#feedback welcome

[dockett]

Asking Nicely II Joel Miller x Reader

Joel's jealousy burns within him, brighter than he thought it would. But you're a tough gal, you can hold your own.

Warning: implied age gap, unwelcome advances, brief depiction of violence, explicit content, fingering f!receiving, p in v, unprotected sex. 18+ only, minors DNI!

Word count: 3k

You were a bright and shining light in the darkness of a broken world, and whether Joel would admit it or not, it made him incredibly nervous. He enjoyed you, more than he wanted to say, especially to himself. He was worried that if he confessed his feelings to himself or to you, that you'd leave, or something terrible would happen. So he kept quiet, and would watch you from a distance, thinking about the way you'd fit against him in all the right ways.

He was at the bar in Jackson well past sundown. He had come to see you. You were playing that night; Tommy had asked you to. So you sat in the corner of the bar, strumming the guitar and singing as everyone quieted to listen.

Joel vaguely recognized the tune, something slow and mellow that had couples swaying together around the tables. You sang beautifully. You played beautifully. He basked in what felt like normalcy and stayed until you were done several songs later. He watched you smile as the people in the bar clapped for you.

You set the guitar in the stand, and walked up to the bar, and Joel finished his whiskey. The bartender announced last call but he stayed seated. He watched as Ben, a man about your age, sidled up next to you and began talking to you. Joel could see you beam at him, and something stirred within him.

He kept his face carefully composed. He watched you shake your head, and then look around desperately. He felt it was a call for help. He stood as people began to leave, walking with intention in every step towards you.

“C’mon,” Ben was saying. “You said it yourself, you're not doing anything tonight. Come on over.”

“Ben, I'm flattered, really! But—oh, hi Joel.” You looked over Ben’s shoulder at Joel, relief washing over you. Joel offered you a nod and Ben turned. Joel was slightly taller than him, and heavier set than him. But Ben didn't back down immediately.

The younger man squared his shoulders, looking Joel in the eyes. Joel didn't find him to be intimidating, but he did see him as a threat. A threat to you.

Ben reached for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You tried pulling away but he kept you locked against him as the two men stared each other down. You felt uncomfortable, and you tried to pull away again. “Ben, please.”

Joel watched, clenching his fists. Anger began pouring into his chest as you glanced at him, a fleeting look that he couldn't read. He stepped towards Ben. “You had best listen to her.”

“Or what?” Ben sneered. You wormed your way out of his grasp. He turned his head to look down to you, and that's when you closed your hand into a fist and punched him.

Ben stumbled back from the force of the blow, and Joel stepped between you and the man. The bar went silent, the remaining people fixing their eyes on the trio. Joel might as well have been a wolf, hackles raised and growling as Ben touched his jaw. Ben glared at Joel, spitting out, “Son of a bitch.”

“Move along now, son,” Joel replied, preparing himself for the imminent fight.

You breathed hard, your fury written across your face, and when Ben looked to you, you held his gaze and cocked an eyebrow. You wanted to dare him to overstep again, especially now that Joel was here. Your knuckles throbbed from the impact of the blow. It made you feel alive.

Ben scoffed, shaking his head, and turned to leave. Joel stood between you the whole time, waiting for the door to close behind him before turning to you. He looked you up and down, asking silently with his eyes if you were okay. He reached down, grabbing onto your hand, looking at the red skin over your knuckles. One of them had split, and was dripping blood.

“C’mon,” he said, jerking his head to the right. “Let's get you outta here.”

•••

Joel sat across from you and tended to your wounds with gentle hands. He had a clean rag in his hands that was soaked in alcohol; you commented that he was good at this. He wiped the area around the split, and then dabbed at the wound itself. 

You resisted the urge to pull your hand away at the sting, but you held firm, watching him as he furrowed his brow. “I've patched myself up enough to know, I guess.”

Nodding your head, you sighed. “I shouldn't have punched him.”

“If you hadn't, I would've,” he quipped. “No one gets to touch you like that.” 

Amusement beamed at your eyes as you looked at him. You had seen the flash of jealousy in his eyes earlier, and you could see it again more clearly now. “My my, is Joel Miller jealous?” 

Joel froze, clearing his throat, and you knew you had caught him like a rabbit in a trap. “No.”

“Uh huh,” you teased. He frowned, setting down the rag before standing. Your smile disappeared. You didn't realize you had struck such a strong chord. 

“I should get goin’.”  

“Hey,” you said, reaching out and grabbing onto his arm as he tried to step away. “I'd like it if you stayed.”

The man locked up again, his gaze snapping to yours in an instant. You rose from the chair. “Please?”

He sighed. “Suppose ya did ask nicely.”

