#flow nozzle

[ratwithhands]

Technically a recolour but I finished the piece! I'm a little sad about having to change Ingo's design and colour for the prompt but all things considered he came out pretty good! He also came out pretty fast, just about under 10 total hours. Here's the lineart for him, this took about 6 hours on its own!

This makes 2 submas AUs I've snuck into my VisArts project so far :)

[dentist-brainsurgeon]

I found one of my pregnant shrimp dead 😔

Thankfully not Mama Blueberry, not sure how long she was gone for, but she did start to turn red like shrimp do when they die, and I had to scrape as many eggs out of her that I could(only one got smashed) and had to come up with a quick way to keep em aerated until at least tomorrow. As for cause of death, my only guess is that the Nitrates were higher than normal, I added some liquid ferts earlier and that does tend to increase nitrates a bit, but everyone else in the tank seems fine,still did an immediate water change after collecting the eggs and I'm gonna test it again in an hour and hopefully everything is back to normal, and hoping her eggs make it 🤞😔

[krawdad]

(Watching same video)

What the shit is a venturi vacuum how do you drop a term like that and not explain

*quick search*

Oh like an airbrush rad

[harvard-filtration]

Choosing the Right 1-1/2” Fuel Nozzle for Industrial Applications

Fuel nozzles are essential components in any industrial fuel transfer or dispensing system. Whether used in agriculture, mining, transportation, or heavy machinery maintenance, the right fuel nozzle ensures efficient, safe, and leak-free fuel delivery. Among various types available, 1-1/2” fuel nozzles are highly preferred for high-volume, heavy-duty applications. This guide will walk you through the importance, features, and selection tips for choosing the best fuel nozzle for your industrial needs.

What Are Fuel Nozzles?

Fuel nozzles are fittings attached to the end of fuel hoses to control the flow of fuel during transfer or dispensing. They play a critical role in preventing spills, controlling flow rates, and ensuring accurate fuel delivery into tanks or engines. Depending on the application, fuel nozzles are available in different sizes, materials, and flow capacities.

Why Choose 1-1/2” Fuel Nozzles?

The 1-1/2” fuel nozzle is a popular choice for high-volume operations. The larger diameter allows for increased fuel flow, making it ideal for:

Bulk fuel transfer

Heavy machinery refueling

Industrial fuel storage systems

Fleet and agricultural fueling

These nozzles are often built with durable materials to withstand harsh environments and frequent use, making them suitable for industrial-grade fuel handling.

Key Features of Quality Fuel Nozzles

When choosing the right fuel nozzle, especially a 1-1/2” fuel nozzle, consider the following features:

1. Material Durability

Industrial fuel nozzles must be made of corrosion-resistant materials like stainless steel, aluminum, or brass to handle diesel, gasoline, or kerosene.

2. Automatic Shut-Off

A good nozzle should come with an automatic shut-off feature to prevent overflow or spillage once the tank is full.

3. High Flow Rate

The 1-1/2” nozzle is designed for high flow, which is critical for refueling large tanks quickly and efficiently.

4. Ergonomic Design

For ease of use, especially in repetitive industrial tasks, ergonomic handles and trigger mechanisms are essential.

5. Compatibility

Ensure the nozzle fits with your hose size and fuel type. The 1-1/2” nozzles are best matched with 1-1/2” hoses for optimal performance.

Applications of 1-1/2” Fuel Nozzles

These heavy-duty fuel nozzles are widely used in:

Construction sites for refueling loaders, bulldozers, and cranes

Farms and agricultural setups for tractors and irrigation engines

Mining operations for fueling large trucks and excavators

Transportation fleets for rapid refueling of multiple vehicles

Marine and aviation fuel systems

Their large bore allows them to handle high flow rates, reducing fueling time and improving operational efficiency.

How to Select the Right Fuel Nozzle

Here are some tips to help you choose the best 1-1/2” fuel nozzle for your industrial setup:

Assess Your Fuel Type: Ensure the nozzle is compatible with diesel, gasoline, or biodiesel, depending on your system.

Determine Flow Rate Requirements: For high-volume needs, choose nozzles that support 60–120 liters per minute or higher.

Check Connection Type: The inlet and outlet fittings should match your existing fuel hose dimensions.

Look for Safety Features: Opt for models with automatic shut-off and anti-spill mechanisms.

Environment and Usage: If operating in extreme temperatures or rugged environments, invest in nozzles with weather-resistant coatings and rugged bodies.

Micro-Lube’s High-Quality Fuel Nozzles

At Micro-Lube, we offer durable and efficient 1-1/2” fuel nozzles designed specifically for industrial applications. Our fuel nozzles are built with high-grade materials and provide consistent performance even under heavy-duty use.

Conclusion

Selecting the right fuel nozzle is vital for safe, efficient, and cost-effective fuel management in any industrial setup. The 1-1/2” fuel nozzle offers the ideal balance of high flow, durability, and user safety, making it a top choice for heavy-duty applications. Always consider factors like fuel type, flow rate, and safety features to ensure you get the best performance from your fuel transfer system.

View More:

FN800 Fuel Nozzles

FNBL Diesel Fuel Nozzle

FN600 Diesel Fuel Nozzle

Bulk Fuel Nozzle

3-Inch Fuel Nozzle and Receivers

2” Fuel Nozzles FX1500

Bulk Transfer Nozzle

[lawatherm]

At Lawatherm, we offer high-quality flow full cone nozzles designed to improve efficiency in industrial applications. Our nozzles ensure optimal fluid distribution, providing uniform coverage and minimizing wastage. These nozzles are ideal for cooling, washing, and spraying systems, where precision is critical. With a wide range of designs and flow capacities, Lawatherm’s full cone nozzles are engineered for durability, making them a reliable choice for industries across India.

[midseo]

High Pressure Fire Fighting Guns, Selectable Flow Fire Pump Nozzles

We are Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter of High Pressure Fire Fighting Guns, Selectable Flow Fire Pump Nozzles from Kolhapur, Maharashtra, India.

[eastmanmeters]

https://eastmanmeters.com/diesel-fuel-flow-meters/

[caffieneaddictt18]

Imagine... you're pulling up to the gas station/petrol station. You (somehow) convince them that it's okay for you to pump your own gas/petrol. You get out, you pay at the pump, get the nozzle in the hole, and now you gotta wait... but you're bored and you've noticed that your windshield looks a little dirty, so you pick up the windshield cleaner and start cleaning all your windows because the pollen this year has been terrible. As you are cleaning your back windshield, a car passes by and you get catcalled... here's how I think the 141 boys would react:

Simon hears this and smirks a little. He knows he got a baddie. He knows you are hot as shit. But you are also his. And only his.

So he puts on a mask. Not a surgical mask like he usually wears, not just the balaclava... the mask. The one he doesn't like wearing when he's at home. He doesn't wanna scare his bird. But he puts it on and gets out before you can stop him.

Some "Simon, darling, this is really not necessary-" "Luv, stop." type ahh shit. This hulking monster in a hot ass outfit that looks vaguely military-esque but not his fatigues and lacking the usual gear, but just as initimidating, gets out and stares at the boys in the car as they slowly pass, as if them driving slower will somehow keep them from Simon's hard stare. The same stare that sends his enemies running for the hills… if they aren’t dead yet.

This man is using your car as an arm rest, leaning forward. You know when your mom/dad/parent or whoever get's really mad and puts there hands together and lean forward like 'Now listen here, Jimothy-'. Same vibe. SAME. VIBE. I AM NOT STUTTERING.

And he just stares at them as they pass before hurriedly (definitely speeding) away.

"Simon, darling, you didn't have to do that." You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him from the side.

"I gotta make sure everyone knows your mine. Everyone, pretty bird." And he smacks your ass lightly as a pat for you to get back in the car, passenger seat, where you belong.

(a.k.a. Simon didn't like it and now you never pump your own gas again.)

Johnny has the same reaction as Simon. Initially, at least. He knows you’re a hottie and he’s happy that other people know it too.

Johnny does realize something though… You are pumping gas… by yourself. While he stays in the ca- Yeah, that won’t do, not even a little bit.

So he gets out of the vehicle in his tight jeans that accentuate his thighs and wonderful ass, and a too-tight t-shirt that strains against his pecs and is tight around the arms, and he immediately takes the pump from you. Gently! He doesn’t want to waste petrol… He sets it locked so it continues to pump until the meter notices and automatically stops the flow.

Then… he spins you around, pressing you against the car and kisses you. Not gently, like a Nicholas Sparks movie. More like he’s trying to eat your face off. One of his hands is caressing the back of your head to make sure it doesn’t hit on the car while the other holds you by the back of the neck, keeping you close.

