That’s my soul. I kinda need that back.” 

-I’d be kinda funny if at this point the bats all know Danny as an extremely relaxed civilian who’s smart and figured out all their identities, yes, but also has zero interest in vigilantism.

-They’re going to get the “soul” thing Danny was freaking out about back Asap but they need to do a bit of reconnaissance first and–

- Oh—

-Danny’s mission-impossible-ing his way into the highly secure government base. 

-and he’s, like, GOOD at it. WTF

OR

Phantom, separated from his human half, turns into Little Baby Man. And just tries his darndest as a tiny little cat-possum-snake thing to find his human half… and protect everyone he sees… and collect shiny things. Okay! It’s not his fault he keeps getting distracted!

Until!! He found his human!! Well, it wasn’t actually his human, but Phantom could tell his human had been around this human. Besides, he sure did like this human. And the human said he was cute. Which actually made him explode with happiness!! 

(The Waynes adopt little Baby Man, thinking he’s just a really weird alien cat) 

-

So, now for the DC part of this I’m gonna throw some ideas out there for some interactions and you can decide if you like ‘em or not. I basically just really liked the idea of Danny finding out his classmate’s/friend’s secret identity and just… being completely apathetic to it. 

I really flip flopped on his Designated Gotham Bf being either Tim or Damian, bc i think both would have a really interesting dynamic with a really apathetic yet insanely smart Danny, especially if you throw in Damian adopting LBM Phantom. 

You, (yes, You! The reader!) can take this as whatever Wayne child you chose and I’ll just refer to them as Robin from now on. 

Each of these separated bits are just a different new way I thought an identity reveal would happen, none of them are connected. 

-

*Danny, standing way too close to an active rouge attack, watching Robin and Batman fighting*: You know… that guy throwing around the stylized R’s around looks kinda like that cute guy from physics. 

Goon, currently trying to take Danny hostage: Yeah, whatever kid. 

-

Robin: Hey, so, I know the school is under attack right now, but I really need something from my locker so–

Danny *The new kid who so far has only slept in class*: Dude, I know you’re Robin. It’s, like, really obvious. Just go, I’ll cover for you. 

-

(while Fenton would not be inclined to help in a rouge attack, he still has the overconfidence of a super-powered being and some of the instincts that were ingrained into him after hundreds of fights)

Robin: Hey, Kid-I-don’t-know! This is an active gunfight! You should run!

Danny: Don’t worry Robin, there are no civilians around! I have time to wait around so when you’re done kicking ass we can get back to our group project. *thumbs up* 

-

Robin: B, this is my friend, Danny. Please be nice to him. 

Danny: Hey Batman. Rad. 

Bruce: Hrm

Robin: *spluttering* Pfft- Bruce- Bruce isn’t Batman! Haha! What makes you think that?

Danny:

Danny: Wait– We’re friends? 

-

Robin *very angsty moment*: Danny, I’m sorry. I only befriended you because I thought your parents were shady and wanted to investigate. The truth is… I’m Robin. 

Danny *This is a total shock to him. He had no idea. He should probably react appropriately*: If I had a nickel for every time I dated a vigilante’s civilian identity I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? 

Robin: Are you seriously quoting Phineas and Ferb right now??

Robin: Wait– which vigilante have you dated before?

Robin: Danny? You can’t just leave me hanging, Danny. 

Robin: Was it superboy? Because- Danny! I’m way cooler than superboy

—

Alternatively, consider the shift in dynamics when Danny is back “complete” and can finally feel regular emotions again. 

Like shame, for example.

Robin: Hey :) 

Danny: *Remembers anything he did as LBM  and calmly moves to the floor so he can curl up and die of embarrassment* 

Robin: ??? Are you okay? 

-

Robin *bats his pretty eyes*: So? You and Phantom are finally back together again. How do you feel?

Danny *hasn’t noticed his Paulina-level attraction or Sam-level crush on Robin before*: Bisexual. 

-

Misc:

Phantom: *growling at a mirror and repeatedly trying to attack it*

Robin: Yeah, we don’t really know what it is, but it’s cute. 

Robin: This is weird, He doesn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. Usually he’s really protective. 

Danny *completely calmly*: Oh, yeah. That's probably because it’s my soul. 

-

Bruce: Listen, I know you like my son-

Danny: Woah, hold on. Yeah, Robin is pretty great. Dopamine goes brrr around him, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything. 

Bruce: *gestures to Robin on the other side of the room, where Phantom is repeatedly giving Robin butterfly kisses and nuzzling into him*

Danny: ooh. 

--

Anyway! if you're at all inspired by this and write something the only requirement is that you have to tell me so I can read it too :) otherwise, go crazy!

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason drove around town, close to JLA Headquarters. Roy and Harley sat in the car with him while Kendrick Lamar's "Not Like Us" blasted until Jason made an abrupt stop.

Harley nearly dropped her lipstick while reapplying it.

Harley: I told ya to stop doin' that!

Jason (slowly getting angry): Sorry... You know what, fuck Superman on some real shit! I have to do this now or I won't sleep tonight.

Jason backed up the car and drove to the JLA headquarters.

Roy (looking up from his phone): What's happening?

Harley: Did Superman give ya a goody two shoes speech? I hate those.

Jason: Nope. I shouldn't tell you, but I have this forever grudge against him since he stopped B from killing Joker.

Roy (surprised): He did?

Harley: Oh, that's why he backed out.

Jason: Yep, and enough time passed that Batman eventually went, 'I won't kill anyone, at all. Which includes Joker, who killed my damn son!'

Harley and Roy: That sounds about Batman.

Jason: Yep, yep, yep. I have moved past that resentment because to be honest he'd go insane and kill crazy if he killed Joker. Which I hate to admit, that shitty clown wants that.

Harley: He totally does. I have a plan for whenever I want to kill him myself.

Jason: I do too. Now a bigger man would let all this go. Bury this anger. I am not a bigger man minus my height and weight. Superman, isn't my father in any way, shape, or form.

Roy: I don't like where this is going.

Jason: Yeah, you're not stopping me either. I will never forgive Superman for beating the sense out of my father. I don't care about the context, whether a war was about to happen if Batman did kill Joker or that he had to beat him up because B was determined to kill the Joker. No matter what, I’ll never stop messing with him!

Harley: Hm... Ya know old Harleen would tell you violence won't fix this. Current street therapist Harley says release that rage the best way ya know how since Superman is basically unkillable for us. Then we can get pizza afterwards.

Jason: I feel like chicken is a better meal for this.

Roy: I'm going to agree with that, but what war was going to start if Bruce killed the Joker?

Harley: Joker was an Iran Ambassador for a time after Jason died. Batman killing him in that context would cause a world war.

Roy (taken back by this revelation): ... He was a fucking what?

Harley: It was a crazy time, um were you in space durin' that time or goin' through addiction?

Roy (rubbing his forehead): I'm not sure, those years are a blur. Why didn't someone kill him after he stopped being an ambassador... He's not still an ambassador is he?

Jason (tightening his grip around the steering wheel): He's not.

Roy: What the fuck? Why is he alive?!

Harley: Batman doesn't kill at all and he's made it clear no other heroes will kill a Gotham rogue. He sent out a newsletter and everything.