You grinned up at him, and then your hands moved, one resting on his chest and the other on his neck. He was still, his breath hitching. His voice was deathly quiet when he whispered, “What’re you doin?”

Pressing your body against his, you tilted your head up. “Something I should've done a long time ago,” you whispered back, and then you kissed him. 

He whined. Almost silent, but it was there, swallowed by your mouth as you moved your lips against his. You began to pull away when he didn't respond immediately, fear of overstepping suddenly at the forefront of your mind. 

Then, his hands pressed into your lower and upper back, keeping you from backing away. He kissed you back, and he kissed you hard. It was zealous and feverish, growing more intense as the hand you had on his neck inched up and back into the hair on the back of his head. You were pressed backward into the table. Joel pulled away, you whined in protest, and then you were lifted by your hips up onto the surface.

His lips returned to yours, and you couldn't help the moan that escaped from your mouth as his tongue darted out, licking over your bottom lip. You met him, tongues tangling together, as you spread your legs to accommodate his body between them. You could feel wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs. You could feel the heat of the moment possessing you—Joel possessing you—and you gasped for breath when he pulled his head away. His touch left wakes of fire, tingling sensations burning across your skin. You needed more. 

“Maybe I was jealous,” he growled, and you shuddered. “Maybe I've been thinkin’ of this for weeks.” 

Your cheeks flushed at his admission and your eyebrows furrowed. “Well, maybe I've been thinking about it for months.”

His eyebrows raised, and then a smirk slowly played across his lips. “Darlin’, all you ever had to do was ask.” 

You swallowed, playing with one of the buttons on his flannel. “Joel,” you started, looking up at him through your lashes. “Take me to the bedroom.”

He didn't waste a second, hooking his hands under your knees and lifting you with a soft grunt. You directed him down the hallway towards your room. You expected him to throw you on the bed, to tear off your clothes, to bite you, to claim you, and you wanted these things. But when he laid you down with the softest hands, gentle and easy, you realized that you'd take any piece of him he'd give to you. His tenderness would not go unnoticed. 

He licked his lips as he looked over you, splayed out on the bed beneath him, and you felt shy. You turned your head, trying to hide, and he gave you a ‘tut tut’ with his tongue. “Look at me.” 

You did as he asked, and he followed it with a, “Good girl.” Your body shook in response, your cheeks burning again. He chuckled. 

He leaned down, grabbing your hands and pinning them together over your head. He told you to keep them there as he kissed along the side of your neck. He undressed you methodically, undoing the buttons on your shirt, one by one. You could feel your impatience growing. “Joel.” 

He hummed in response. The last button came undone and his hands found your bare sides, running up and down them before taking your breasts in his hands. He squeezed them gingerly, feeling their weight in his palms. You couldn't help squirming. You struggled with not moving your hands, you wanted to feel over him, too. You resisted the urge to touch his shoulders, to feel the muscles underneath his button up. You wanted him, more in that moment than you'd ever wanted anything else. 

He undid the button and fly on your jeans, and he pulled them down and away, leaving you clad in only your underwear. He breathed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He looked at you with feral eyes. You could feel it in his gaze: he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

His fingers hooked around your underwear, pulling them off in one motion. Your hands fell then, touching his arms. He looked at you, a domineering flame in his eyes, and in one smooth motion he grabbed onto you and flipped you onto your side. A smack landed on your asscheek, stinging the skin. You yelped, and then shuddered. He chuckled. 

His palm rubbed over where he'd slapped you. “What did I say?” 

“Not to move my hands…” you whispered. 

“Don't disobey me, darlin’.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Good girl,” he repeated. Your eyes closed, mouth watering at his praise. You never thought it would sound so good. He rolled you back onto your back, and came to lay beside you, propping himself up on his elbow as his other hand came to your thigh. He rubbed, and then squeezed, and then inched his way up towards your pussy. 

You shuddered in anticipation. You wanted him to touch you in the spot only you had touched. He stopped moving, and you whined in protest. Your arms stayed above your head this time. You looked to him, and his eyes were watching you. 

“I wanna make sure,” he mumbled. “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “But…”

He tensed. “Yes?” 

“I haven't done this—” you started, and then felt yourself hesitating. You felt embarrassed. “—this kinda shit before.” 

His eyebrows raised and he squeezed your thigh. “You're sure you wanna do it with me?”

You didn't hesitate this time. “I do.”

His middle and ring finger brushed up over your folds, palm resting on the junction of your thigh and pelvis. Your eyes closed, and you could feel him lean and kiss your forehead. “Alright then.”

He brought his fingers to your clit, pressing against it in slow circles—testing the water. You gasped, nails digging into your palms to keep your hands from moving. Your thighs shook ever so slightly. Joel's lips found your neck, your head rolled to the side, and he kissed your skin, leaving little nibbles in his wake as he traveled down and then up again. One finger sunk into your entrance, and your thighs jolted closed. 