When you part, he is the first to speak, “I would say I’m sorry, bonnie, but I think we both know that’d be a lie.”

You don’t even catch the tail end of the boys’ car. But Soap does. And while at home, he may be ‘Johnny’, to protect his girl, he’ll be Soap too. And Soap remembers their license plate, and make and model of said car.

“Now get in there, where you belong, lass.” Johnny directs you to the passenger seat he was occupying, a hand in your back pocket. Don’t worry… you get an ass-pat too.

Kyle is immediately worried. He is upset for your sake, but he understands that his anger may not be what you need right now. So he gets out and wordlessly takes the pump from you, gently.

“How about I finish pumping the petrol, love?” His request was more rhetorical than his captain giving him an order posed like a question. He locks the petrol pump in place before gently guiding you to the passenger seat of the car, where you don’t have to worry about paying for your own petrol, pumping it, or any more filthy boys.

His ideal is coming to life: a woman that is protected and loved thoroughly by him.

He does promise a private show when you get home, a shirtless Kyle cleaning the car (ohshitimdrooling-)

That doesn't mean he hasn't already texted his captain about some 'plans' for the night... he might need help if it's more than one boy.

Now... John... I have no idea how you managed to convince him to let you pump the petrol. But you do. Somehow. Maybe it was the puppy eyes, maybe it was the pouty lip, maybe it was the promise of giving him head when you get home. The world may never know.

But you can bet your ass that as soon as he hears that first note, he gets out, slamming the car door shut, and takes the cleaning stick away from you.

"Love, I just remembered that you pumped the petrol last time." Lie. "How about I do it?" He gently guides you back to the passenger seat, and opens the door for you, letting you slide in, and closing the door behind you (maybe a bit more forcefully than he has to). He walks to the dip station and puts the cleaning stick in the solution, catching the plate number of the car.

Cause no one treats his pretty baby like that and gets away with it.

"Simon. You busy tonight?"

Hey guys! I'm sorry Kyle's is so short. I just felt like his would be so straightforward and dealt with, you'd barely recognize that he did anything at all. Anywho- GAZ LOVE! PEW

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter ii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, first date, medium burn?, young girls rediscovering themselves and their desires, slight angst, mentions of faith.

notes: hi, my doves. let me know if you enjoyed this. sorry this is a little sad, but azzi is a product of childhood fame. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

II: SECOND SKIN.

“i’d like to work on something different. something that feels more like me.”

azzi watched as her manager’s brow rose, sensed her mother's gaze boring holes deep into her skin. she steadfastly ignored them, focusing instead on the condensation dripping down the plastic body of her iced blueberry matcha. 

the head of the label sat across from her. he was a stout man with a pinched face. it always looked as though he was struggling to breathe. he was kind though, had seen many a pop legend come and go, and seemed to have a soft spot for her ideas, usually called silly, when she presented them to katie on the car ride home.

“you don’t feel any connection to what you’re doing now?” he asked her, and azzi blinked back into the moment.  

“i think i did at some point but,” azzi pursed her lips, then let out a flow of air, “i’m not feeling myself in any of it. i look at the lyrics and open my mouth and nothing comes out. at least nothing i’m proud of.”

the man sat back, green eyes unnervingly bright. she focused on the liver spot that pulled across his neck, mind running as she tried to remember his name. it was something rather clandestine. micheal? murray? 

“what do you feel yourself in?”

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes, her cheeks haloed by her unbrushed curls. she was only in a midi black dress, the straps thick and the neckline square. along her collarbones lay a thin diamond chain with a silver, cursive ‘a’ pendant that swung forward every time she readjusted herself. her feet were encased in faux-leather flats, the small, needlework rosary tattoo she’d gotten on a whim dark and visible.

“i’ve been listening to a lot of indie rock. red hot chili peppers, smashing pumpkins, the teenagers. i like the way i feel when i listen. there’s more room in the writing to sing about what i’m going through, big or small. i’m—” she hesitated. “i’m tired of being a sexy baby.”

“indie rock, huh?” the man said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “i didn’t think kids knew of red hot chili peppers these days.”

azzi smiled, her two front teeth shining white and new. her mother, who had been holding on for a rather impressive amount of time, finally gave her input.

“but she’s not a rockstar, max! she’s a pop star.”

oh, so his name was max. yes, very clandestine. max rolled his neck over to one side as he glanced irritably at katie, his jaw working before he responded. 

“i get that, katie, i really do.” azzi tried not to laugh and took a sip of her matcha. “but reinvention is how these girls stay alive in this world. azzi’s right. people are not looking for the sexy baby thing right now. i mean there’s always an audience, but azzi’s demographic has grown with her. and if she wants her growth to be noticeable, i think it's smart to play up a different image other than discovering that you have a body and desires for the first time.” 

huh, azzi thought. go, max.

he looked back at her, eyed her drink. “need another?’

“sure,” azzi said, her voice quiet but her resolve strong. 

they got up. they took a walk.

⟡

azzi pushed three thick sprays of salt water through the nozzle and into the back of her throat, her nose burning as california brine coated the muscles. then she texted paige. 

» hey, paige. just wanted to touch base about getting coffee this week.

her arms burned when she pressed the meat of them into the metal strings of her bass guitar. she shined it earlier and its teal corpse stared at her, reflecting a distorted image of her face as it begged her to touch it—to raise it from the dead. she felt the feeble spirit of her thirteen-year-old self in the marrow of the instrument, and she focused she could hear her too.  

she hated the message once she sent it. she sounded so out of touch with what it meant to be a young girl, a cool girl. while she waited for paige’s response, her eyes roved over the other girl’s instagram. she cataloged what she knew of her already: she was twenty-five, two years to azzi’s twenty-three, and a well-loved prodigy. she frequented texas, dallas to be specific, due to her current contract. she flew back and forth to new york, apparently helping to coach teenage athletes in her spare time. 

azzi liked that, that the goodness of her heart gave her a reason to plant her feet on new york’s rat-run ground. azzi sometimes worried that she wasn’t good, not even a little bit. 

she lingered on a candid of paige in the pews of a church, the light streaming in through the thin stained glass adorning her with mock sainthood. azzi wondered if it would matter to paige that god tended to put a frog in her throat, that she had removed his hands from around her neck and thighs and was trying to sit next to him without flinching on most days. maybe they would never get there. 

» hey, azzi. yeah, i’m still good for coffee. 

azzi smiled. i wonder if you know how good you make me feel, she thought and then was immediately embarrassed. 

» that’s really good to hear. 

she paused, then sent another message. 

» sorry about saying “touch base”. it was weird.

the response was swift.

» nah, it wasn’t. 

azzi wondered if she should leave it alone, but if she was going to coffee she may as well ensure it wasn’t too awkward. she raised her arms, ignoring the indentations in her skin, and snapped a picture of her guitar. the steel of its strings gleamed; the teal paint seemed to cry. you could see her shadow reach across it. her leg was bent, but visible—tender from her weight being shifted across it for several hours.

» trying to learn how to use her again » going a new direction with my music and i’m kind of really scared 

too honest, she berated herself. paige didn’t seem to think so.

(paige didn’t think so at all. her crystal blue eyes had fallen on the reddened skin of azzi’s knee, on the thin strip of darkness made by the bend of azzi’s leg and the crush of her thigh. her mouth watered, and she redid her ponytail to regain some self-control.)

» u have a voice like an angel, azzi. some things are just meant to be. 

» God knew what He was doing. 

she capitalized God, azzi noted. her mouth twitched into a smile. she liked that. it was a good detail.

» i’m not that religious, but since you are i guess you would know. » sorry that sounded mean, but i don’t mind it. your faith, i mean. please don’t feel bad.

a moment passed and then,

» i don’t know, i just trust. » and i didn’t feel bad. ur not a mean girl. 

azzi laughed out loud then. 

» it’s my desire to know vs my desire to trust, she said.  » see you tomorrow, paige

her phone buzzed one last time. 

» can’t wait. i’ll be looking for u. 

azzi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. she thought hard of california, saw her father in the waves with a hand around her arm—the bone thick with baby fat. she heard something, someone. 

she touched a string. it sang.