Roy: Wow... Jason, do you need any tips to attack Superman and it actually hurt him?

Jason: Yes. If I don't I will start shooting wildly again and accidentally shoot Wonder Woman.

Roy: I know a few facts and insults you can use against him that will emotionally and mentally hurt him.

Harley: I can give you some psychiatric text book insults too.

Jason: Write them down and text them to me. I'm too angry to remember them.

To be continued (as soon as I Google good superman insults lol)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Fiquei completamente apaixonada pelo imagine que você fez do Logan/Wade/Reader, queria muito outro assim, nada em especial, só mais sobre o relacionamento dos três (I'm really bad with requests, sorry)

(Rough translation by google: I was completely in love with the imagine you made of Logan/Wade/Reader, I really wanted another one like that, nothing in particular, just more about the relationship of the three) if it’s translated something within the request wrong, let me know.

Emotional support isn’t either Wade nor Logan’s strong suit. one made a massive joke out of everything, even his own feelings, while the other suppressed them unhealthily.

So needless to say if emotional comfort is what you were after, you were unfortunately out of luck but that didn’t mean that the pair were about to leave you to suffer alone during such a rough time in your life. Wade and Logan will find a way to help you anyway they could.

Wade would insist that you both have a spontaneous day where you’d do anything that came to your mind without judgment. You may or may not end up making dick cookies together in the kitchen whilst wearing your matching unicorn onesie pyjamas, covered in flour and other stuff.

Ass slaps -consensual of course- are a common occurrence between you, Wade and Logan…well mainly you and Wade…but Logan will gently tap your ass before kissing your forehead, meanwhile giving Wade the hardest slap that would leave a hand shape bruise that would last a week.

Cuddles are something that’s also frequent in your relationship with Wade and Logan but most -if not all- of the time you were in the middle of the both of them, leeching off of their warmth like the parasite you were but you were living the life.

Wade doesn’t care whether he’s the big or small spoon as either way he gets to be close to you in some capacity, where as Logan likes to be the big spoon so he could keep you safe and protected, always sleeping with his back to the door so that if anything were to happen they’d have to get through him.

Wade’s petnames for you are:

Cutie patootie with the booty

Peanut (something he also calls Logan)

Pookie/pookie bear

Sexiest person alive

Logan’s petnames for you are:

Darling

Sweetheart

That’s pretty much it as he’s not too overly worried about petnames, where as Wade has a thousand more up his sleeve that he pulls out of nowhere.

You and Wade would sometimes blatantly check out Logan whenever he’s shirtless and doing his one thing while you and Wade laid on the floor, feet kicking in the air as you both admired your hot partner. (Logan is very aware of what you two were doing but didn’t have it in him to say shit)

Dog pool is basically your, Logan and wades child and she is spoilt the fuck by the three of you for being the cutest dog you’ve ever seen. You dressed her up as Mary Poppins once for Halloween and now you have albums upon albums filled with pictures of dog pool in cute doggy costumes. This is her cannon event.

Logan has nightmares and would often act all cold and distant afterwards but you would gently grab his arm and pull him in for a comforting hug. ‘Don’t walk away,’ you said, ‘please we can figure this out together okay? You’ve been alone long enough, don’t for yourself to fall back into old habits when you’ve got two people who care deeply about you and want to see you okay.’ You add as you rub your hand up and down his back reassuringly until you manage to ease him back into bed and fall asleep on top of his chest so he doesn’t move.

You press kisses to Wade’s face and call him handsome, gorgeous, cutie, all sorts of names that have him feeling soft and fuzzy within his chest because he’s aware of how he looks, but you loved him unconditionally and would even help him with toupees and whatnot, though not before telling him that you find him attractive how he is and wouldn’t want him to change for anyone.

You got a lot of kisses and cuddles from him later because you had no right being that fucking cute!

[wildwood-faun]

Making medieval underwear - linen edition

So you want to make some medieval clothes? I, along with many others, would recommend you to start with a set of underwear. If you haven't sewn a lot before, it's a good way of getting into it with some slightly cheaper fabric before you break out your lovely wool (assuming you want to use period appropriate fabrics, that is). It's also a nice way of getting used to the shapes and checking fit, as shirts and shifts will often be similar to the clothes that go over them.

In Europe, underwear in the middle ages would most often have been made out of linen or hemp. These fabrics are great for garments you will wear next to your skin because they get softer the more you use them and they can take a beating so you can wash them as needed. Unfortunately, they also do not last very well from an archaeological standpoint - in conditions where animal fibres are fantastically preserved, plant fibres will rot away. This means that cold and wet places (north west Europe for instance) will have very few linen garments preserved that we can look at to see how they were made. We do have some shirts preserved, but I don't believe we have a single pair of braies - something that has led to a lot of head scratching regarding their construction. We do have a lot of depictions of them though!

But you're here for the links, so let's go.

A bit of everything

An article on underwear in the Maciejowski Bible - here we have a few different patterns for braies, some nice tables of hose and tunic colours, some information on hose construction (not what I want to focus on in this post but it's there), pictures of braies, shirts and shifts, plus links to further reading.

Shirts and shifts

Handcrafted History's medieval linen shirt tutorial - Handcrafted History is a treasure of a blog with plenty of tutorials. I'll probably be linking to other specific posts in the future but I can really recommend just having a browse if you're into medieval stuff.

Maille is riveting's medieval under linen shirt - shirts are fairly straight forward but it can be nice to look at a few different takes. This is another general blog recommendation as well!

Handcrafted History's viking/medieval shift or underdress - it's basically a shirt but longer!

Braies

I saved a bunch of links mostly focused on long braies when I was trying to figure out their construction. You could just open one of these links and go for it but I like to have options and there are a few different solutions going on here.

Experimental underwear - using 6th-7th century linen trousers from Egypt and Syria as a basis.

Quick&Dirty Braies - I'm into the H construction of these because they could theoretically be made from just one big rectangle with zero waste, and we know that people wasted as little fabric as possible.

Buck's Retinue braies - this site features two types of braies. The classic baggy ones plus a pair of short braies that appear later in the period as clothes get tighter and shorter. I feel like the short braies could be made in a very packer friendly way if that's relevant to your needs.

Maille is riveting's medieval long braies - basically the same pattern as the link above, but with more pictures. I think I want to try this version at some point in the future. (I particularly like cutting out a little rectangle of fabric to make attaching ("pointing") your hose easier. I have small eyelets on mine and it's. Frustrating.)

Damberg's brokor - a Swedish site with good pictures of some different types of braies. Google translate usually does fairly well with Swedish to English.

Viking history's early medieval braies video - this pair is slightly more fitted than many of the others.

ArmStreet's how to wear medieval braies - I had to share this as the posture of the guy putting on the braies is so endearing to me. I even giffed it so I could put it in the group chat. The construction of these seems pretty cool! I wish they sold a pattern for them as well because I don't want to spend that much money on something I could just make.

BONUS: Handcrafted History's bathing dress - you could definitely use this type of dress as a general purpose shift as well. Or make yourself a nice bathing dress!