He waited until your legs fell again to pump in and out, and you couldn't stop the groan that left you. Joel's breathing was loud in your ear. 

He sunk another finger inside of you, slowly stretching you. His fingers were so much bigger than yours, long and thick, and he played you like an instrument. He found which spots made you cry out, and he pushed and rubbed them until you were a sweaty, babbling mess in his hands. You tossed and turned your head, his lips by your ear, encouraging you. 

“Doin’ so good, darlin’,” he whispered. “So wet, so tight. Oh yes, right there, huh? That's the spot. Yeah.” 

Your hips bucked off the bed as he curled his fingers. Your hands shot down to your sides, gripping the blanket underneath you. He chuckled, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't focus, his fingers driving you to insanity. You knew that this would be bad for you, because you would never stop craving this. Every time you'd see him, you'd want him more than you already did. He knew it too. 

His hand shifted angles, his thumb flicking at your clit as his fingers continued their ruthless assault. “Joel.” 

You whispered it like a prayer. 

“Cum. For me, darlin’, please.” 

He flicked twice more, and everything that had been building in you exploded. Your legs slammed closed around his hand, and he moaned with you as you cried out. The waves crashed into you, carrying you further from reality, small movements of his hands driving you forward into the deep waters you recognized as Joel. You were putty in his hands. Your eyebrows furrowed, your mouth open, and Joel couldn't help but watch as you came on his fingers. He was mesmerized. 

You began to come down, twitching and jerking, and then trying to scramble away from Joel's movements. It was all too much for you. It was overwhelming. Everything was loud, your combined breathing, your heart slamming in your chest and the blood pounding in your ears. You reached to grab his forearm, digging your nails into his skin, and he finally slowed to a stop. You shook like a leaf.

He kissed you then, his lips soft against yours. You realized then that he was still fully clothed, and you reached for his belt. He grabbed your wrist, stopping you from undoing it as he pulled away. You groaned, trying to express your discontent. 

“Patience,” he said, ducking his head to take your nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it, flicking it with his tongue, making your back arch. He pulled away with a ‘pop!’ and you fell back onto the bed. He got up, taking off his shirt and undoing his belt. He kicked his boots off, then his pants and underwear followed, and you saw the sight you had been literally dreaming of for weeks. 

He was a broad and beautiful man, scars and hair covering his body. You followed the trail of hair down from his navel, and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock. It was long, thick, curved up and weeping with precum.  He got back up on the bed.

You felt nervous. Joel could see it. He took your face in his hands. “If you wanna stop, at any point, you just tell me,” he reassured. 

“Okay,” you replied. “I will.” 

He nodded his head, hands going down by your sides to hold himself up as he climbed over the top of you. His cock rubbed against you, your wetness coating him. He trembled. 

His cock pushed into you, and your breath hitched. The stretch of him entering your pussy stung, and your hands shot to his back, gripping him. He didn't say anything, just slowly but surely worked his way inside of you. He sighed when he finally seated himself. You were breathing hard, and sweat had gathered at your temples. 

“I'm gonna move, darlin’.” 

You nodded, opening your eyes to find him staring at you. Something shone in his, something warm and almost loving. You wanted to drink it up, sit in this moment forever. He was looking at you like nothing else in the world mattered to him. He moved then, his thrusts deep and heavy. 

It felt so goddamn good. 

You cried out, and he reached down, encouraging you with his hands to wrap your thighs around his hips. You did so immediately, and it allowed him somehow even deeper access. You moaned, then gasped, then whispered his name. He hummed. 

“Faster,” you whined. He obliged. 

Each increase of pace was followed by squeezing him harder with your legs, or digging your nails into the skin of his back, and you cried out louder each time. 

He wasn't quiet, whispering your name, whispering praises, telling you how good you were for him. He moaned when your hips shifted off the bed, trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Excited, huh? Do you like when I make you feel good, sugar? F-fuck. You're so god damn tight, feels so damn good.” 

“Mhmmm! Yes, Joel! I can't—I can't—” 

“Can't what?” He crooned, brushing a hand across your cheek. “We both know you can cum for me again.” 

That did it for you. You unraveled again. Your hand came up, grabbing onto his hair and pulling him down onto you. His body covered yours, pressing against you, his face tucking against your neck. He moaned loudly, and you shook, unable to even do much as breathe as you tightened around him over and over again. His thrusts became heavier again, more sporadic, and then he was cumming, too. 

He fell against you completely, barely holding himself up. You gulped in the air when you felt like you could breathe again, resting your cheek against the side of his head. Your hands slowly relaxed. 