⟡

the morning light came in sharp, cutting the shop into bright angles and long shadows. the windows were too clean, the floor polished to a dull shine. it smelled like scorched milk and antiseptic, something artificial masking something else. the kind of place people pretended to not mind, with its ten-dollar oat lattes and plastic baristas. the kind of place azzi used to think she liked.

she had dressed without thinking—well, no. she had thought about it quite a bit, but it was a good fantasy.

a strapless smocked top, tight across her ribs, the fabric shifting when she moved. faded jeans, loose at the hip, cinched with an old leather belt. they slouched low, soft, and worn in the way vintage denim should be, brushing against the tops of her boots. she carried her jacket in one hand, twisted around her fingers like an afterthought. her hair, loose from whatever styling had held it the other morning, fell in soft, uneven spirals. she’d drawn up the top with brown butterfly clips to prevent it from getting into her eyes. 

she looked like someone caught between selves. not quite undone, but close.

her fingers traced the rim of her mug, nails chipped down to uneven edges. the heat of the ceramic barely registered. paige was watching her. not in the way people usually did—calculating, expectant—but with a slow heat closer to patience. like she was trying to understand something. azzi often felt like a ghost within her own body, but now, someone was gazing at her,  not through her.

paige sat with her legs apart, elbows resting on her thighs. it was the kind of posture that helped make her look present without seeming too comfortable. the light made a halo of her, just for a second.

she wore a white, slightly oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up just once—as she did it absentmindedly, not for style. the fabric looked soft; it seemed the kind that came off better the more it was worn. beneath that: dark wash straight-leg jeans, fitted enough to hint at her strength but relaxed to a degree that spoke to her disinterest in the semantics of fashion. they fell heavy at the hem, half-swallowing her vintage nike cortez sneakers. a simple chain encircled her neck, barely noticeable except when the light caught it. a cross, just simple metal.

the image instilled a sense of wonder in azzi. she wanted to ask about it, if it meant anything.

paige grimaced, picking up her vanilla latte with two shots of espresso. "twelve fucking dollars?" she muttered. "for this?"

azzi watched her, something soft developing in her chest. she slightly recognized this feeling. it was like rediscovering a language she'd forgotten she knew how to speak. it began to bleed through her, raw and unfiltered. she worried that it would stain her shirt.

"so," paige said, her voice slipping through the lo-fi hum of someone’s terrible 2010-esque playlist, "tell me something."

azzi blinked. the overhead lights buzzed, too bright, catching on the fine gold chain around her throat. her small scorpio pendant shifted when she swallowed. 

“um, let’s see. i'm twenty-three," azzi started, her words falling into a practiced rhythm. "born in virginia, but lived in california for a while. i miss it there. uh, oh. my favorite color is pink. i have a birthmark shaped like texas on my left hip.” 

paige took another swig of coffee and then looked her dead in the eye. she raised an eyebrow. "you giving me teen beat facts?"

azzi suppressed a smile. she shrugged.

paige leaned in, elbows on the table, hands loose but steady.

"something that doesn’t exist in a press release." a pause. "give me the real you, please."

the words settled between them. the moment stretched, thin and expectant. something about it made azzi want to look away.

she didn’t.

“um,” her voice was quieter now, “i’m terrified of spiders, but i don’t ever want to kill them. i’m allergic to fake gold, and my ears swelled when i got them pierced as a toddler. i can’t cook or bake, but i have a good eye for presentation. i haven’t really written or performed anything i’ve liked in over two years.”

the last bit took her by surprise, but paige’s eyes only softened. she leaned back and swallowed down the remnants of her drink. she put it down and tilted her head, her blonde hair shifting with the movement. her mouth seemed electric as she spoke. 

“i want to take you somewhere. come with me?”

they ended up at a small ethiopian restaurant.

it was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, where the scent of berbere and spiced butter pulled at the air before the door even opened. inside, the walls were warm-toned, lined with woven baskets and paintings, the floor covered in persian rugs softened and faded by years of footsteps. it hummed with low chatter, the clink of metal trays, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group in the corner.

azzi looked around, a little mesmerized. "this is beautiful."

paige watched her, further endeared. "yeah."

they sat on the floor, low cushions pressed against their backs, a tray of injera and slow-cooked stews set between them. the place was packed, families and couples and groups of friends leaning close, tearing pieces of bread with practiced ease. 

it was intimate in a way that surprised azzi—hands reaching, sharing, dipping.  food was so respected here; the art of the meal and family so centered. she followed paige’s lead, watching her scoop a piece and fold it with practiced ease.

azzi’s first bite made her eyes widen, then flutter closed. "oh my god."

"right?" paige grinned, watching as azzi eagerly took another bite. it was so good, flavored in a way that stuck to your ribs. this was the kind of food you could taste long after you’d left the table.

they stayed like that, across from one another but intersecting as their hands met in the warm rivers of heavily spiced sauce and pots of yellow rice.

at some point, azzi got a bit of sauce on her chin, then her cheek, and paige, without thinking, swiped her thumb over it only to smear it across the bridge of her nose. azzi let out a startled laugh, brown eyes crinkling, and paige smirked.

"you missed a spot."

paige watched as azzi lifted her phone, angling the camera to capture the streak of sauce on her cheek, then her nose. she stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes in one, then tilted her head slightly, lips parted to reveal her american girl teeth, a mess of curls cradling her face.

"these are so cute," she murmured, voice warm as she tapped through the shots. "i never get to have food on my face."

and it was clearly meant to be funny in an offhanded way, but then azzi’s face flickered—like she’d just realized something. a small thing, but a thing that felt bigger, heavier. her throat tightened, and she hurried to blame it on the spice, but she could tell that paige saw through it, saw the way her fingers flexed like she didn't know what to do with them.

under the table, paige found her hand. squeezed. then, casually, she tore another piece of injera, scooped up some stew, and lifted it to azzi’s full lips—the skin a deep pink and swollen by the flame of peppers.

"here, mama," she said, voice easy. "try this one."

azzi took the bite, chewed, and swallowed. she exhaled, slow. paige didn’t let go of her hand.

before they left, the owners took a polaroid for the wall of customers. azzi insisted they take two, so they could have their own. in the photo, azzi was mid-laugh, eyes bright, sauce still dotted on her nose. paige stood beside her, relaxed in a way she didn’t even realize, watching azzi like she had a secret within that she didn’t know yet.  like she always had.

they didn’t decide who would get to keep it officially, but it ended up in the back of azzi’s phone. a pale copy sat in paige’s gallery. azzi pocketed the second polaroid, running a thumb over the glossy surface. something shifted inside her, loose and warm. 

later, on the train home, she tucked her legs beneath her in the seat and hummed under her breath. a melody had given birth inside of her—new, half-formed, and fighting. words came to her unbidden, stale lyrics made better by the fact that she was trying again.

she murmured into her phone’s voice memo app. she held up the phone to paige’s mouth and asked her to speak. paige smiled, tender with joy, and protested that she didn’t know what to say.

“it’s not the real thing,” azzi assured her. “you can say anything.”

paige hummed and then,

“will you get another coffee with me?” 

azzi grinned, her body trembling. she lowered her feet to the floor and leaned over until her head fell onto paige’s shoulder. she picked up paige’s hand and turned it over so that the pale palm was open and exposed. she traced nine letters into the skin.

yes, please.

paige closed her hand and kept her there. 

azzi hummed from the station to her apartment. even the clink of her keys into their designated bowl seemed on-key. 

it was a song. her song. the first in a long time. she could’ve sobbed. 

thank god, she thought, that i remember how to sing.

⟡

voguescandinavia: azzi fudd has a new approach: “i want to keep going to places where i don’t know anyone or anything. i tend to find myself there.”

a black and white portrait accompanied the tweet. azzi's face was slightly turned, wind-blown wisps of her natural curls catching across her cheekbone. her expression was borderline intense, almost vulnerable—eyes looking slightly off-center, not quite meeting the camera.

she wore a simple white tank top, and her skin was slightly tanned, with shadows and bits of sand dusted along parts of her face. the background was indistinct, a blurred landscape suggesting openness, motion. her gaze penetrated.

it was silently understood that she wasn’t performing, but truly present.

the reception was overwhelmingly kind, warm. but only one mattered.

trending simple and proud:

pbueckersofficial: angel falls short but swear it’s her true form 🩶🎙️

on her private account, her heart to mouth filter had failed. the same picture, quote retweeted but with different wording: 

pbuckets5: i want to run away. make a world of just you and me. somewhere between the city lights and the way you breathe—i'm desperate to understand everything.

her teammates' immediately lit up her notifications.

karnold: girl what is happening  aubrey: wait what.   janaaa: oh. drewbuckets: paige poetry era??

azzi, almost half asleep, saw the public thread. smiled. then quote-tweeted:

azzi35: i'd like to stay on earth for another coffee with you 🕊️

the internet imploded. 

username: they actually hang out?!  username: paige bueckers and azzi fudd interacting again??? this is not a drill  uconnsports: we're witnessing history  ⤷ username: who is the intern running this page lmfao username: the way they're speaking about each other?? its giving legacy love story i fear karnold: y’all don’t you worry, we got somebody checking on paige cause she may actually be dead idk

and trending worldwide: #bueckersfudd2028.