[djuvlipen]

i'm so shook on your rick riordan rb whaaaat. i didn't know aaany of this shit. defending arranged marriage is crazy

the rr crit tag is a very interesting rabbit hole to fall into if you have time, here is a masterpost

the thing with rick (i'm calling him by his first name, in true former pjo fan fashion) is that he doesn't do research when it comes to representation. like he doesn't even do the bare minimum. so samirah (the muslim character in Magnus Chase) is pretty religious but she takes her hijab off in front of the thousands of men who live in walhalla because she "considers them as her relatives". this doesn't make sense. another example; he has a native american character in Heroes of Olympus (piper) and she wears a feather in her hair to "reconnect with her heritage". she's literally just wearing a feather in her hair. and another third example; in Magnus Chase (again), there is a deaf character who is constantly described as being super expressionless (in terms of facial expression), and hard-of-hearing readers have constantly explained why this literally made no sense as being expressive is a p important part of sign language (if i remember correctly)

it is lazy representation, and he is only including it because it gives him some clout among the liberal audience. you can tell it's lazy writing and lazy character work because he never really thinks about how being from [insert ethnic group / sexual orientation / religion] might impact a character's life. example 1: hazel (in HoO) is a 13yo african-american girl who was born in 1928. she dies and comes back to life in the 2010s. it is said she faced horrific racial abuse in the 1930s but this somehow had no real psychological impact on her character, she isn't really shown (although it's stated, but once again that's lazy imo) to be struggling adapting to the 2010s, and like. the massive discrepancy between life as an african-american girl in the 30s and the life of an african-american girl in the 2010s isn't even mentioned. not even once. even though many things happened in the USA between the 1920s and the 2010s wrt civil rights for black people

second example; nico was born in the 1930s fascist italy, his mother fled to the US with him at the start of wwii, then he got stuck in a time loop of which he got out in the 2000s/2010s. he is gay. the impact that growing up in 1930s italy (a fascist and v catholic country) had on his relationship with his sexuality isn't ever brought up. like with hazel, it's vaguely stated but this doesn't have any real impact on his character, it didn't really shape him in any way shape or form. that's unrealistic as fuck

(nico and hazel are canonically hitler's half-siblings. rick didn't really think about how this would have impacted their life or their relationship with hades (hades is hitler's dad). but also he backtracked on demigod!hitler and implied he meant hirohito or mussolini instead. who knows. maybe all three are demigods)

third example; lavinia (in Trials of Apollo) is a jewish roman demigoddess. jewish people were systematically discriminated against in the roman empire. but this is never addressed. and if you're wondering how lavinia and samirah factor in their monotheist religion with the fact that ancient gods exist... this is not explored! they don't have a problem with it, it's barely even addressed!

he just writes straight, white characters and then slap an "oppressed" label on their forehead without really thinking about the implications of what he is writing. he doesn't even google the basic stuff. a lot of his characters are walking stereotypes (leo is the one that comes to my mind rn)

his retelling of greek myths brings nothing to the table. he doesn't bring out new, interesting takes on greek mythology (the way the musical Hadestown does for example). but his goal isn't to depict ancient greek culture and mythology as accurately as possible either (we don't hear about ancient greek cultural holidays, about ancient greek sports, about the olympics, about the tragedies, about the philosophy. misogyny, homophobia and slavery in ancient greece aren't ever brought up. and obviously he did not have to bring it up BUT if he had wanted to actually advocate for women and minorities' rights, as he so often says, i think it's a road he could have easily taken if he had given it just a little thought). so instead we are stuck in a weird limbo where we don't learn anything new but we are also NOT being presented with another perspective on what we already know. it's lazy.

and the misogyny. hera is one of the recurring villains of the books; she is portrayed as the literal embodiement of the "bitch wife/evil stepmother" stereotype, and all the aphrodite children are presented as shallow. the one i'm the most pissed off about is artemis. she requires her hunters to be single and kills the ones who break the rule. in Trials of Apollo, it's revealed this rule ALSO applies to lesbian relationships. so you have this elderly lesbian couple who had to flee from the hunters otherwise they would have been killed. lesbians having to flee their community because they might be killed is a very important conversation to be had but the fact it's treated so lightly (it's mentioned a few times, the lesbian couple feels grateful because artemis actually "let them live" and this whole experience didn't really traumatize them in any way) is a pretty flippant way to handle lesbophobia and femicide. the fact that the perpetrator of lesbophobic violence is artemis (and that it's implied that she has killed lesbians in the past!!) is also particularly distasteful. artemis has long been associated with the feminist movement for refusing to partner with men, for running a female-only group of hunters and being the goddess-protector of pregnant women, mothers and women fleeing male violence. this also erases the fact that the biggest perpetrators of sexist and lesbophobic violence are men.

(and don't get me started on reyna's character)

oh, also. in Heroes of Olympus, Amazon (yes, Jeff Bezos' company) turns out to be actually owned by the Amazons, who are portrayed as a group of female supremacists who wear tight leather clothing and whips. they keep men in cages and use them as slaves. yes, this sounds like the plot of a female supremacy fetishist porn movie

also also. the age gaps. hazel is 13 and in a love triangle with frank (16) and leo (15). now i know three years age gap are not that crazy but i do think a 16yo boy and a 13yo girl are at two very different stages of their life (emotionally, physically, sexually) and when i was in high school, my friends and i always gave our male classmates who dated middle school girls side-eyes. anyway, that's hazel. but there's also sadie (from the Kane Chronicles), a 13yo girl who is in a love triangle with walt (16) and anubis (the god) (> 5000yo. he presents as a teenager though). and you know how this ends? that's right. she dates them both. they are a throuple. this doesn't make sense

anyway i don't agree with all the anti-rick criticism, some stuff that ppl criticize about his books make me roll my eyes bc i think they are really not that big of a deal. but these are the things that i do find pretty problematic. i also wouldn't care that much but i find him (and his fans) very hypocritical. he has vocally criticized jkr many times in the past and he is always presenting himself as the representation writer who actually cares about minorities (like, that's his whole pr), but some of the stuff he has written would definitely have gotten jkr a few dozen of thousands of death threats

[calypso-apologist]

Hi ! I really love your writing ! I think it's capture the personality of the characters very well ! If you haven't done it, can you do an Apollo NSWF alphabet please ?

Here an offering, a kitten !

IS A BABY!! CAT!! CATS!! KITTY!! MY ONE WEAKNESS!! (also thank you <33)

Apollo NSFW Alphabet ♡

Template by @/the-coldest-goodbye.

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

Cuddles. Lots of cuddles. Lots of praises, too. He'll play and sing for you, too, if you'd like that. He's very warm, too, in that pleasant way the sand is warm on a lovely, sunny day on the beach. So, you know, an absolute delight.

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

His? His fingers. He knows exactly where and how to touch to make you squirm, cry or cling to him as you're shaken by an orgasm. And just seeing and hearing you like this is enough for him.

Yours? Your throat. He loves to see the subtle movement of your vocal chords as you moan, to feel your throat jumping with each little gasp as he covers it with kisses. It's just so, so endearing to him.

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

You damn well it's not glittery, but you could swear it's glittery. And if the sun shines on it, it looks like very, very pale liquid gold. It's also very warm and creamy.