He moved after a couple minutes of silence, pulling out of you before rolling to lay by your side. You immediately curled up against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

“No no,” he replied. He gave you a smile, a genuine broad grin. “Thank you.” 

#joel tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #oneshot #feedback welcome #dockett1109

[spiderfreedom]

historical revisionism of second-wave feminism

I'm wondering where this idea that "second-wave feminism" didn't bring up race came from. It seems to be conflating liberal feminism, starting with Betty Friedan's "The Feminist Mystique", for the entire movement. But "second-wave feminism" refers to an entire era of feminist organizing, including lesbian feminism, socialist feminism, radical feminist, and numerous Black feminist works with multiple intersections. Why should Friedan and NOW's 'liberal feminism' be the representative of an entire era of feminist writing? What do we have to gain from pretending that there were no Black feminist writers during the second wave?

The US women's movement has always had ties to anti-racist movements like abolitionism and the civil rights movement, as well as the New Left and socialist/anti-war movements. White feminists tried to include racial analysis in their books - to mixed effect, e.g. Susan Brownmiller's book "Against Our Will" proved to be contentious for its treatment of interracial rape of Black men against white women (example).

It feels like there's been a wave of historical revisionism to make the second-wave seem more limited and single-issue focused than it really was, in order to make "third-wave" feminism seem novel, exciting, and necessary. It's resulted in a whole generation of feminist writers and cultural critics who don't read or quote or engage with the feminist works of the second wave. They are dismissed out of hand as irrelevant or limited. It feels like another way to say "stop paying attention to women's history, just believe me when I say the first and second waves were irrevocably damaged and that the third wave is the only way to go."

I think this article does a good job of capturing one of the reasons why an interracial feminism failed to form, which is that white women assumed Black women also wanted an interracial feminism, when many Black women, especially at the start of the movement, were not interested in solidarity with white women. The fantasy of a racially integrated society was often much more important to white organizers than to Black organizers, who may have instead wanted Black self-determination. I disagree with some of the points of the article (can elaborate if anyone is interested) but I recommend reading it anyway for a retrospective on why white attempts to reach out to Black women failed - white feminists did attempt to reach out, but failed to focus on issues that were relevant to Black women, failed or were offensive in their racial analysis, and failed to understand the importance of racial solidarity for Black women.

Correcting the record on the racism and failures of white feminists in the second-wave is necessary work to building a strong movement. But there's a difference between correcting the record and pretending that white feminists didn't try to talk about race at all. They did! They were participants of anti-racist movements! But they failed to understand their own racism. They failed to understand the complex dynamics between white men, white women, Black men, and Black women. They failed to focus on issues that resonated with Black women. They were failures of bad attempts, not that no attempt was ever made... and that's the part I find weird.

The idea that there was no racial analysis made during the second wave, by white women or Black women, flattens a complex history. Like fun fact - the Combahee River Collective Statement which is the foundation of intersectional feminism and third wave identity politics? Is a second wave text! It was published in 1977, in the late era of second wave activism in the US!

I have more to say later, but for the moment, I'd like to present you with some examples of second-wave feminist texts written by Black women. Read them, and avail yourself of another myth - that there is One Black Feminism. Black Feminists have always had internal disagreements, which frightens white feminists, because white feminists want to know The Correct Answer On Race. I highly recommend reading these (and modern Black feminist texts too!) to understand the situation Black feminists faced in the 60s and 70s. All of these texts were published between 1960 and 1980. They are all essays or excerpts - links provided where possible.

Black Women’s Liberation group of Mt. Vernon, New York - Statement on Birth Control

Mary Ann Weathers - An argument for Black Women’s Liberation as Revolutionary Force (https://caringlabor.wordpress.com/2010/07/29/mary-ann-weathers-an-argument-for-black-womens-liberation-as-a-revolutionary-force/)

Frances M. Beal - Double Jeopardy: to be Black and Female

Doris Wright - Angry Notes from a Black Feminist (https://yu.instructure.com/courses/49421/files/1918241/download?wrap=1)

Margaret Sloan: Black and Blacklesbian

Alice Walker - In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens

Angela Davis: Joan Little: The Dialectics of Rape (https://overthrowpalacehome.files.wordpress.com/2019/02/ms.-magazine-from-the-archives.pdf)

Michele Wallace: A Black Feminist’s Search for Sisterhood (https://www.amistadresource.org/documents/document_09_03_010_wallace.pdf)

The Combahee River Collective (https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/combahee-river-collective-statement-1977/)

Barbara Smith - Racism and Women’s Studies (https://hamtramckfreeschool.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/smith-barbara-racism-and-womens-studies.pdf)

#feminism #second wave feminism #feminist history #women's history #mypost #radical feminism #feedback welcome

[giotanner]

“I don't remember much, Tim. The Electrum messed up parts of me that won't come back. But when the Court started fearing Batman and Robin, I felt like a pressure in my head, the threads of a memory pulling, and I didn't understand why Batman had this effect on me.- He stretched his legs on the bed, resting his elbows backward on the soft fabric. -But it wasn't Batman, it was Robin. When I saw a kid soaring among the buildings of Gotham and protecting, I didn't want to hurt you; everything in me said not to. But I did.