⟡

azzi went to sleep. in her dreams there was a stage, but no microphone. azzi opened her mouth and extended a hand to the sole person in the audience. from her mouth burst three pink butterflies. 

teach me, they said with every pump of their wings. please, teach me.

the woman stood from her seat. her hair was so blonde it was almost white. she looked at azzi with her sharp blue gaze, touched her own throat, and then stepped forward to press into azzi’s skin. the heat from her fingertips spiraled up into azzi’s mouth until she felt so warm that she thought her bones might melt into ash and milk. 

the woman cupped her cheek. from her heart a beat; from her mouth a word. 

azzi, she said. her mouth was closed. God himself opened your mouth and placed music on your tongue.

azzi, she said. sing.

© hcneymooners.

[misseviehyde]

GHOST BUSTY

Katie groaned as she massaged her sore aching breasts. They were so big now... so full and firm. She needed them to be groped. She needed a man to grab them whilst he fingered her dripping wet pussy and got her tight pink hole ready to fuck.

Her eyes fell hungrily onto her best-friend Joe sitting in the corner who was massaging his engorged and ridiculously large cock. He gasped and groaned in frustration too, his dick getting bigger by the second even as her boobs grew. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Katie's boyfriend Matt sat in the corner sobbing and trying to fix something in front of him. Katie ignored him, her hungry eyes locked onto Joe's delicious cock. It was what she wanted now... not that loser.

"Mmmmh... come fuck me Joe. I fucking need it. Take me right here. I know you want it to. Become who you are destined to be."

She felt a feral grin appear on her face, she had never felt so fucking horny. She had never felt so fucking EVIL. She needed that cock inside her... pounding her tight virgin holes and making her into a slut. She wasn't a nice girl anymore, she was a fucking cumslut and she wanted it badly. She needed to lock in this transformation permanently.

She wanted his cock, but Joe's body was nice too. He had muscles now and he'd grown in height and width. He could probably snap Matt like a twig and the thought excited her.

To think, only 30 minutes ago they'd entered this house as very different people...

How had this even happened?

***

Matt grinned as Katie and her friendzoned bestie Joe rolled their eyes at his latest invention. It looked like a hoover with loads of weird wires and gadgets on the side.

"What is it meant to do?" asked Joe in puzzlement as Matt tinkered with the buttons.

"It's a ghost catching device. It can suck ethereal bodies out of the air and safely contain them within the cylinder. With this... I can finally prove that ghosts are real and we'll be rich."

"Is that why you brought us here? To the old frat house?"

"Yeah," grinned Matt excitedly gesturing to the boarded up windows of the old frat house. Ten years ago some sort of gas leak had killed everyone inside it. It had been a terrible disaster and all the Frat boys and their hot sorority girlfriends had sadly been killed. There were rumours that the place was haunted as a result. Full of the bratty spirits of the vengeful dead.

"Let's go inside and give it a go."

***

The air inside the creepy old mansion was cold and sinister. They had prised a wooden board away from a window and snuck inside. The insides were dark but they had torches.

Powering up his invention from a powerpack he'd created, Matt grinned as he held up the nozzle of his device and switched it on. Katie watched unimpressed as her dumb boyfriend literally held a hoover tube up in the air like it was going to do anything.

Then her scepticism faded. She gasped as she began to see vague shapes in the air. Ghostly outlines of girls, swirling and dancing in the air drawn by the hoover. Pulled into reality by Matt's invention the ghostly spirits took on form and substance. Katie drew back in fear as she saw wicked envious eyes looking down at her and coveting her flesh.

"Hmmm weird. The invention seems to be energising the ghosts and drawing them into our world more fully - it's making them more powerful but I can't seem to attract them into the device."

Suddenly one of the female spirits lunged towards them and Matt gasped as it flowed into Katie with a pop. She groaned.

"Ughhh what the fuck? That thing just went inside me."

Suddenly more spirits were darting down and Katie moaned as more and more of them flowed into her body. She shook and groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the ghosts got inside her body.

"Ohhh myyyy Godddd it feels soooo mmmmmpphhh good," she gurgled as the spirits melded into her and their unearthly energies flowed through her.

As each ghost entered her, Katie changed. Her nerdy outfit became a tight black corset. Her short hair lengthened and her body became more feminine. Her tiny breasts began to grow. Bigger and bigger. Swelling up to become enermous ripe boobs. She threw back her head and laughed in glee - stretching her curvy body and exulting as she became even sexier. "Fuck yes. Fill me up girls."

The remaining female spirits surged down and Katie welcomed them, screaming in pleasure as they flowed into her body and she absorbed their toxic energies.

"Ohhhhh fuck yesssss," hissed Katie. "I can feel it. I can feel all their combined bitchiness becoming mine. These girls were evil sluts and they want to live again. My body is the perfect host for their essence. I'm becoming a fucking Goddess."

With a giggle she snatched the hoover decice from Matt and making an adjustment switched it on. "You should try this baby."

More ghosts began to form, but this time male ones. The spirits of the frat boys gathering round ready to have their turn.

"No, we have to get those ghosts out of you," gasped Matt and he and Katie began to fight over the hoover.

A ghost surged down and Matt ducked. Katie snarled and grabbing him held his arms behind his back.

"Hurry up boys. Get inside this loser and make him worthy of the new me."

"No!" screamed Matt as the ghosts surged down. Katie's eyes shone with excitement. "Don't fight it Matt. Soon you'll understand how good this feels."

With a superhuman effort Matt broke free and dove to the ground crushing the hoover and causing it to break. The ghosts wailed- their energies beginning to disapate.

"NO!" screamed Katie in rage. "Joe. Come here baby. I need your help."

Joe had been watching from the corner of the room and now he gasped as Katie turned her new sexy gaze on him. "Come here. Come to me."

The male ghosts flowed around Katie, sustaining themselves in her energies. Joe gulped as she walked towards him.

"That's it baby. Just hold still."

Joe screamed as Katie leapt forward and pinning him against the wall kissed him hard. The male ghosts around her surged forward and he thrashed and moaned... jerking as each one entered him. Clothes ripped, muscles swelled and Katie moaned in pleasure.

Meanwhile a sobbing Matt desperately tried to repair the broken invention - he had to suck the ghosts out of Joe and Katie before it was too late.

Katie groaned as her breasts got even bigger and she felt the energies within her corrupting every inch of her hot perfect body. She shivered in glee as the ghosts burned out all her innocence and warped her mind to make her a perfect vessel for their evil.

But they weren't fully part of her yet. Only sex could do that. Once she got fucked, the orgasm would lock everything into place. Just as it would for Joe.

The once nerdy Joe was now an Adonis and Katie laughed as she walked over and grabbing his throbbing barely contained cock began to pump it.

"Yesssss don't fight it Joe. Let the evil corrupt you. Together we will be unstoppable. The power inside us will keep us young and strong forever. All you have to do is fuck me right now. I'm wet and ready for you."

Katie slid down her black panties to reveal her tight dripping slit. She spread her stockinged legs enticingly and stood over Joe. Slowly she began to lower herself.

"Ugggh noo if we fuck we'll become permanently corrupted," groaned Joe. "We have to resist."

"Why resist Joe when it feels so fucking good?" laughed Katie as her pussy lips teased Joe's massive cock.

"Embrace your new role as an Alpha and take me big boy."

Joe growled in lust and grabbing Katie's hips pulled her tight cunt down onto his giant cock. She sighed in pleasure and satisfaction as he filled every millimetre of her pussy up and she began to slowly slide up and down his shaft, her massive tits bouncing up and down as she rode him.

Matt watched through wet eyes as Katie rolled her hips and began to bounce faster and faster on Joe's cock.

With a grunt he suddenly picked her up and she screamed in pleasure as he effortlessly held her up in his strong arms and began to hammer her harder and harder.

"Hahah see loser. See how powerful I have become?"

Joe and Katie laughed together as they fucked. "Hahah he can't stop it baby, make me cum them pump your seed deep inside me and let's make this a permanent arrangement."

The corrupted couple moaned and gasped. Dark energies crackled around them as the ghosts that had invaded their bodies merged and melted into them. A gestalt awareness becoming one with their own. Wet slaps and moans of pleasure filled the air and the scent of hot sex.