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

I don't know if it counts but I have nowhere else to put it and it's my post so I make the rules: threesomes!

Apollo is one of the few gods who would be into threesomes. He can love two or more people at the same time, and that comes with being able to make love to you both at the same time, of course!

This letter is sponsored by that one scene in Blood of Zeus season 1.

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

Yeah. A relatively big amount, too. Both with men and women. Plus, he's a god of music and poetry. He's very good with his fingers and tongue. He knows what he's doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

i had to get a fucking kama stura book for this blog this is bullshit.

The Splitting Bamboo - your leg over his shoulder as he straddles your other thigh and gently rocks his hips into you, one hand supporting your leg, the other one by your side so he can balance himself a little.

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

He's not exactly serious, but he's not too goofy either. The best way I can describe it is somewhat... casual, I guess? You can have a heart-to-heart conversation with him while having sex. So if you wanna joke around a little, he's not opposed.

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

Just long enough to be a little curly. He sometimes trims it into silly shapes. When he does, he usually settles on a heart or a star. Sometimes he even goes for an... artistic interpretation of a sun-like shape.

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

This motherfucker and his pretty words. He knows just what to say, what to whisper to you to make you melt. Sure, you two can have a normal conversation, but the moment he decides to just be full-on romantic? You're doomed, love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Like with most of the gods I've written this for so far, he has no need to.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ownership. He likes the idea of owning you completely. Maybe even get you a little collar (or a necklace that he uses as one) to treat you like a cute little puppy or a kitten. He likes to keep you close, cover you in little kisses as he mumbles "mine" over and over again.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He has something that could be compared to a little treehouse near one of his temples. You know giant cypress trees in Louisiana? And how some of them look like they literally have entryways? If you don't, just google it and you'll know what I mean.

Anyway, there is one of those big trees very close to his temples. Maybe he magically blessed it, maybe it's just like that, doesn't matter. What matters is that the tree is magically hollowed out, instead being basically a stairway to a platform near the top of it. It's got comfy pillows and blankets, ripe fruit and delicious wine... And it's always, always warm and sunny there.

Right there, that's where he loves to take you. Under the sun, as your sweet moans create a symphony with the decorative wind chimes.

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

If you have long hair, letting it down will do it.

If your clothes slide a little and anything below your collarbone is exposed, that will do it. He needs to kiss it.

Same with your stomach being exposed. He loves kissing your stomach.

And just so we're clear, Apollo loves all tummies. Big, small, all of them are very kissable.

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

While he's willing to do some very light choking, spanking and such... he will never go far with it. His choking is a few light playful squeezes, his spankings are just a few light smacks, just hard enough to make your skin pink. But he never goes any farther, no matter how much you might beg and plead. He's not doing anything that might end up with you actually ending up hurt - or worse, dead - because he got too carried away.

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

... We're talking about the god of poetry, is that not obvious? He's a professional when it comes to giving oral. And he loves doing that, especially since it means he gets to hear your sweet sounds. So he obviously prefers giving. Doesn't mind receiving, of course, but giving is more... beneficial, in his eyes.

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

Definitely slow and sensual, but he mixes it up every once in a while. Especially if you ask him for it. But by default, he likes it slow and sensual. So he can fully enjoy your body.

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

Neutral about them. If you want a quickie, sure. But he prefers regular sex. He likes to keep you with him for hours.

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

As long as there's no risk of accidentally causing you permanent harm, sure thing. He's down to try new things, but he's also very quick to stop them the moment he feels it's going too far.

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

Like I've said with like all the gods before. He's a god. If you can keep going, he can keep going. And then he can keep going for much, much longer.

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

I feel like he wouldn't be against trying them out, but in the end, he prefers it without toys. So while you might convince him to try one occasionally, he's still gonna go back to keeping it natural.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very. He loves teasing you. And seeing you react to his teasing might just be one of his very favorite shows. Your tears and whimpers, your innocent protests, your attempts to tease him back... it's just all so, so precious.

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

He's pretty loud, but due to his domains, his voice sounds like the most beautiful song you've ever heard. So whenever you top (and he's pretty willing to let you, he's very chill about it), you usually end up doing your very best to make him as vocal as possible, just to hear it.

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

Yandere Apollo song because yes.

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

You know those freckles that only show up when someone spends time in the sun? Not exactly tan, but like... the summer freckles? His dick is covered with those, except they're always there. It's not regular freckles, it's that specific kind of freckles.

Other than that, it's a bit over seven inches.

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

Apollo's love language is quality time. Sex is included in that. It's not a driving force, but he certainly doesn't like the idea of celibacy all that much, either. He mostly adjusts to you, but if he feels like you're avoiding it, he will bring it up. It's hard to define how often he wants it, but he does want some kind of consistency with it.

That being said, when he does want it, he's very, very hard to resist.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't. He's too busy fawning over you. He's just going to sit there with you in his embrace like you're a cat on his lap. He's not moving until you're up.

[mariacallous]

And so it begins…

Tomorrow will see the inauguration of President Trump. And this time around, there’s one crucial difference. His tech bro allies will be front and centre: Musk, Zuckerberg, Bezos. NBC has reported they will be on the platform. This is the image that is going to be seared into our eyeballs and that sets the tone and the expectation for the next four years.

The ascension of the tech gods to the presidential dais is a remarkable journey. Back in December 2016, I watched live on C-Span as Trump welcomed a group of tech execs into a conference room in Trump Tower. Front and centre was Peter Thiel, the founder of Palantir, who’d been one of the few people in Silicon Valley to back Trump. And at that meeting, Trump stroked his hand throughout but the rest of the execs looked nervous, unsure. Some of them such as Sheryl Sandberg had been vocal Democrat supporters. But they all said how excited they were to be there and - Bezos’s word - “super-excited about the possibilities for innovations in this space”.

I just checked to see what I wrote that Sunday. There’s a rule in journalism that if the headline is question, the answer is generally no. But eight years on, it’s now clear: the answer is yes, yes, yes.

This week Joe Biden’s last major speech sounded the alarm to a middle America which had not heard such words before. America, he said, was becoming a “tech industrial complex”.

“Today, an oligarchy is taking shape in America of extreme wealth, power and influence that really threatens our entire democracy, our basic rights and freedom."

If you’re subscribing to this newsletter none of this is going to be news to you but given reports Google searches for the word “oligarchy” spiked immediately afterwards, it is presumably to a swathe of America that’s never had to reckon with these ideas and issues before.

Sundar Pichai, the chief executive of Google, is also among the execs who are expected to kiss the ring tomorrow. Back in 2016, it was Google that I was focussed on. Google was prompting users to search for results on whether the holocaust really happened and when they did, they were being sent straight to Stormfront, a Nazi website.

Google responded not by fixing or even acknowledging the problem, instead the head of public affairs for Europe repeatedly rang my editor and complained. Google had recently spent a lot of money with the Guardian on a sponsored virtual reality project and the head of public affairs for the company felt entitled to make his views known. Weeks of low-grade aggression culminated in a nuclear letter that landed on Christmas Eve. I dealt with in a sweat in a service station on the M4 with the Guardian’s head of legal affairs while she prepared her goose for the oven.