And when you freed me, you protected me. Because you said that's what Robin did, and then I didn't understand why I was crying. I hadn't cried in years, and I thought the human possibility to do so had been taken from me. But now I know – and I owe you so much, Timothy Drake. You didn't forget.”

“It was a bit hard to forget you; you're so cool!” Now Tim was definitely crying, tears streaming down the sides of his eyes, making them shimmer. - - - - - - - - - from the second chapter of my story with Talon Dick Grayson and Robin Tim Drake (I have yet to publish it, but I want to see if you like the way I write/find it interesting)

#tim drake #dick grayson #talon dick grayson #court of owls #dc comics #tim drake fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #dc batman #dc tim drake #dc robin #batman #batman and robin #dceu #dc universe #nightwing #feedback welcome #batfamily #batfam #bat family #dc batfam #batfamily fanfic #batfamily fic

[the-unlovely-kiki]

As per suggestion of @mortimerdreadnaught, I drew Lottie. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? To be fair, it was better than expected.

feedback needed, headcanons okay

#harry potter magic awakened #hpma #magic awakened #hp magic awakened #lottie turner #kiki #hpma lottie #my art #love her #underrated #feedback welcome

[1-ufo]

The middle feels like such a Blob to me but I’m not sure what or if I’m going to do anything about it.

#my art #idk #feedback welcome

[borderlinebelle]

looking for feedback!

POSSIBLE new intro for my YouTube channel on broken brains below 🙂

Looking for feedback on: if you can read the captions easily, what moved too fast? Did it make sense? Do you feel like you vaguely understand what the show is from the intro? Is it too long? Should I cut some?

The editing style, song, and captions are staying 👍🏽🧠

Thank you folks!

Your input helps create better content.

INBOX IS OPEN!

Disclaimer: I’m gonna change this intro as many times as it takes because my brain likes one thing one minute and another minute so remember .. i don’t give a ffffffff about consistency. Is my ART. 🥹

SEE BELOW ⬇️

whatcha think? ⬇️

The link to my latest video ⬇️

new upcoming episode keyword: “alone”

#feedback welcome #feedback #what are your thoughts? #bored af #i'm so bored #im bored #are you ok #i got you #come here #something to do #mutuals #feedback please #feedback needed #Youtube

[spotofmummery]

OOC: State of Mummery 2023

On the eve of Amon’s Nameday (tomorrow), I just wanted to take a moment to talk about Spot of Mummery, my creative endeavors (rather the lack of), a bit about what’s happening IRL, and what I’d like to do more of in 2024.

Feel free to take a peek into my life if you wish, below the cut. Your suggestions are always welcome!

I want to start this with a disclaimer – I’m going to talk about difficult things that I don’t normally address here, but I am doing okay. I’ve learned how to work through many difficulties the last couple of years, and this is not a post of lament.

Some might know that I lost my father unexpectedly right before Christmas last year.

Most don’t know that for the last couple of years (and right now currently), I’m also dealing with unexplained chest pain on and off through the year. My heart was checked this past year, and that was all fine. It’s undiagnosed, but I’m thinking (and the cardiologist also thinks) it’s a form of inflammation. The pain I can deal with, the worry about “what is this?” is a bit more troublesome.

All this is to say, I haven’t been very creative in 2023.

During NaNoWriMo of 2022, I finally wrote Amon’s triumphant return to Syrcus Tower in the First, as I’ve wanted to for years. But then, my Dad passed, and it took months for me to finish editing and posting all that writing. I did finally get it done, but my focus was other places, obviously.

In 2023, I haven’t written a word for Amon’s story outside of the Choose Amon’s Adventures (which I’d like to get started up again, maybe) and his silly adventures on Island Sanctuary (which I need to complete with the newest content for the last patch).

My RP interactions here have been little to none. My energy for attending in game events has been low.

I did organize my own event around the NA fanfest, and that went great, actually! Thanks to all who attended!

But aside from that, Lunarcon, and a few small art parties, I’ve kept to myself a lot this year. In fact, my game time in FFXIV is probably an all-time low – and that’s not because I’ve fallen out of love with the game.

On a positive note, the whole fiasco at Twitter/X brought me back to this Tumblr account full-time. I was already moving this direction, but now I’m here primarily. I do have a Pillowfort and a Blue Sky account for Amon, but Tumblr is my main gig.

