pganotgolf

[zaftigpink]

If you can't lick 'em, join 'em.

[brimleysbears]

[ww1postcards]

[tobacconist]

so so sad that this shop has moved premises now because before when people asked where (esteemed tavern) was you could direct them to 'pop down the alley behind your nuts'

[frimleyblogger]

Postcard Smut

The assault on saucy seaside postcards, spearheaded by the Director of Public Prosecutions and implemented by the police, began in earnest in the early 1950s. In Blackpool, acting upon information received, a plain clothes officer would visit a shop, pick up the offending postcard, ask the shopkeeper whether they would sell it to their daughter, invariably receiving the response “No”, and then a…

[arcielee]

You got all I need.

Summary: Your boyfriend goes all out for your birthday. Paring: chubby!Aegon x you Word Count: 1570 Warnings: Chubby!Aegon, brief mentions of wg, implied sexual situations, hands hands hands, fingering, inappropriate behavior while riding in a vehicle. Author's Note: Thank you to @bucknastysbabe for being my beta reader for this! Happy birthday to @lovelykhaleesiii 💜 This story was inspired by the line, “There's more of you to love.” in her brilliant one-shot A Little Too Tight... Also, for the foreseeable future, every title will be a lyric from Unreal Unearth.💜 Banners & dividers by @cafekitsune

You had always loved his hand; you loved his strong hold and how his thick fingers interlaced with your own, pulling you into the back of the Uber with enough force for you to fall against his chest. Aegon was solid with the welcoming scent of vanilla and cognac cologne that still held to his skin despite the busy day, with a warmth that you could just melt against. 

The entire day had been his idea. 

Aegon was adamant to take you away to celebrate your birthday. He booked a room at one of the many luxury hotels owned by the Targaryen dynasty, a suite with a postcard view of the blue-green waters of The Gullet. The day began with brunch, which you knew to be his favorite meal, and afterwards his large hand enveloped your own, your fingers knitting in a way that would still sweep away your heart, a grinning fool and walking alongside him on the boardwalk until you were both rosy from the sun.  

There was a reprieve back in the room, an afternoon delight that left you both breathless and wanting more, insatiable for him still after all this time, but Aegon seemed determined to make the dinner reservation. He had purchased you a dress, something that complemented your figure in a way that made his pupils swallow the lovely lilac of his eyes when he looked you over; you burned from his gaze, also admiring the fit of his buttoned up shirt and slacks on his thicker frame. 

He pulled you in for a chaste kiss, a saucy confirmation that you were wearing the lace set underneath. When you nodded, he kissed you again with a murmured, “Good girl,” and Aegon, ever the gentleman, offered you his elbow. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

You giggled, you hand tucking into the crook of his arm, and he escorted you out to the awaiting Uber. Night was settling over Driftmark and the man made lights began to glow for the nightlife, with the sea rolling a cool breeze from its coastline. 

The restaurant he had chosen had a renowned drag show and you were enthralled with the floorshow; your cheeks pink from the sun, from your strawberry mojitos, from singing along to the pop songs performed and marveling at the swell of colors of elaborate costumes. Aegon made sure to have cash in hand to tip the ladies, and they flocked towards him, vocally swooning over your “big man.” 

“Honey,” one popped her painted lips into the microphone, the shimmer of glitter across her cheekbones, “he is thicker than a Snickers!” And the other queens crowed in agreement. 

Aegon blushed from the attention, a mixture of flattery and the fleeting glimmer of self-consciousness that also tainted his handsome features.

You two were sweethearts since uni; Aegon had enrolled with his family connections partnered with a rugby scholarship, which suited his broad shoulders and defined chest, and you were a hapless student among the masses of school spirit whenever your academic schedule allowed. 

You had always noticed him, as he was impossible to miss with his strong jawline and his silver hair knotted at the base of his neck, how his eyes glittered with his roguish smile. It was one night during a celebratory party of another victory that you allowed your liquored courage to ask for his phone and save your number under the name: prettiest pussy.  

This, of course, was something you did not recall until he texted you the next morning, along with a screenshot to accompany his claim. You burned with embarrassment, swearing off cheap tequila forever, but he had been sweet and asked to take you out on a date. 

And this is how you learned that brunch was his favorite. 

You two became inseparable even after he graduated, and with you following two years later. It had been easy to fall in love with Aegon and his big heart, and he was all-consumed by you, but as the years continued there was a newfound insecurity that flared in a way that you loathed. 

No longer an undergraduate, rugby was not a massive part of his day-to-day life, and there was a softness to his center; in truth, you loved him as you watched him clean his plate of French toast with sliced bananas and walnuts, drenched in syrup, and you loved him now, if not even more. There was a comfort to his embrace, something that allowed you to melt against him with a sultry whisper in his ear, “There is just more of you for me to love,” and it would dispel any hesitation he felt. 

But tonight you saw it lingered still. 