I often think about that story, which was the beginning of the trail that took me down the Cambridge Analytica rabbithole and what I learned from it about dealing with big tech. It was the first time I’d been threatened in this way but after the initial fear and panic - the Google exec cc-ed every senior editor on the paper - the Guardian’s managing editor was robust and reassuring: “If there’s anything that needs to be amended, we will amend it,” she said. “And then we will tell him to fuck off.”

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. secret relationship. some sweet fluff. a highkey dark & obsessive aemond (as usual, that’s basically my brand). babytrapping. mentions of tiddy sucking but that’s rlly it.

notes: hi my little loves, long time no write. several months back, @welight-theway asked for a continuation of the bodyguard!aemond fic, so here it is! hope you enjoy it !! 🫶🏼

also im literally walking out the door as i post this, to walk the graduation stage and get my bachelor's hehe. 2nd gen college student over here 🥰

masterlist

As funny as it might sound, it was your breasts that tipped him off to the little one in your belly.

Sergeant Aemond One-Eye Targaryen is unashamedly a boob man — one so incredibly obsessed with your boobs, as much so as he is with the rest of your body, heart, and soul combined. He actually remembers this particular shirt (a low-cut halter top in his favorite color) you wore to a close friend’s birthday dinner; it looked absolutely stunning on you, showing off the perfect teasingly amount of cleavage that left his mouth watering and pants painfully tight. He helped you sneak out of the house with it, knowing that your father would’ve busted the vein in his forehead if he saw. It was three weeks into his new job as your personal bodyguard and four long years into his infatuation with you.

But that was around four months, and now he has you, and knows you — both inside and out.

So when your pretty face scrunches up in obvious discomfort when he sucks on your right boob and gnaws at your nipple, he is left raising an eyebrow. He has your boobs in his mouth all the time… the short hiss that soon follows between gritted teeth is a bit concerning as well. What is wrong, baby? he coos. It feels sore, you whine, hiding your face in his neck. Hurts too, daddy. Don’t like it. And you’re right, he realizes. Both your breasts and nipples appear more swollen than usual, puffy and tender, and maybe even … a bit plumper too?

Aemond thinks he has a faint grasp of what might be going on with his sweet girl.

He spends the following week eyeing your every movement around him, studying the way you walk and talk, eat and sleep, and how often you might visit the restroom. Frequent urination, odd food cravings, some complaints of minor backache here and there, and midday fatigue … when he googles ‘signs you might be pregnant’ later that evening, his suspicions are correct.

You are pregnant…with his baby. Oh. OH! Aemond is simply over the moon. He wants to cry and shout and pound his chest in happiness, manners and etiquette be damned. And he didn’t think it was actually possible, but he feels himself falling deeper in love with you, his mind constantly muddled with the sight of you fucked so full of him.

This … this is what you were made for, he knows — carrying all his babies, giving him the family he deserves.

“You’ve made me a daddy,” he mumbles against your stomach, careful not to stir you. You’re cuddled around a silk body pillow, exhausted from the four orgasms he gave you, fisting the sheets in a tight grip. “Good girl.” He then presses a tiny, feathery kiss above your belly button, gently dragging his lips across your soft skin, before closing his eyes. Aemond remembers a dreamlike fantasy he had around two years ago, back when he was stationed overseas at Ali Al Salem in Kuwait. He had been napping in an army tent, your picture clutched between his thumb and index finger.

(His favorite picture. Your father had posted it on Instagram as a birthday post; you were sitting at the dinner table with a strawberry shortcake cupcake centered in front of you, the 18-shaped candle poking out of the thick frosting.)

In his dream, you were his pretty little housewife, fingers laced together as you anxiously awaited your husband’s return. Once his laced-up combat boots stepped inside the American airport, you flung yourself into his arms, pleading with him never to leave you again. And he promised. Gods, did he promise. You were everything and more, how could he possibly neglect you again? He woke up only five minutes later, just when you were shyly spreading your legs open, and he was catching a glimpse of your wet cunt; he could’ve cursed the world and murdered someone at that moment.

Aemond almost wishes he could tell that younger sergeant that it’ll all be worth it. All that fucking fixation and hard work would play out in the end, and his ship would arrive at the right dock, and she’d be there to greet him.

Two months in, he notices all the small changes in your body. You’re none the wiser, of course, but your breasts are fuller, and your pretty face is carrying a new glow that shines along your cheekbones and smile. And the baby bump isn’t quite obvious yet, although that doesn’t stop his attention from constantly straying down to your tummy, in hopes of seeing something — anything —  poke out. How could he not admire his beautiful and pregnant woman?

I know you’re in there, he sometimes thinks to himself, mostly in amusement. You might have fooled your mother, but not your daddy.  

Three and a half weeks later, he kisses the tip of your nose and lips before whispering the news in your ear. Your head tilts in equal shock and confusion while your eyes widen and eyebrows furrow. “I’m…pregnant?” you breathe out. You then squint down, watching as your palm flattens across your lower belly. “Are… are you sure?”

He nods. “The signs are all there, baby.”

“What signs?”

“Remember when you were complaining about your breasts earlier?” You nod. He continues, “-sore and sensitive breasts are usually a sign of pregnancy. Haven’t you noticed that they’re a bit… fuller as well? Cup ‘em, baby, feel them.”

You do as he says, cupping your breasts. Around your nipples is a little tenderness that does hurt a bit, and they do fill out in your hands, but you didn’t think much of it before. You chalked it up to PMSing but now… now you’re left speechless, unable to process anything else but the fact you might actually be pregnant. Chuckling, Aemond rests his hands on your shoulders before pressing his forehead against yours. In his lone eye — both happiness and pride.

“I’m so sure of this… but if you’d like, just to be on the safe side, we can always have you take a pregnancy test.”

“Yeah!” you perk up. “Yeah…yeah, um, I think that is a good idea. Just to be positive, y’know.”

Aemond runs a quick trip to the local CVS, and forty-five minutes later, the pregnancy test displays two pink lines, side by side.

You’re pregnant with Aemond’s baby.

He’s completely overjoyed. You’re just trying to mentally plan out how to break the news to your father.  

So it is quite hard to hide a swelling belly; this you learn throughout the next few months. You got lucky during the first trimester, having barely shown with some minor symptoms. But now halfway into your second trimester, there are only so many oversized sweaters and graphic t-shirts you can wear until it arouses suspicion.  

But Aemond, he is simply so gentle and loving towards you, providing constant naked cuddles and belly strokes. He feels more like a husband than a lover, or even a retired decorated sergeant hired as your bodyguard.

You’re a bit worried about public reaction, and your father’s response to your unexpected pregnancy. Your father loves you so much, but at the end of the day, he is still your father, and you are his little girl. “What are the chances he might blacklist you?” you ask Aemond one afternoon, the two of you in the kitchen cooking lunch. “And send me to a nunnery in Switzerland?”

Aemond laughs. “Very unlikely, baby.”

“He’s going to be so upset…”

“It’ll be fine, quit worrying so much.”