I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with all this, other than to just note that my creativity and interaction has not been up to snuff this year. I’d love to say something like, “My resolution for next year is to knock it out of the park!” – but the reality is, I’m not sure what I can commit to just yet.

I think what I'd like most of all to start by getting back into enjoying time spent in game with Amon again, for one. Not that I dislike time spent with Amon, just that I recognize that it’s not got that spark that once motivated me (probably user error).

To be fair, though, I haven’t been spending a lot of time with any of my characters in game like I used to. So, it’s not just Amon.

If you’ve gone through a time where you needed to reconnect with your OCs, let me know how that turned out and what you did. I’m open to suggestions!

And if you’ve read all the way here to the end, thanks for listening. You are appreciated, friend! <3

#IRL #Creative struggles #Feedback welcome #Thanks for listening

[pillowmoment]

once more

also his paw pads ARE a deep, desaturated green!

guy on the left is a pose reference :p

#pillow activities #pillow doodles :] #feedback welcome #my artwork #art #oc

[bullsharkbait-art]

So Instagram sucks now and it's almost impossible to get any real feedback. I came up with this Indiana Jones parody two years ago and wanted to re vamp it to possibly turn it into a full comic or just a comic that consists of single panels where you interpret the story. But I'd love some feedback. No one on Instagram engages anymore, so I figured I'd come to Tumblr for input and suggestions. Would you consume this comic? Would you prefer single or multi panels? Should it be something I put on Webtoon? I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thanks so much!

#comic #comics #comic idea #idea #parody #indiana jones #indi jonsey #post apocalyptic #original characters #webtoon #feedback welcome #art #artwork #artist #concept art #original comic

[dockett]

Flourishing II Din Djarin x Reader

Hello! I've seen this trope a few times across fandoms and I just eat it up. Had to hop on and write one of my own, I know flowers have been done before but I couldn't think of anything else. Hope you all enjoy!

Summary: On a planet new to you, Din falls into some flowers.

Warnings: very little plot, smutty as hell MDNI, fingering/oral f!receiving, unprotected piv

Word count: 2k

Din Djarin was not one to panic, but as soon those flowers tipped up into the underside of his helmet after it jostled loose from the fall, spreading the pollen up into his mouth, he was done for and he knew it. He coughed, sputtering to get as much out of his mouth as he could. He could hear you crashing down the ledge behind him, calling for him. 

“Mando! Mando, are you okay?” 

“I'm… I'm fine,” he replied. “We need to get back to the ship. Now.” 

He could hear you swallow, hesitation clear in your expression, but you nodded all the same, and followed him back up the hill that he had tripped down. He was breathing hard, the anxiety beginning to set in by the time they got back to the ship. 

He liked you a lot. He wouldn't deny that he would watch you as you moved around the ship, eyes peering from beneath the stoic helmet, or deny that he loved hearing you laugh, and it sent his stomach flipping every time that he heard it. He didn't want to ruin anything, he had wanted you to be able to choose when you would have him in your bed, and he would wait forever for that chance. But now, in this moment of sheer panic, he wasn't sure what would happen. 

“Mando?” You called as soon as the door into the Razor Crest was up. He hardly looked at you, beginning to pace back and forth. “What's wrong?” 

He didn't stop pacing, not until you walked up and stood in front of him, putting your hand on his shoulder. “We have a problem.” 

You furrowed your brow and frowned. He pulled away from you, turning his back to you. His head dipped as he looked at his feet. He could feel the tingling sensation beginning, spreading out of his chest and out into his limbs. He began to harden. 

“What's the problem?” 

“I fell into those flowers,” he said. “I've done it before, and Maker, I'm a fool.” 

You shook your head, not understanding. Din turned his head to speak to you over his shoulder. “The pollen. It acts like a signal, like a chemical. It's a natural aphrodisiac.” 

“Oh.” You replied. Fuck. He thought. 

He needed to leave, run as far as he could before it set in. He flinched as you touched his shoulder again, his body beginning to tremble. You brought yourself around him, reaching a hand up to the side of his helmet. 

“Well. If I can help you, let me know,” you said. He shuddered, leaning his head into your hand as though he could feel the heat of your touch. His eyes drifted closed. If I can help, his mind repeated. He strained harder underneath his flightsuit. 

“Maker,” he whispered, almost too quiet for the modulator to pick up on. His hands shot to your hips before he could stop them, he was losing composure. “I don't want to force you into anything.” 

“You're not,” you said, and then laughed under your breath. “Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “Because I've wanted you since the day I met you.” 

It was your turn to shudder. 

He leaned his forehead down, pressing his helmet to yours. You closed your eyes, feeling his hands squeezing your hips tighter. His chest was beginning to move faster, his breathing growing slightly more erratic. He pushed you back into the wall, bringing his thigh between your legs. He rubbed up against you.