"Yessss. Fuck yessss baby. I'm gonna cum and I'm gonna be an evil bitch forever. Oh yesssss I need it so badly. Fuck meee!"

Katie screamed and wet squirt erupted from her pussy raining down over Matt and his invention. Moments later with a shuddering moan Joe cummed deep inside Katie too and as he drew out of her with a wet pop his own cum dripped down and landed on Matt too.

The couple laughed and Katie squeezed more cum out enjoying how it looked on her former boyfriends crying face.

Sitting amongst the broken wreckage of his invention Matt whimpered as Joe and Katie used him as their personal cum rag and cleaned up. Then laughing the new evil power couple left ready to start their new life.

Matt lay weeping amongst his broken dreams. The house was no longer haunted at least... he was the only ghost here now and he would never see Katie or Joe again.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow x GN reader

Hot Shower

NSFW Minors do not interact

Content warning: Smut, reader has a vagina, vaginal fingering, hand job, penis in vagina sex, sex standing up, overstimulation, kinky-ass shit with the showerhead (i don't know how else to describe it lol) Note: please do not repeat any of these actions without proper safety measures use a non-slip mat or you will likely end up in the hospital.

you heaved a sigh as the hot water rushed down your back melting some of the stress away. it had been a hard day and you needed to wash it off before you could continue with your evening.

the pulsing mode on the showerhead hit your back lightly massaging the tension out of your shoulders.

as you were getting ready to rinse off and cook dinner you heard the front door open. Shadow must have come home.

"Y/N?" he called out.

"I'm up here" you called down "Just taking a quick Shower I'll be down in a minute."

before you knew it you heard the door to the bathroom open and shut.

"No need I need to clean myself off too" Shadow said taking off his gloves and stepping into the shower behind you.

he wrapped you in an embrace clearly exhausted after a long day.

You could tell he just got back from a mission his scent enlightening your senses.

"How was your day my love?"

"Exhausting, my boss keeps getting after my ass about the most minute details." you responded

"I'm sorry about that love, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just existing helps honestly... and maybe a back rub"

shadow gave a low chuckle his sultry voice echoing throughout the room "I'm on it my love" he placed his hands on your shoulders and began gently massaging them.

you hummed in pleasure as he made his way down your back.

as he was massaging you he couldn't help but admire the way you looked, your bear back glistened as the water cascaded down making your fur look glossy, almost glasslike. beads of water stuck to your hair and ears like beautiful fragile pearls. the scent of your soap invaded his nose comforting him and drawing him closer into you. and then your beautiful humming soft and comforting, he wanted to hear you more and hear you shout his name in pleasure.

you had a stressful day after all, it was his duty as your boyfriend to help you relive some of that stress. and if he needed to use his body to do it than so be it.

"You missed a spot my love mind if I help you get it? and you can keep telling me about your day."

"sure dear" you responded a smile evident in your tone.

you began spilling about how your boss was annoying and venting about one specific co-worker who was a constant thorn in your side. all the while shadow detached the shower head from it holder bringing the pulsing water down closer to your back. he lowered the nozzle lower and lower down.

"and don't even get me started on Brenda she can be such a- such a" your breath hitched as you felt a warm pulsing sensation against your folds. looking down you saw that Shadow had moved the shower head between your legs the pulsing water tickling your folds drawing you into a state of arousal.

"Sorry love just want to make sure you're all clean, please tell me more about Brenda."

"Who?" you asked your mind growing foggy with pleasure

Shadow gave a low hum of approval "Good just what I wanted to hear."

Keeping the showerhead in place he moved one of his hands up to your chest grabbing a breast he gently massaged it bringing a moan to your lips.

your pussy clenched hoping to grab onto something but much to your dismay the water could not satisfy you, not the way that he could.

"Shadow mmm please I need smmore friction"

Shadow enjoyed the way your words slurred when you were getting pleasure, so he obliged removing the showerhead he put it back in it's place the water once again beginning to flow off the two of you.

he reached his hand around you teasing your entrance with the gentle brush of his fingers.

Of course he was teasing you now. you thought to yourself well two can play at that game.

reaching back your hand grabbed hold of his crotch his penis not quite out of it's hiding place yet just his tip poking out of his fur. which was all you needed to bring him to his knees.

swiping your thumb along the end shadow let out a yelp. you giggled as you repeated the action a low growl escaping shadow's lips.

with every small movement you made you coaxed his cock out until it sat heavy in your hand.

"still feel like teasing me love?" you asked playfully.

Shadow pressed a finger against your clit forcing a gasp to escape your lips.

"Always." he responded inserting one finger into you.

You squeezed on his cock forcing a moan to escape his lips.

"that's too bad"

you began slowly stroking his length the two of you moaning in tandem as he pressed his single digit against you he inserted his second and third finger as a plea for you to speed up which you accepted.

Shadow pressed against you walls with an urgent force it seams your actions had motivated him to please you correctly after all. you moaned as his fingers pressed against your sweet spot the pressure beginning to build up in your abdomen

you could tell Shadow was close too a whimper falling from his lips a silent request to let him cum inside you. you let go of his cock just as the tension in your abdomen broke cum mixed with the water dribbled down your leg.

before you could recover shadow turned you around and gently pushed you into the wall behind you knocking down shampoo bottles and soap in the process.

he plunged his lips into yours. His hips bucking against you begging for entrance his hand grabbing your waist promising to keep you steady you lifted you leg up wrapping it around his waist allowing a clear opening for Shadow's cock.

not wasting a second he inserted himself into you thrusting wildly against you screams escaped your throat, you hadn't had time to come down from your orgasm yet and the way Shadow was going at it was bringing you close to the edge once again.

Your fingers clawed against his back clinging to him for balance. Your actions only encouraging him to go faster once again building up the familiar tension in your core.

Your vision blurred as your mind grew foggy. your walls closing around him. fluids spilling out of your pussy as he pushed deeper and deeper into you, his cock creating a sweet pressure between your hips.

In a moment Shadow became all that you knew his cock became your lifeline with each thrust your walls grew tighter, his lips against yours was the only thing you wanted to taste for the rest of your life.

You were ready to snap once again. you called out for your lover wanting his permission.

"Go ahead my love I'm almost done."

You screamed his name as you orgasmed a few more thrusts from him and he spilled into you his cock slipped out with ease as all the fluids dripped out of you.

Shadow held you up as your knees went week too cock drunk to stand or do much of anything else. he cleaned you off and shut down the water.

he carried you to bed not bothering with putting you in your clothes. once you were tucked in he went to get you a snack and some water to help build up your strength again.

"Wait where are you going?" you whined reaching out for him.

"I'm just getting you some supplies to help you build up your strength."

"aww you always take such good care of me"

Shadow smiled at you before kissing you between your ears. "I always will"

[starkeymeow]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── rafe trying to process things, cliffhanger i fear, him seeing u conveniently bc the universe hates him

authors note ── im gna switch between past & present with these chapters so we get a build up of each process (rafe making his decision about going to lucuna but also the process of why they broke up in the past) simultaneously so NEXT CHAPTER IS ANOTHER FLASHBACK n then we’ll pick up here in ch5. if ud like to be part of the tag list, feel free to lmk thru dms, replies, anons, or reblogs !! <3

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

rafe doesn’t think. he just drives.

his truck tears down the dirt road, the engine roaring beneath him, the tires spitting up gravel and dust as he presses the gas harder, harder, like he’s trying to outrun the thoughts clawing at the inside of his skull.

his grip on the wheel is tight, fingers curling, jaw locked. his head is just a storm. questions crash into each other, his thoughts spinning so fast he can’t grab hold of a single one before it slips away, replaced by another. why? how? when? did you even hesitate? did you even think about him before you signed away every single piece of him, of you, of us? did you—

his chest is tight. the truck is going too fast. or maybe not fast enough.

rafe presses down on the gas again, speedometer needle twitching up, adrenaline surging. for a second, just a second, he wonders what would happen if he just let go. if he took his hands off the wheel and let the truck decide where to take him, let fate roll the dice. would he end up wrapped around a tree? flipped over in a ditch? would you even care? would you even know?