“AEMOND!” you snap, bracing against the kitchen counter. Your temple falls into your hands, and you feel that sudden rush of stupid pregnancy hormones overcoming your thoughts. “It won’t be fine! Don’t you understand?! He’s going to hate me! HATE ME! He’s going to be so disappointed with me. I’m still young, in college, and unwedded. Can you imagine all the shit the public will say? All his political rivals, the media, people in school…”

I’m done. In the public’s eye, I’m ruined.

Aemond pauses his mixing of the salad greens, nuts, vegetables, and cheese, setting the bowl to the side. His head drops, and he lets out a loud sigh. “No one is taking you away from me,” he states, in a low and raspy voice. “Especially your damn father.” You blink, taken back a bit. “I don’t give a shit that your dad is the damn president of this fucking nation. You’re mine. That kid in your belly is mine.”

“Aemond…”

“I’ll marry you if I need to. Is that what your father wants? Would he be happy if his pregnant daughter was married to her baby daddy? Would it make all this unnecessary drama shit better? Cause I’ll fucking do it.”

You glance down at your bare feet, wiggling your painted toes. The mauve-colored nail polish is chipping along your big toenail. If you’d ask, Aemond would definitely repaint them.  

“Do you want me to marry you?”

Your tongue wets your bottom lip before you press your mouth in a tight line. “I don’t know if my daddy will let me marry you…” you admit, toying with your fingers.

Aemond then leans against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh? Is that so?” In his mind, he is freshly eighteen and enlisting in the army, attempting so hard to ignore the snarky comments made toward both his nose and chin and quiet demeanor. All the doubt and torment, the constant undermining and discouragement, and being told he’d never amount to a higher ranking.

His eye drops to your baby bump poking out from behind your shirt, and the delicious way those cute booty shorts hug your hips. You’re everything and more. “I can’t lose you,” he says, shaking his head. “I will not lose you.” He is so incredibly in love with you, driven by obsession, and deepened by the fact that you’re carrying his child.

“I’ll marry you. Next month, next week, even tomorrow if you’d like. Just say yes, and I’ll handle the rest.”

He has the ring in his bedroom, tucked away in the back of his top bedside table drawer — a love knot, glittering with a French pave’ set of diamonds that cover the band halfway in 18k white gold. A symbol of everlasting love, he was told by the jeweler. It’s been in his possession for well over a year now, he just needed to find a reason to use it.

And a baby seems like the perfect reason, doesn’t it?

(creds to the loml my literal everything @chainsawsangel for the banner above <33)

taglist for everything aemond: @randomdragonfires @aemvnd @moonteas @chompchompluke

[gayleatherstories]

Selfbondage gone wrong

I couldn't believe it. I had flown a little too close to the horny sun and tightened the belt encircling my wrists just a tad too tight and now I couldn't get out. There was no way I was letting one of my friends see me like this. I was going to have to text my landlord..

Let me set the scene. I was 29 years old and I had finally reached a point financially where I could live alone, no parents, no flatmates. That level of privacy finally gave me the freedom to explore my kinks. Those kinks being leather, bondage and anal play. I had asked my ex-girlfriend how she felt about pegging. To say her reaction wasn't positive was an understatement. Anyway I'd saved up some money and bought myself a pair of black leather jeans with a two way zipper that ran from front to back, a nicely shaped plug, a leather muzzle head harness, a thick stainless steel cockring and a black mesh thong to give it all a certain level of sluttiness.

Combining all these attributes one evening I found myself googling how to bind wrists together with a belt. Flashforward a couple minutes later and now we're back to where this story started.

I clumsily I texted my landlord, a likeable man in his mid forties who so far had only ever been helpful. My text basically told him in vague terms that I needed his help with something. He texted back that it might take a bit but he'd get there as soon as possible.

45 minutes of unsuccessful struggling later I heard a knock on the door and someone entering my apartment.

He asked me where I was and I made a muffled sound hopefully pointing him to my bedroom.

The minute he steps inside my bedroom he starts laughing. But when I thought I was finally getting released from my self-made bounds. Steve, my landlord, takes out his phone and starts taking pictures. After I make an inquisitive noise he tells me it's been too long since he'd fucked a boy in bondage and before I realise he's touching my leather clad legs.

Through my gag I try to tell him that I'm not gay but when he forcibly turns me on my stomach and notices that there's a zipper running between my ass cheeks I realise how this looks. Especially when he zips it open and sees a plug nestled in my hole.

He takes his time fucking me with my own plug which in turn gets me hard as rock. He slaps my ass hard telling me to get on my knees and present my hole to him. Feeling like I have no other option I obey. Since I was already lubed and stretched from my plug it doesn't take him a lot of effort to start fucking me. I tried to resist at first but he knew what he was doing and before long I was pushing back on every thrust. He kept calling me a good boy and occasionally slapping my ass while he was fucking me.

He fucked me for a while before I could feel his dick pulsing and coating my insides.

Stupidly I thought that that was it but then I heard Steve make a few calls telling whoever was on the other end that he'd found a cum dump slut that loved anal. I started loudly objecting until he showed me the video he had taken. Apparently he'd put his phone on my dresser and it clearly showed me getting my ass bred and liking it. He told me that if I didn't do as I was told selected clips and photos would be posted online with all my personal info attached.

Six more loads were deposited in or on me that night. All of it recorded and photographed. When the last guy left I passed out from exhaustion.

When I woke up the next day I realised a couple things. My wrist were not stuck together anymore, my ass was plugged effectively trapping last night's cum deposits inside me and my muzzle was locked on.

On shaky legs I walked to my living room where I found my landlord sitting on the couch. He had changed his clothes and was currently decked out in a tight shiny black leather uniform.

[general-brain-rot]

The Soul and that time you first googled “what is depression?”

I think what I’m really enjoying about the course of Deltarune so far has been my interpretation of the relationship between Kris, the protagonist, and the Soul, the embodiment of the player. The two entities are independent of each other yet inextricably linked through some Gaster mumbo-jumbo or just some greater plot we aren’t aware of at this time, but what’s important is that basically two sets of personalities are residing inside one body and that is causing, uhhhh, problems for everyone involved. Kris often tears us out of their own chest in obvious pain to seek out surprisingly mundane things without our watchful gaze and consuming control, like downing an entire warm pie left in the kitchen or absolutely demolishing multiple glasses of chocolate milk (or it’s pilk because I think that little weirdo would absolutely do that, or the far more evil option is that was alcohol and our local enby teen is in worse shape than we thought-) or playing the piano. This is a seemingly desperate bid for autonomy from the player that both breaks my heart when I think about it too hard and also intrigues me deeply considering I don’t think I’ve ever played a game with this much confusing animosity between player action and a playable character’s life. And while I’ve had a ball seeing other artists, authors, creators of all kinds expand upon the in-game Soul and Kris dynamic in ways like making ‘soul-sonas’ which are all so adorable/funny I love them, I still haven’t seen anyone discuss the potential of a metaphorical interpretation of that bond (bear in mind I may be grasping at straws in an unfinished story to reach) about the concept of having a piece of your identity directly in conflict with the rest of itself. I absolutely acknowledge that while the Soul that the player guides is *not* Kris but its own entity entirely, there’s something to be said about the commentary that this relationship gives, so without further ado…

Being a teen and trying to figure out what your deal is:

It’s unclear whether or not Kris needs the Soul to survive, but they keep us nonetheless for reasons relatively unknown to us (we’ll get to the cage stuff later), and seeing the pain they put themselves through to separate us for even a short time is hauntingly relatable. I feel as though it’s hardly a stretch to say that the majority of the people who resonate with Toby Fox’s work also have experience with challenges to their mental health, I know that I absolutely fall into that category, and Toby is just one of those creators that can articulate a lot of the nuance that comes with enjoying being alive but having to fight to stay that way. Kris’s story, while only halfway realized at the point of writing this essay, has resonated deeply with me and I think I can finally start to articulate why: the Soul feels like a physical manifestation of the parts of Kris that they feel in direct opposition with, like if all the intrusive thoughts you have and bad habits you’ve relied on and social masks you’ve manufactured and can no longer let go of had a physical presence within you instead of just being woven into your psyche.