Now you were cuddled up against Aegon in the backseat of the SUV, listening to the soft curses from your Uber driver dealing with the standstill traffic. You did not mind it though, enjoying the cool air from the windows rolled down and your head resting on his chest, your leg draped over his thick thigh. Your hand was on his belly with the slow motion to rub away the meal and he groaned, trying to shy away from your touch. 

“Stop it,” you moved to whisper in his ear, smiling as you watch his skin prickle with your words. “Everyone wanted you tonight, but I am the lucky one who gets to take you back to bed.” 

The blue glow of the dashboard showed how his lips curled. “Is that so?” He asked, his arm curling around your waist and pulling you closer. 

Your eyes were heavy, dropping to see the inviting bulge between his thighs, a warmth curling in your lower abdomen. “It is,” and you held his own hooded gaze, watching his cheeks darken with the flush of red. Your hand moved to touch his jaw and you leaned to kiss him. 

Aegon responded to you, a sweet sigh, and his clever tongue curling against your own, the leftover taste of the strawberry mojitos that stained your lips. His kiss was fearsome, drawing the very breath from your lungs and leaving you lightheaded, giggling against his lips. 

You sighed again at his touch to your thigh, his palms still rough from rugby, still gentle as always, dipping between your legs. His kiss swallowed your soft gasp when you felt the pads of his finger pressing against the damp patch of the lace underwear. 

“Fuck, is this for me?” His voice was husky, heavy with want, and he encircled your clothed cunt slowly, the sensation curling at the base of your spine.

You nod quickly and he shifts his weight, pulling you closer, his hot mouth pressing a kiss to the soft divot beneath your ear. You shuddered in response, biting your bottom lip between your teeth, a pitiful attempt to smother a moan.

He was quick to playfully pinch your hip with his other hand. “We cannot disturb the driver, pretty girl,” his breath tickling the curve of your neck. “Can you be quiet for me while I play with your pretty pussy?”  

Your eyes are glassy and you nod again; Aegon gives a cheeky grin before capturing your lips for another kiss, a whispered, “Good girl,” that fans your jawline as you feel his fingers pulling aside the lace. 

There is another wave of arousal with how his fingers ghost your entrance, your body desperate for him, for his touch, and his smile remains, but now smug. It is a stretch with one digit, but he pushed for two, their tandem motion curling against that sweet spot within you that allows stars to dance across your vision. 

You bury your face into the soft curve of his neck, your teeth sinking into his flesh and sucking to muffle your cry. Aegon groaned, low, a rumbled vibration through his chest that you are flushed against, but it does not stop the come hither motion of his fingers. 

His wrist angles to allow his thumb to press against the bundle of nerves above, his familiar touch to your clit and your involuntary clench. “Aegon,” you whined softly against his skin, your hips rutting in response. 

He does not answer you but kisses you again, something desperate, as if he is trying to draw the release deep within. His lips pulled you to the precipice, the flutter of your walls around his thick fingers that are coated with your juices, an electricity that trills your spine. 

Aegon pulled you closer, his breathless command, “Come for me,” and it spilled from you like a torrent, sweeping away your breath with your heart pounding its fury to break through your ribs, a pleasure thrumming beneath your skin.  

“We’re here,” a voice chirped, and only then did you remember the Uber. 

Aegon had not forgotten, his smug satisfaction still splayed on his features as he sucked his fingers clean. “Good timing,” and his other hand unwrapped from your waist, moving to open the car door. “Come on, pretty girl, let’s get you to bed.” 

The implication of his tone is not lost on you and the blood remains bold in your cheeks, a shade of crimson as you try your best to discreetly fix your lace underwear and follow after him, moving with a new slick between your trembling thighs. 

You reach to take his hand and it wraps around your own, a perfect fit as always.

arcie's masterlist

[carlsample8]

Florida postcard saucy 1950 1960s Bettie Page pin-up

Bunny Yeager photo (w/ a superimposed alligator) that was used on Florida themed postcards. These used to be available at "Gator World" in Florida, just across the Georgia State line during the 1970s.

[nebris]

"saucy British seaside postcard"

[hgdawn]

Just some rad lad (from a series of 'saucy' postcards I made)

[zaftigpink]

[brimleysbears]

[ww1postcards]

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Seventeen: Irving 

Okay so first of all, I cannot get over how much this chapter goes out of its way to tell us that Irving is an absolute fuck-machine and how much he thinks he’s in love with Silna. We get paragraph after paragraph about his various saucy encounters including his first with a “clean and pleasant dockside whore names Mol” whose services are paid for by his uncle. Wild stuff. 

He was also planning on more or less abandoning his fiancée (And possible child! - ”The consolation grew to interesting heights - Lieutenant Irving knew that he might well be a father by now, two and a half years after the consoling.”)��Apparently Book-Irving was thinking about quitting the Navy altogether and going into business in Shanghai. Wee shitebag!