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, forcing the thought away. stupid. dramatic. he’s better than that. he’s rafe fucking cameron, and he doesn’t let a girl, even you, turn him into some reckless idiot.

but that’s a lie, isn’t it? because you always did.

he forces himself to slow down, foot easing off the gas, hands flexing and tightening on the wheel, exhaling through the knot in his chest. a minute later, he pulls into a gas station.

it’s muscle memory. he doesn’t even realize where he is until he steps out, the familiar ding of the old station bell ringing as a car pulls away. the air is thick and humid, the faint smell of gasoline and saltwater clinging to the breeze.

rafe doesn’t move at first. just stands there, hands braced against the truck, breathing hard, his pulse still hammering from the speed, the anger, the everything.

then he swipes his card at the pump.

the numbers on the screen blink to life as he grabs the nozzle, shoving it into the tank, pressing down until the gas flows. the steady hum fills the silence, the rhythm almost grounding.

and that’s when it really hits him.

this gas station. this fucking gas station.

he exhales sharply, staring down at the pavement like it might split open and swallow him whole.

it’s different now. no loud music blasting from your open car window, no smell of coconut sunscreen mixed with weed, no teasing smirk as you leaned against the pump, watching him with that spark in your eyes like you already knew how the two of you were gonna end up.

it’s just him.

he grips the handle tighter, knuckles going white, his other hand dragging over his face. he shouldn’t have come here.

the pump clicks off.

he stays still, slowly letting go of the handle, like now if he moves too fast, the moment might crack wide open. then, headlights cut across the pavement, the low hum of an approaching engine rolling over the quiet. a car pulls into the next pump over.

rafe doesn’t have to look. he already knows.

but he does anyway.

and there you are.

mindless, effortless. like the universe isn’t playing some sick joke on him right now. like you didn’t just wipe him from your life and go on existing like nothing ever happened.

your window’s cracked, letting the warm night air slip inside. the radio hums low, a song he almost recognizes but doesn’t. you park, put the car in park, and reach for your phone in the passenger seat. the screen lights up against your face as you check something, tapping a quick reply before you push open the door and step out.

you don’t notice him at first. why would you?

rafe watches, standing still as you move on autopilot. the way you pull your card from your back pocket, swiping it at the pump without a second thought. the way your lips move as you talk—oh. you’re on the phone.

your voice is light, casual, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known forever. you laugh, and it’s soft, like nothing in your world is out of place. like you haven’t just turned his completely upside down.

then, as if you finally feel the weight of his stare, your eyes flicker over.

just for a second.

and that’s all it is. a second. a passing glance, a polite, distant kind of recognition, like seeing a stranger at the grocery store.

but then, a smile. small. barely there. not the kind that means anything, not the kind that holds weight, but it kills him anyway.

then you look away. back to your pump, back to your phone, back to anything but him.

rafe exhales slowly, fingers pressing into his eyes like he can erase the sight of you standing there, so close but so impossibly far away.

small fucking island. of course, the two of you would end up at the same gas station at the same time. of course, it would be tonight.

he wants to say something. wants to hear your voice directed at him instead of whoever’s on the other end of that phone.

but he just watches instead.

silent, because what the fuck would he even say?

but you look . . . happy. the realization cuts deeper than anything else. because even if you don’t know him anymore, even if every piece of him has been stripped from your mind, something in you is still light, still soft, still unburdened.

and who is rafe to disturb that peace?

his stomach turns, his ears ring, his chest aches.

he remembers that smile. remembers it pressed against his skin, against his lips, felt between kisses and whispered promises. he remembers how it used to be his.

now it’s just a ghost.

the pump clicks off on your side, and you move without hesitation, tucking your phone into your pocket and grabbing the receipt before getting back into your car.

still, you don’t look at him, not when you start the engine, not when your headlights sweep over him as you pull away, not even when you turn onto the road and disappear into the dark.

rafe is still standing there long after you’re gone. he swallows hard, forces himself to move, slow and mechanical, placing the pump back on the rack before climbing into his truck.

the engine roars to life, but he doesn’t drive off right away. instead, he sits there, staring at the spot where your car was just parked. his head falls back against the headrest, and he lets out a breath that shakes on the way out.

he should go home. and eventually, he drives.

the roads blur under his tires, the world moving past him without sticking, without sinking in. the drive back home is muscle memory too, turns he barely thinks about, stop signs he doesn’t register.

when he pulls into the driveway, the house is exactly how he left it. quiet. still. like nothing happened at all.

the door slams harder than he means for it to. the wind picks up, stirring the trees, rustling the leaves against the pavement as he makes his way up the front steps. every movement feels mechanical, every step dragging like he’s walking through water.

ward is already there, standing in the foyer like he was waiting for this exact moment. he watches rafe carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in the way his arms are crossed, the way his weight shifts slightly. it’s hesitation, maybe.

“where’d you go, bud?” his dads voice is low, but it carries, the casual tone sharp with concern, like he’s trying to get through to him in the way he always has.

rafe doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t look at his father. the words come out like they’re forced, halfhearted, still thick with the tension gnawing at his chest.

“nowhere.” he shrugs it off, his hands digging into his pockets. he can feel the weight of his eyes on his back as he walks toward the staircase, but he refuses to turn around. refuses to let ward see whatever the hell he’s feeling.

he hears ward shift behind him, a grunt of acknowledgment, but the silence that follows feels too loud.

his shoes creak on the stairs as he begins to ascend, each step dragging him further from his dad, further from the weight of the house. it’s the quiet that gets to him.

rafe feels it deep in his chest, gnawing, pressing against him from the inside. this all feels wrong. like he doesn’t know who he is anymore. like everything has changed and all he’s left with is this hollow feeling and the question of whether it’s all worth it.

he takes another step. everything is crashing in again. those little moments with you. the way you used to smile at him. the way he thought he could hold onto you forever, not knowing how badly things would get so fucked up.

his feet come to a sudden halt on the next step, his hand bracing the railing as he stares at the wall in front of him, his head spinning.

there’s no going back now, is there?

the words come out before he can even think, slipping from his mouth like a desperate plea for something, anything, to pull him from the dark hole threatening to swallow him whole,

“what was the name of that company again?”

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

○Chemical Burn●

○Chemical Pregnancy●

Master list has all warnings. 18+

38 weeks and 3 days ago...|

“Sweetie, keep your mask on love.” Your mother chides as she fixes your gas mask to your face again. “You've got so many little trinkets on this thing, it may as well be a fashion accessory!” The wagon rocked you both back and forth as your horses Fairy and Dune pulled you along the deserted road. The world is quiet except for the bird song that echoes in the early morning.

You grumble and tighten your grip on the reins, “It gets hot under all of these clothes, mom. Have a little mercy on me.”

“I know you hate it. But it is what it is.” She nudges you in the side, “Take us off to the side of the road. We can set up shop here for when the city opens up.”

The road that leads into the city isn't exactly empty. Lots of people traveling in the dry heat that shouldn't exist in England. Once upon a time, your mother explained how different the world was. It was not peaceful so to say but it wasn't always like this. Most of the ground is fallow, cities fallen and replaced with settlements, where humans roam there is only dust and highways. A horrendous war with irreversible consequences that left no one, no matter the economic status, safe.

The wagon gets pulled into the brush, just off the side of the main road. Your mother hops off her seat, pats Fairy on the side and adjusts her gas mask. The horse has a habit of trying to shake her mask free, and she neighs and grunts her displeasure. “I know Fairy, but it isn't safe to breathe the air out here and I can't have you and Dune eating the grass. It's not treated.”

You hop off the wagon seat and start setting up, “Why are we even out this way anyhow?” you hate leaving the Pink House and you hate having to be covered head to toe. Just like your horse Fairy, you hate wearing a gas mask.

The curtain to the wagon gets pulled back to expose the micro living area, a table pulled out and set up. You and your mother sell charms and spells, and faith. She's been a spiritualist since before you were born and during these times and days, she's always in high demand. Plenty of candles and strings, crystals, cents, oils and other little talismans. All of them lovingly crafted by you and everyone else that lives at the Pink House, and blessed by your mother and her sisters.

“We came out this way because your cousin got word that there's gonna be a baby boom and plenty of packs would want good luck charms and prayers.”

“No offense.” You huff as you drag out the stools and set them at the table, “This far out west people don't tend to like or care for religion. Dad said so himself.”

“He is an ex-catholic. His opinion doesn't count.” She laughs. The wind decides to give you all a nice cool breeze as the sun climbs higher to its zenith. Your envy of your mother is palpable, she isn't wearing layers upon layers of clothing. Her designation allows her to get away with thin dresses and a head covering. Her gas mask is one of the old school ones, a nozzle and two large glass covered eye holes. From a distance she doesn't look like much, but she is an alpha. Strong, quick reflexes from her years in the army, but when the world fell apart she took her pack and ran for the hills. Now she is a spiritualist, called to practice in the new world and ground herself with the Earth again.