Whether it’s chronic pain or insomnia or uncontrollable dissociation or any other plethora of things, a lot of us have some aspect of ourselves that are fundamental to our existence yet are also hostile towards ourselves, pieces of us that we are in constant battle with just because we are simply alive. And when you’ve dealt with your own mind/body/soul fighting against you for long enough, the fantasy of being “rid” of the very things that ail you become increasingly enticing. I imagine that I could probably become the most powerful person on Earth if only I could remove my dissociative habits under stress, for instance. The birdcage at the foot of their bed leaking old blood out onto the carpet serves as a stark reminder of every painful strategy both Kris and any potential player has ever used to try to free themselves from their own overbearing pieces. The Soul, the part of each of us that is sharp and intertwined in our most heavy memories and guides every customer service voiced de-escalation or white lie for the sake of comfort or tight lipped smile when all we want to do is crawl into a dark place for a while, stakes its claim over Kris in a similar yet literal way to how we on the outside of the game are familiar with the feelings. Kris removing the Soul feels like a literal representation of someone like, fighting with their brain to do something they think is fun even if they’re bad at it while their brain yells at them for being bad at the thing. It’s that type of energy to me, going to drastic and self-damaging lengths to allow other parts of your own personality to get the chance to exist past the ever-present fog of your own psyche.

It reminds me of the strategies other games like Omori use to get a wider player base to understand a particular feeling. Case-in-point, Omori forces even the most neurotypical of people to face what it feels like to make any mistake and feel like it’s impossible to forgive yourself for it, which is something many people with depression and other adjacent mental issues deal with in their lives. The game does this by forcing the player to face a seemingly unforgivable act so intense that most anybody would struggle to forgive themselves for letting it happen and convince them to forgive themselves anyway. While the game provides an extreme example to showcase it’s point, the more common instances that the game comments on are times where you may say something accidentally insensitive in conversation and tear yourself down for having said it, or if you’ve broken something precious to someone on accident and can’t bring yourself to look them in the eyes after, or literally any other accidental blunder that you feel like you need to be killed with hammers about. Even if it’s something small, the weight of their mistakes weighs as heavy on them as something catastrophic as depicted in game. It’s exaggerated symbolism, and it’s extremely effective. I think that, while maybe not the point, Deltarune is doing a fantastic job of allowing the Soul to act as that exaggerated symbolism for the struggles of navigating a contradictory and at times hostile sense of self.

Told you I’d talk about the cage stuff later, well, later is *now*:

If the in-game prophecy explored a bit in chapter 4 of the game is to be believed at face value, then Kris being described as “The Cage, with human soul and parts” paints a bleak picture of their situation but may also play into this idea of the metaphor of The Soul. If Kris is a “cage” for something, said something assumed to be the Soul, then their fate as stated directly is to not let the Soul out of their control by trapping it in a sense. By extension, to go to any length to manufacture a personality and body that will jail the Soul (a manifestation of the hostile parts of all of our own minds), which feels so similar to the experience many young adults can call back to when they were first learning about mental illnesses during their teenage years. It’s as a teen that we are first exposed to the raw world of psychology at large and can actually start to see patterns in our own behavior and begin to navigate them, and that early exploration of the self often feels a bit like losing control over our own life. One day you wake up and learn that there’s a part of yourself that you don’t fully understand but now are equipped with the knowledge that it can be detrimental to not only your own wellbeing but the wellbeing of the loved ones you surround yourself with, and all you can think to do is immediately try and trap and control that possible beast in your mind. For Kris it looks like changing their tone of voice when the words coming out aren’t exactly right, or yawning in the middle of a hurtful phrase to cut themselves off, or covering their mouth with their hand to muffle the sound of things they don’t want to speak out loud (or in Weird Route cases, biting their hand hard enough to bruise). I’ve mentioned the birdcage above but all the imagery of cages throughout the game thus far adds depth to the idea that something (like the Soul) untamed, potentially dangerous, and relatively unknown, must be contained despite how integral it is to the game, how integral it is to Kris. While perhaps not integral to survival considering how they absolutely beat the hell out of us with that hockey stick or in the continued Weird Route when they pummel us in the trashcan, they’re obviously keeping the Soul around for some necessary reason or else why stick through all the pain we’re causing them? That is likely a deeply story-entwined answer that we won’t be getting anytime soon but thinking about it through the lens of our working metaphor, it could be because Kris can’t just throw out part of their personality so simply like that. If we could just cut out the habits spawned by mental illnesses, then therapy bills would be way cheaper and look more like visits to wreck rooms rather than patient and long-term work. But that’s unfortunately not how it works and Kris, like us, has to figure out how to tame the hostile parts of themselves, because keeping it caged forever is both not sustainable and not healthy for anybody long-term.

Grats on making it to the end of my musings! Here have some mac n cheese for your efforts, we also have vegan mac n cheese if that’s your style. I like reading way too far into metaphors that may or may not exist in media I enjoy based on vibes, so if anybody else has fun thoughts on Deltarune’s many metaphors (I skipped over the big ones like freedom, hope, resilience, and teen spirit because those are already being fleshed out and are fantastic to read about) please please please share! the delicious! thoughts!!!

[linatalin]