“Din Djarin,” you said meekly. “I'd like you to take me to your bunk.”

He wasted no time, grabbing your hand in his and leading you to his room. The door closed behind you and you heard the soft command of, “Close your eyes.” 

You did so without question, even though the room was dark, and his hands touched you, now gloveless. Your skin was hot to the touch and it felt like it was burning his palms, searing your brand into him. He guided you backward until your knees hit the bed, and you felt yourself fall back. You landed on the mattress, keeping your eyes closed. 

He knew you wouldn't open them unless he asked. He trusted you, with or without the arousal flooding his veins. He reached up, pulling off his helmet and walking to the desk on the other side of the room. He set it down, and very quickly, more sloppy than he'd want to admit, he took off his armor. Then, after discarding the beskar, he reached for you, listening to your breath hitch when he touched you. 

He squeezed your hips, encouraging you to scoot up the bed. You did so until he tugged you to a stop. His hands roamed then, over your thighs, across your stomach, even up over your clothed breasts. He worked back down, breathing hard as he pushed up your shirt to reveal your stomach. You gasped into his mouth when he leaned down and kissed you. It went straight through him, causing his cock to throb. 

Your lips were soft against his, and when he licked over your bottom lip, you let him in. His tongue swirled against yours, and he groaned as he tasted you. It occurred to him then, he hadn't wiped off the pollen from his chin and mouth. He reluctantly pulled away and then kissed down your neck to your shoulder. 

You grasped his shoulders tightly, back arching your chest into his. He rose over you, pulling your shirt off over your head. Your breasts were bared to him, and you cried out when he took your left nipple into his mouth. He began to rut against you, unable to stop himself. He needed to feel you everywhere. 

He pinched the other one between his fingers, working it while he sucked and pulled on the one in his mouth. His head felt heavy as he inhaled your scent, letting go of your nipple with a loud ‘pop!’ You cried out, falling back to the bed. Your eyebrows were furrowed, eyes still shut tightly. 

He worked his way down your body, pulling off your pants and underwear. He needed them out of his way. He settled between your thighs, kissing up and down the inside of your right leg. He came back to the apex of your thighs, and then licked through your folds.

“Look at me,” he purred against you, his eyes gleaming in the dark. 

You shook your head and he gently bit into your left leg. You yelped, hips bucking off the bed. He chuckled, arms wrapping up around your thighs and pushing them back down. 

He nibbled, and then kissed the agitated skin. “Look at me,” he repeated. You brought yourself up onto your elbows, and your eyes slowly pried themselves open. Your eyes fell onto his, and fire ignited within him, burning through his stomach and out into his body. He wanted you to see how delirious you made him. He wanted to be vulnerable with you.

He pushed his hips down into the bed and began swirling his tongue around your clit.  Your eyebrows furrowed again, your jaw dropping as a soft moan dropped from your lips.

“Good girl,” he hummed against you. He couldn't get enough of you, drinking in your form in the dim lighting, beginning to squirm and writhe under him. You were hot against him, thighs starting to flutter around his head, and he rutted harder into the bed. 

“Din, please,” you cried out. “Need more.” 

It was music to his ears. He brought around his right hand, pressing a finger into you. You groaned, falling back into the bed, one hand shooting to his hair. You gripped it tight, and when he felt that delicious pull he moaned, “Cyar’ika.” 

Another finger joined the first and he curled them inside you. He continued to work your clit with his tongue and lips, setting a pattern and rhythm. It didn't take long for you, and the way you were moaning all for him had him increasing his pace until you reached your breaking point. 

He was entranced, watching you, memorizing the way you shook and clenched around his fingers as you came. He panted as you began to come down, pulling away and removing his fingers. He palmed himself through his flight suit before you were sitting up, frantically trying to get him to remove it. He chuckled at you, grabbing your wrists and pushing you back down onto the bed. You leaned up to kiss him, mouths slotting together perfectly. 

He moaned your name as he pulled away. He peeled himself out of the last vestiges of clothing and got back on the bed between your legs. He pushed his cock against your vulva, covering himself in your juices and his saliva. Your breath hitched and you said, “I want you inside of me.”

The Mandalorian pushed himself into you slowly as your legs rose to his chest. He sighed, relieved at finally being inside your tight heat. He brought his lips to the inside of your calf, kissing it before nibbling on it. You cried out, hands gripping the blankets tighter. He started to thrust in and out of you in earnest, hands bruising your hips. 

Feeling overwhelmed, he closed his eyes and focused on each and every sound you made. He brought his thumb to your bruised clit, pressing into it in tight little circles. You came again, and it took everything in him not to cum then and there, no matter how much he wanted to. He was enjoying himself too much to let it go. 