All that filth pales in comparison to the highlight of this chapter though - Irving catching Hickey and Manson in flagrante down in the hold! Huzzah! There’s so much to love about this encounter!  - I love that Manson’s first instinct is to advance ominously toward Irving, possibly even meaning to do real harm to him, and it’s Hickey that tells him no.  - I love that Hickey comes up with the most pathetically hilarious lie too - “...begging your pardon, sir, Mr Diggle sent us down for some flour, sir. One of them damn rats rushed up Seaman Manson’s trouser leg, sir, and we was trying to set it right. Filthy buggers, them rats.” Outstanding! - I love the description of Hickey that follows too - “The words were a challenge and a defiance. Almost a command. Insolence came off the little man in waves...” - And lastly, I love that the first thing Irving says aloud after Hickey and Manson scarper and he’s trying to decide whether to report them or not is “Oh, bugger me...”

As the chapter ends, he finds Silna, who he’s down there looking for in the first place. She happens to be naked and chomping away on some nice fresh meat, just minding her own business. Irving’s so taken aback that he simply says “I’m terribly sorry, madam”, doffs his cap at her, and runs away. How does this man manage to be a world-renowned fuck-machine and a confused little virgin at the same time? Answers on a postcard please!

[frimleyblogger]

Saucy Seaside Postcards

On July 15, 1954 a seventy-nine-year old man found himself in front of the magistrates court in Lincoln charged with breaking the Obscene Publications Act (1857). How he got there sheds a fascinating light on British culture and moral attitudes. In an age of instant communication and oversharing, it is easy to forget that sending a postcard to friends and relatives was de rigueur for…

[ruins-and-rewritez]

DAY 7: LEAVES: Helnik

They take walks sometimes. Languid, lazy things. Just a few moments to appreciate how peaceful life can be when you're not faced with a constant war that you can't escape. Other times are swift, jostling things. At the markets and shops. Learning the unseen, unknown nooks and crannies of a new place. Exploring whatever there is to be offered.

Matthias prefers the ones where they're off the beaten path, not surrounded by people and all the noise that they create. He likes the peace and quiet, or more specifically, he likes having Nina all to himself (not in a serial killer sort of way). He likes the reassurance that no one is about to take her away from him or that any moment they could enter some forbbiden territory and have to revert to fighting for their lives, there's been enough of that.

Nina walks beside him, humming a soothing melody that's tinged in childhood, he'll remember to ask her later, unwilling as he is to disturb the moment.

Sunlight flits through the leaves above them, sending rainbow of colors cascading around. Oranges, reds, and greens. This autumn is as picturesque as a scene on a postcard, with its cool breezes, bountiful harvest and bright warm colors.

It's so much more preferable over Fjerda's early snows and Kerch's unrelenting rain showers. Perhaps they return again for it next year, if not for another visit but to avoid the unsavory alternatives.

"We should head back soon, before it gets too late."

Matthias murmurs his assent, wondering if he can discover away to put a lock on time so he can relax like this a little longer. But returning before dusk is probably for the better seeing as how they aren't exactly prepared to face a night in the forest (he has a rifle of course, and Nina, but that's more for if they accidently run into a bear)

He threads their fingers together as they turn around, a gesture that seems less forward here in Ravka and is practically a handshake in Kerch. He's sure that someday he'll grow used to being so open with his affections in a way that's so blatantly obvious.

Nina rambles about her hopes for dinner, insisting the Zoya better pull out all the stops after they travelled all the way here just to see her. How it doesn't matter if she's queen or not she should be a good host for her best friend and use those royal coffers to have something tasty.

"But mostly I'll be happy as long as it's not that crap we had to eat at the Little Palace."

Matthias smiles. Even back then Nina believed that if they were being forced to serve in the country's armed forces they might as well have splurged a little on food so that their soldiers good have a decent meal before being sent to the slaughter.

Traveling around, tasting all the different dishes that were offered had only proved to her that every second spent eating should be a second worth enjoying.

"I'm sure it will be as delicious as last night."

Nina smiles, a dazzling thing, "one can hope."

Matthias is resigning himself to the fact that diner is bound to be another boisterous affair (between Nikolai and Nina there's alot to deal with), when they reach the gate.

"Matty, look."

He's not sure what he's looking at until Nina points enthusiastically to a shaded area next to the gate post.

Someone, a castle servant, has raked up all the leaves near the castle's lower walls and piled them under an oak.

"Let's go," and then she's pulling him, yanking on his arm, to the tree, before he has the chance to even ask what's so exciting.

At the trunk she let's go and starts climbing when the realization of what she's planning to do, finally, dawns him.

"Nina. No."

She grins down at him, "Matty, come on, have some fun for once."

Before he can protest anymore, she gives him a saucy little wave from the lower branches, and leaps down.

Leaves explode from the pile, a brilliant burst of color flying into the air, one of them landing in his hair, another skimming his cheek.

And then Nina. Sitting in the middle of the chaos, laughing like a child. Her face lifted to the sky watching the way they float down like feather. Crowning her head like she's the queen of the forest. She's always been so beautiful.

He knows for certain then. The thing that his heart has always known. The thing that his brain need a while to catch up to. That for her, whether it's off a cliff or into a pile a leaves, he'd take the plunge. (Like he hasn't fallen already)