The owl house Belos's curse

I once had a theory about **Belos's "curse**". Let me explain: I don't think he has a curse because he carved a network of glyphs on himself, but let's call it that for convenience. What do we even know about his curse: when he arrived in the demon realm 400 years ago, Philip decided to destroy all the witches, somehow found information about the Collector, took his disk with Luz's help and learned about the draining spell. In the same episode (season 2 episode 12, by the way) we already see glyphs on his hand and suffering from the curse. As he said there, **"I just need to live exactly as long as it takes to finish."** I don't think I need to explain what that means. As many of the community have found out, Philip's curse began with the glyphs on his body to prolong his life, he needed the magic of the palismans to control the glyphs, but soon the palismans began to go on strike, which is why new palismans were needed again. And so it turned out to be a vicious circle. As we see, over the years (centuries) he needed more and more magic of palismans to calm others with them. So, in order to live and exist for so long, apparently, a mind and soul, strong magic and a **BODY** are needed. Yes, we saw a body made of palismans substance, but I will refute this: we were in the mind of Belos/Philip, so I dare to boldly assert that this was simply their materialization. In King's tide we see his true appearance, and indeed, there is a lot of stuff mixed up there, but there are the basics: bones, his body, or rather what was left of it (green liquid-rot=decomposition) and the materialization of palismans (apparently in Hollow Mind he did not destroy them all). According to Google, the body decomposes from 10 to 30 years, bones from several months to several decades, and although we are in a magical world, it is unlikely that Philip found some kind of spell against body decay, so he turned into this green thing. So, here is my theory: **what if Belos used other people's bodies to maintain his shape?** We have already been shown that he can possess and control other people's bodies (Hunter and Rain). **What if he used this?** In For the Future, he went to that cave and possessed a body (most likely an unfinished Grimwalker). Here is your answer: ***Belos used the bodies of the Golden Guardians to continue his existence.*** This also explains why Belos / Philip looks like Hunter (or vice versa, think as you want). I was always confused by his light hair, it is not gray, but white (yellow). Compare it at least with Gwendolyn's hair (Ida's mother), and she is clearly gray. And by the way about hair - there is no beard, and Caleb had long hair. His nose remained with him from his old appearance, because grimwalkers have long ears, he shortened them (cut them off), the eyes changed color under his influence, as did the nose. And now we know why in the place where King fell in King's tide there are a lot of bones, but no flesh (the body apparently decomposed faster than the bones, so he threw them out of sight).

After such a theory, it is more than clear to me why the owl project does not suit Disney, too dark and creepy. But thanks to Dana for not explaining this to us right away, otherwise I would not have such a theory (although it seems to me more that this is the truth :).

What do you think about this? Could this theory be true or am I just trying to find an overly simple and rational explanation?

[foldingfittedsheets]

I have never had a post-coital headache, but I saw the ask and it made me think...

Orgasming using a vibe hurts my clitoris. It doesn't even touch my clit because it uses airwaves or something to vibrate the air around the clit, not sure. And I don't enjoy vibrators that touch the clit because it just doesn't feel like anything pleasurable? I can't explain it but it doesn't feel good or bad just kinda numbs me.

I'll be getting bottom surgery to nullify my crotch someday, so I guess it doesn't matter much, since I can limp along till then. I'll be tucking the clitoris and the nerve bundle under some skin and tissue and hopefully the padding will help offset the pain (and I could finally use those cute giant wand vibrators with the big buzzy ball), but I'm just asking in case you have ever heard of this and are willing to respond on your blog.

For the record, I don't enjoy using my hands on my clit, doesn't feel good and dysphoric and bothers my asexuality (I don't like touching genitals at all and the wetness feels icky). I grew up using the pressure and squeeze method. Basically ball up a blanket, press it to my pubis, and then do a very prolonged, overpowered kegel and there you go (kinda tiring tho). I didn't even know I had a clit growing up, always assumed it was the urethra because it hurt to touch (turns out it's supposed to be wet, thanks homeschooling for the lack of sex ed).

So I use the vibrator but I hate the vibrator. The moments before the orgasm is just so painful. And I have to immediately turn it off because the continued vibration causes even more pain and makes my muscles clench up in response which makes it very difficult to pull the toy away from my body. When using it with my partner I have to "tap out" and she'll pull it away for me.

I low-key believe the multiple orgasms for clit+pussy based anatomy is a myth because how could it possibly feel good to touch there once the orgasm has happened? Sometimes I can't close my legs completely for minutes. That shit is so sensitive and like swollen? Throbbing? Why?!?

I theoretically like orgasms. I like the quiet feeling after them. But getting there sucks, masturbating is unpleasant (apparently normal people enjoy the whole process, I'm just there for the afterglow), esp when it's a maintenance orgasm and I'm not horny or physically aroused (sometimes I just think that I need to orgasm without really wanting to if that makes sense, weird ace shit).

This ask is longer than I hoped it would be, but there's lots of important context and I honestly don't know why my body is like this, Google is useless (esp nowadays).

Okay there’s a ton to touch on here, but first: vibes are not one size fits all. Everyone’s body’s are different and motors come in different powers and pulses. The “cute” massage wand types are actually some of my least favorite because they just go cataclysmic in power which is way too much for 90% of clits. They just have good marketing.

If possible, you can look for a gentler vibe. Jimmy Jane Form 2 has a pulse setting that’s reallyyyyy light, and puts vibrations on either side of the clit instead of directly on it. But there’s a lot of shapes and sizes that could be gentler than what you’re using now.

If you’re unsure check out a store and try the vibe on the tip of your nose. This is pretty close to how sensitive your clit is and can give you a frame of reference for how much power you actually want. Generally lower rumbles are more expensive but also more pleasant so that’s a cost/benefit you can run.

The other aspect of this is that clitoral tissue is actually massive. There’s a lot of stuff going on under the hood, so to speak.

Clitoral nerves get everywhere! That’s the whole thing with G-spots- you’re still hypothetically applying pressure to nerve endings associated with the clit. I’ve heard anecdotally that they can end up in the anus too but I couldn’t find a source to verify that.

The takeaway from how sprawling all those nerves are is that there’s probably places you might like sensation better that directly on the clit. Most clit havers in my experience found that pretty overwhelming, myself included.

If your main business with your junk has been businesslike and unpleasant to touch it makes sense not messing with it much. If your partner is a person you trust to explore with you can just have them feel around and caress and see if other areas feel stimulating without being as overwhelming.

As for getting so throbby and uncomfortable afterward, and multiple orgasms: In my experience and anecdotally this depends how you get there. When you come fast and hard your body reacts differently than when you edge into an orgasm. You can try changing up your routine to see if this makes a difference for you.

Some people can never do multiple orgasms, it’s rare for me but does happen on occasion, so it’s worth noting that smut has a lot to answer for in terms of how normal they make that. If you can’t get off more than once it is what it is. It’s not a myth but it’s not everyone’s reality.

I hope this was helpful, good luck and as you say, eventually after surgery this will get easier for you!

[ozzgin]

I've been lurking in your account for awhile and I saw your recent post about the lion hybrid, and the drawing!! 👀

I think this is the first time I saw a doodle of yours that have a furry so can you share us your tips for drawing furries?? Any struggles when drawing it?

Sorry for the ramble aaaaa, I was curious because I wanted to draw furries too but never got to make them look good like yours did with Lion Hybrid. I highly enjoy your work! You make the yandere concepts fun and light 🫶

Hilariously enough, I actually had to google "how to draw furries" once again before working on the doodle. My very first furry attempt, at least I think so, was the chubby monster scale. You can see it's still pretty humanoid-looking. The second one was in this monster comic, where I just used a hyena photo as a reference for the gnoll.

For the latest hybrids, I basically just started with a big, fat circle, added some perspective curves, and tried to shape some vague animal-like face while still keeping slight human features, and masked everything I was unsure about with fur. That's my biggest struggle, really, the face. Especially if you need to show the depth of a snout, or if you want to draw an expressive smile while somehow balancing the anatomy. Here's the initial sketch, if that helps you in any way. Otherwise I'm pretty empty-handed, as I'm also stuck in the learning process. I'm glad it was to your liking, and I wish both of us luck with the intricate anatomy of a furry. :')