You however, are covered in head to toe cloth. It covers your hair, and flows down your body, making you shapeless to others, and your hands and wrists are then covered with gloves. The color is boring and unassuming black, your pastel gas mask stands out brightly against it. It's breathable, but you hate it, the dress doesn't compare to what you wear at the Pink House. It wasn't your brightly colored shirts and wrap dresses and skirts, at the Pink House you could run through the fields barefoot. The tinkling of the bells sewn into the fabric of your veil and the way that gas masks were not needed, because fresh air was plentiful. At the Pink House, designation didn't matter and people like you could exist in peace.

Outside though? With the savages? And that's what your father calls them, savages still clinging to how things used to be, it wasn't safe. Betas are rare and omegas are a commodity. Fresh life is a privilege bought by the few and everyone else toils and slaves for a meager existence.

Your mother sets up the sign, ‘Pink House Prayers and Charms.’ it reads in a large fancy script. Under it in smaller print, ‘Herbal Care and Fresh Tonics.’

A large siren horn blares, long and obnoxiously loud, disturbing the peace, it's now 9am and the city is open. Paradise, from what you've heard used to be some large city metropolis. A cement wall as high as the sky built around it sits in the distance. It keeps out the undesired and keeps in the healthy. The horn scatters the birds and their songs, flocks of them springing up flying away. In your gut, as you watch the black birds flee the noise you become unsettled.

“Mom?” You watch the birds circle and caw and it competes with the sirens, “the birds.”

“It's fine, sweetie.” She brings out of the wagon an old bluetooth speaker and a cracked tablet. “The sirens mean for the day to start. People can leave the city but they gotta be back by final call.” She sets up the music and some old timey music starts to play. A song called ‘Shake it out’ by some machine lady.

You preferred your father's more upbeat music, but your mom's was nice too.

It's 9:45a on the dot when the first customers arrive. All morning you've watched people travel out to the work fields and factories. But now you are getting customers. Omegas with a gaggle of children, following after them. All of them wanted cute little knick knacks and hand made toys. Some of them want a card reading, others candles and oils and florida water. You're kept busy as you make the trades. The business doesn't run off of the currency of the settlements alone, it's accepted, but mostly your mother wants glass bottles and jars, and other things not available at the Pink House.

“Excuse me ma'am.” A young woman with tan skin and freckles, bright brown eyes approaches your table. She fiddles with her gas mask, eyes shifting around, her hand goes up to tug at her hoodie and tug it more over her head. “Uhm, I'm looking for a medicine to stop my nausea.” She has to be around the same age as you. Her voice is rough, probably from crying, she shifts and ends up hugging herself. “I'm sorry, but I only have a few glass milk bottles and a few cents.” She sounds on the verge of desperation.

Your mother eyes her and then leans around to glance at the rest of the customers who are waiting and chatting, or milling about gossiping. The children who came out, play tag and slowly but surely the side of the road is turning into a gathering. “Sweetie, can you man the table?”

“I can mom.”

“Got your own cards in case you get asked for a reading?” She stands up and motions for the woman to follow her into the wagon.

“Yeah mom,” you lean back and sigh, “I have my clover cards.”

“Don't sass me.” And then she disappears into the wagon with the nervous woman, the heavy curtain falling shut behind them both.

You're cheeky once she leaves, “Don't sass me.” The next customer comes up and asks for a few colored candles and a small vial of oil. The minutes crawl by with you running the stand.

“Next customer!” You call out and the sun gets blocked out by a shadow. The stretch in your neck is a bit uncomfortable when you crane it back to get a better look at the person. They are big, wide and imposing. Their presence blots out the chatter and merriment all around the wagon and table. His gas mask has a painted skull over it, and he is covered in head to toe black as well. Slung around his body is a gun, he wears a bulky vest that only has the numbers 141 stitched to it. His right hand holds the handle to a dog harness, and the dog wears a matching themed gas mask as well. He doesn't speak. You can't even see his eyes through the tint of his mask.

“Hello!” A second man seems to materialize out of thin air. He's bright and sunny, and the grin can be heard in his voice. “Ye gotta permit?” You can see most of his face and head, his mask only covers the bottom half of his face. Blue eyes as clear as the sky above you and a mohawk that's a bit grown out but shaved down neatly on the sides.

A quick glance back at the curtain and it's still closed up tight. The blue-eyed man taps the table, it's not impatient but it does come across threatening. He looks down at the trinkets and table set up and hums.

“Look lieutenant. Haven't seen things in a while. What is this?” He picks up a small vial of liquid and reads the placement card, “claims to help get yer cock up and keep it up. Something you don't need.” He laughs.

You square your shoulders and stand, “Please do not touch without planning to buy.”

“Permit.” Is the only thing the lieutenant says.

The permit is inside, where your mother is very likely doing something that could get you both killed. “Mom!” You call and the curtain opens a bit and she steps out, closing it back up behind her.

“Asking for a permit?” She doesn't cower at their size despite their towering and suppressing appearance. The permit gets produced, “It's up to date as needed from the capital.”

The cheery man takes the paper and looks it over, “Smart woman, classifying ya business as religious services. No tax needed.”

The dog on the harness growls loudly at your mother. Barking and trying to lunge at her, the loud sudden noises spook the horses. She doesn't move and instead raises her chin towards the main road, “You've checked my permit, you should get going.”

“Just close up shop at the final siren.” Mohawk hands back the permit. He moves to leave but the skull man doesn't budge, he is facing the wagon.

“There anybody in the wagon?” He speaks again.

“No.” Your mother tells him. “You're disrupting my business, move on please.”

The tension is thick between the three of them, the dog growing louder.

“Soap come on.” Skull gives in and turns to leave.

“Right behind ya!”

Once they are both back to their jeep and gone from the side of the road, life is breathed back into gathering. The curtain opens a moment later and the young woman pokes her head out. She's shivering.

“Are they gone?” Her voice is raw with tears.

Your mom doesn't console her, “Yeah, get back to where you need to be before they come back looking for you.”

You watch in pity as the woman thanks your mother and leaves. The woman hurries on back to the city.

“Alphas like that Sweetie.” Your mom murmurs, “You stay far away from them. I know their kind and they are not right in the head if they work for any city.”

“What ya mean mom?” You tilt your head at her.

“The last war ruined them. I'm just glad I deserted before then.” Is the only thing she says.

38 weeks and 3 days later...|

The screaming was unbearable in their townhouse. Simon couldn't stand hearing any of his mates in pain and the worst part is, he couldn't do anything about it. The acrid scent of fear and burnt sugar filled the house. Two betas rushed up and down the basement steps ferrying hot water, a luxury, to their laboring omega. It's been a risky pregnancy the entire time.

John stands by the door to the basement, he doesn't look concerned. Their alpha never is, he doesn't show fear and in turn Simon doesn't either. He trusts his judgment, always has and always will. Johnny paces back and forth trying to keep himself from going down the steps. The only one downstairs is Kyle, and it's only because he has the most medical training out of all of them, even if it was hastily done in the waning years before the end.

Panic rises in the air, and the screams stop altogether, but the beta midwife is still barking out orders. An uncharacteristic wail comes from Kyle, the words ‘Save her!’ is heard over the chaos. He is effectively kicked out of the basement.

“Is our lass gonna be okay?” Johnny whimpers, there's already tears in his eyes.

“No.” Kyle does not say anything else as he stares at the door.

Simon feels sick to his stomach. Their omega is dying and there isn't much they can do about it. It's been happening a lot this breeding cycle. Omegas dying in childbirth, pups coming too early and barely making it, the undertakers making money hand over fist. The new bonding program is supposed to work. It's supposed to be foolproof to build up the numbers of a healthy population. Plenty of different measures were taken to increase the beta and omega population. Medicines to force bonds in place, to make less than reluctant omegas and betas to bond with packs of alphas if they aren't willing. It's for the good of humanity and everyone has to do it.

The midwife comes up the stairs, she's holding a crying pup in her arms. It's wrapped tightly in the soft yellow blanket that John had bought. It matches the color scheme of soft greens and soft blues of the nursery on the fourth floor of the house, far away from any doors. The midwife looks sad, her smock covered in blood. “Captain Price, he's a healthy baby boy. Baby will more than likely be an alpha when they mature, and doesn't have the right parts to birth children. Looks male presenting through and through.”

John doesn't move an inch and just stares at the door to the basement. It's Johnny who moves to take the baby and coddles it quiet. There is sniffling but Simon can't tell who it's from, could be from Johnny or Kyle. The omega they worked hard to get and love died in childbirth. A cruel fate to have death and life at the same door.

“Would you like for me to call the undertaker?” The midwife asks.

“No. We take care of our own. Simon pay her and her assistants and see them out.” John gives the order and Simon moves to get it done.

Once the midwife and her assistants are paid and gone, Simon comes back and he can finally take off his balaclava. “What's the plan Captain?” He asks.

“We get down to the market, you and me, stock up on milk and glass bottles. After we get him settled” he nods over to Johnny, whose face is wet with tears, “We'll figure out who takes jobs and when. Maybe Kate will help us out. Her mate just had another pup.” John glances back to the door and mumbles something about cremation and having to deep clean the basement.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Who's that girl? 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you neighbour is too helpful, and too nosy, for your liking, but he’s not your only problem.

Characters: Tommy Miller, Joel Miller

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Birds are nice to watch but they don't care where they shit. You spray your car with the hose, one hand on your hip as you aim the nozzle. The sun blazes down as you wash away the droppings. You glance up at the tree branch that extends from your neighbour's yard over yours.

"Gonna have streaks if you don't put a proper polish on," a voice drawls behind you.

You turn to face the speaker. Your face is already twisted from the glare of the sun. He probably can't see your disappointment. It's Tommy's brother.

"Doesn't bother me," you shrug.

"It's a nice car. '76?" He wonders.

You look back at the car. "72."

He whistles, "vintage. You got good taste."

"Didn't pick it. Was in the will." You sniff.

"Oh, sorry for your loss," he says.

You shrug again. "Happens."

"I can really tell you're broken up about it." He says.

You glance over at Tommy's house. He needs to come get his company. This isn't open invitation. For a moment, you think of turning the hose on him.

"Joel," Tommy's voice comes on cue as he appears in the open door of his garage. "What'd I'd say about bugging my neighbours?"

"Take your own advice," Joel retorts as he steps away from you. You're relieved. You release the nozzle and follow the length of the hose as you wrap it up.

"Howdy, neighbour," Tommy waves as you get to the edge of the house. You glance at him. "Hey, so, I wanted to ask--"

"Tommy, didn't you just say--"

"Shhh," Tommy hushes the other man. "I wanted to see if you were up for some steak and beer tonight. We're having a get-together and I figure, we'll be making some noise. You may as well come over and enjoy the fun."

You blink. You look between them.

"You'll probably know a few people. Just from around the neighbourhood."

You stare. You want to say no. You should. Yet, you don't exactly need to salt the earth here. You live here. You gotta put up with your neighbours.

"Maybe," you say.

"Wow, Tommy, she's excited about it." You look at Joel. He winces. "I'll be around, if that piques your interest."

Your dull gaze has his eyebrows raised. You sigh.

"I got work to do."

"Need any help with it? Some strong hand?" Tommy offers with a grin.

"I'm stronger," Joel intones.

You shake your head.

"I work better alone."

"Gotta love an independent lady," Tommy winks. You look down at the hose.

"Jesus, Tom, get inside. She'll spray you down in a minute," Joel scoffs. "Hey," he shows his palm, "have a good one. Oh, and see ya later?"

You don't answer. You wind up the rest of the hose and shut off the flow. You go inside and close the door with a snap. You should have said no. You're not a social butterfly and the last barbecue you went to, one of those bubbly blondes started crying at you.

You work at filling what space is left in the dish washer and toss a load into the laundry. You wile away your time trying to figure out the combination for the lock box your dad left behind. You still haven't got it.

The hours shift with the daylight outside the window. You hear voices. You sigh. You said maybe. Not for sure. You still don't know why you did.

You get up. You think of your dad. He told you before he passed not to do what he did. Don't lock yourself away, kid. He never took his own advice.

You go into the dining room. You take a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. You carry it to the front door and put on your sneakers.

You peek out the front window. There's people. You'll be able to slip in without a big deal.

You go out and cross the lawn. You recognise a familiar head of bleached spikes. You catch up to Jensen. He's the only person around who doesn't make you snarl.

"Sup, J?" You ask.

He flinches as he looks over at you.

"Oh, hey. You're coming to this thing?" He says.

"Sure, I guess."

"Cool. Be nice to have someone who doesn't judge me around."

"I judge you, J. I judge everyone," you say flatly.

He furrows his brow and grins nervously, "ha... you're... funny."

You follow him through the gate. You look around and see a table set out with cups and a cooler next to it. You put the bottle on top as Jensen keeps to the edge of the yard. You'll probably go hide with him.

"Oh, what's this?" Tommy blocks you from fleeing.

You look at the bottle. "Whiskey."

"For me?"

"It's courtesy."

"Sure. Looks like good stuff." He picks up the bottle. "You want a glass?"

"Okay."

"Mixer? Got orange soda, coke, ginger ale."

"Straight's fine," you say.

"Straight?" He squints at the label. "You sure."

"Just a little," you look around. One drink and you can go.

He pops the cork free and pours you a glass, neat. He hands it to you and you give it a sniff. He pours one for himself. He puts the bottle down and sips. You swig the whole mouthful.

"Jeez," he coughs and covers his mouth with his hand. "Holy moly."

You put the glass on the table. "It's good."

"Sure. Strong," he comments.

"Oh, shots?" Joel appears behind the table and scoops up the bottle. You huff. You just want to excuse yourself and disappear.

"Careful, it's gun powder in liquid form," Tommy smells the liquor and chokes.

Joel scoffs and takes a glass. He pours and tosses back the whole thing. He blinks but swallows it all.

"Not kidding," he growls. "Well, I'm glad you came." Joel looks at you. "Thought you could help with the grill since Tommy's on hosting duty."

"She's a guest," Tommy says.

"She seems like a real party starter. So how about it? Come hide behind the barbecue with me before the place gets to crowded?"

You peer around and weigh your options. If you leave before the food is ready, that doesn't really count. You shrug.

"Sure."

"Great," he says. "Come on."

He struts away and you follow at a pace. You feel Tommy watching you as you pass. You drag your feet and look at the clouds. I'm trying, dad. Happy? He never was.

[softgal47]

Gosh it’s been a while since I posted something cheeky with feedism undertones

(This was totally inspired by a couple of custard cream videos I’ve seen floating around here which I think are the HOTTEST thing ever)

Enjoy you kinky fkers xx <33

My lips quivered excitedly as I waited on the couch, looking up at him intermittently, wondering what he had planned. “Baby I’m so full from dinner! Whatever you’re about to try and give me, there’s no wayyy I can fit it in”.

He met my eyes with nothing but a smirk. “Oh but you’ll love what we’re about to get up to”. It was my turn to smirk “is that right?”. I turn around, diverting my focus to the tv for a moment, laying down on the couch, noticing how I’m starting to sink into the soft cushions a little easier than before. I groan and unbutton my pants “ugh, muchhh better” i mutter to myself as I trace the angry red lines my jeans made on my tummy. “Babe?” I hear a voice from behind me. I turn around, my eyes instantly widening when I see what’s in his hands. “Is that a piping bag?” I question. He laughs, nodding his head. “Remember when we were at that bakery last weekend and you told me that you could probably suck down that custard cream icing on that pastry straight out of a piping bag?” I giggle sheepishly as the memory floods my mind, so vivid I could almost taste it. “ I do” i say quietly. Without another word, he signals for me to get up so he can sit behind me, i sit back down, my back pressed up against his toned middle, a big jump from my rounded out tummy. “Are your ready?” I don’t even get to nod before I feel the cool tip of the icing nozzle enter my mouth, followed by a steady flow of the most decadent, creamy goodness you can imagine. Instinctively, I begin moaning, gulping, losing my mind while I suck it down. Behind me, I can tell he’s enjoying this. From the bulge in his pants, to the way he has my tummy gripped, I can tell this is a mutual turn on. I gulp down a couple more mouthfuls before he pulls the nozzle away “more” i pant. “Greedy little thing aren’t you” he teases. I whine in response, moving his hand to my belly button, encouraging a playful poke. “No please more im such a good little pig for you”. I remark. I cant even see him, but I can imagine the look of satisfaction all over his face. “Oh I’m going to make you so fat” he teases, once again placing the nozzle on my tongue, stuck out of my mouth as if to say “please I need it” once more in a visual cue. I start to suck more down, squirming in his lap as my tummy begins to feel tight and heavy. I can feel the bottom of my tummy begin to touch the bed, so full and plump with cream. It’s just enough that I can wobble forward and put a bit of friction between me and the mattress. I moan, rocking back and forth through intermittent sighs and gulps. Finally, I’ve sucked it all down. “Urrghhhh” i remark, falling back into his arms. My tummy is so tight you can even see it rise and fall slowly when I breathe, everything feels laboured. He begins to rub slow, soft circles on my tummy while I whimper incoherently about how he’s turned me into such a dumb feeding heifer. Fuck it feels good.