He folded you, bringing up both your legs and pressing them down towards the bed. Impossibly, he hit you deeper than before, bottoming out with every thrust. You keened, nails digging down his arms. He pressed again with his thumb, and your eyes rolled back. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You didn't even take a breath, instead tightening up around him over and over. He watched as you came unraveled once more beneath him.

You breathed hard, and Din slowed down, giving you a good hard thrust before pulling out completely. You whined at the emptiness, and he rolled you both over, helping you get on top of him. He stared up at you, hands roaming over your boobs and sides, encouraging you gently to take him again.

You complied quickly, hands guiding him inside of you before spreading over the man's chest. He helped you get your rhythm, pushing you up and down before letting his hands fall to your thighs where he gripped them hard. You ground against him, leaning down so your chest was in his face. He eagerly sucked in a nipple, moaning at the salty taste of your skin. You groaned in response. 

He loved everything about this. You sat up and he followed you, trying to keep a hold of your nipple. Your hand shot up then, grasping at his neck. You gave it a soft squeeze, clearly testing the waters, and Din loved it. His eyes rolled back, and he moaned louder than he had all night, a string of words in Mando’a. He moved his hands, pushing you down onto him more forcefully, and then his back arched under you. His body tightened, pressure finally releasing as he came inside of you, pushing himself as deep as he could go.

Your hand squeezed his neck ever so slightly, and his body jerked. You continued to chase another orgasm, riding him until you came. He hissed as you slowed to a stop, thighs shaking hard underneath his hold. You had cried his name, head tossed back as you arched your spine. His eyes closed as your hand left his throat.

You fell down on top of him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, keeping you pressed close to him. He kissed your temple. 

“Round 2?” You mumbled. He chuckled, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

“Yes,” he replied. “Anything for you, cyar’ika.” 

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #fanfic #din djarin smut #feedback welcome #dockett1109

[artsyfishy]

a little WIP

ummmm a wip of a new drarry piece :]

First one is the full sketch, second is a cropped one(which one is better?) And the last image is the rough draft that I drew in school.

Please tell me if there's anything I could fix at this stage. I want to do my best at this drawing

Also, if anyone has any tips on shading/lighting a scene under a tree, feel free to share!

#art #digital art #harry potter #hp fanart #draco malfoy #hp fandom #digital painting #draco x harry #drarry #hpdm #Sketch #Rough sketch #drarry fanart #feedback welcome #feedback appreciated #Tell me what to fix plz #Beginner artist #Feedback #work in progress #art wip

[sanyu-thewitch05]

My opinion on the term Soulaan/Soula as a nickname for African Americans(the ones that were here in America since slavery)

Here's a definition from @realbrwnsugar on tiktok: Soulaan/Soula people is another term for African American; descendants of American Slaves. The term was made because of it comes from parts of AA culture like "soul food, soul music, etc". SOUL(AA) N(nation).

Here's their TikTok of subgroups I featured.

There are also subgroups of American-descended slaves that would fit into the Soulaan definition like the:

Gullah, Geechee, Gullah Geechee

Mascogos(Black Seminoles who escaped to Coahuila, Mexico)

Louisiana Creole

Afro-Novas(American Slaves who escaped to Nova Scotia, Canada)

Afro-Seminole

Americo-Liberians (Slaves who were sent to the nation of Liberia)

Samaná Americanas(American slaves who immigrated to the Dominican Republic in 1824)

And probably many more considering American Slaves went wherever they could to escape slavery.

Here's my personal opinion; I like the term Soulaan/Soula as a nickname for African-American. It directly defines the specific group being talked about(Descendants of American Slaves), and there's no "Oh, we're technically this too!" going like with African-American(because anyone from Africa who's like a second-generation immigrant or whose mom or dad is American can also fit under the ethnicity term of African-American). Soulaan/Soula is solid and seems like a good solution for how to refer to ourselves as Descendants of American Slaves without the possible confusion of referring to someone who's more recently descended from Africa.

Yes, we are still African-Americans. Yes, we are still black, but we need a way to distinguish ourselves and our culture. Especially when the African-Americans solely aren't from Descendants of American Slaves anymore.

Anyway, feel free to add your opinion if you're Black American(descended from American Slaves)/Soulaan, or from the listed groups above.

#soulaan #soula #soulaani #black girls of tumblr #blackblr #african american #gullah geechee #feedback welcome #and #feedback appreciated #Also I do understand that it's mainly late millennial to gen z who like the term

[pokemon-dungeon-masters]

New Character Sheet

With help from the discord server, here’s the new Character Sheet! For now I’m going for function over appearance but eventually I want to spruce it up a bit. Notes under the cut! If there’s anything I didn’t cover that you’re curious about or if you have a suggestions, please feel free to leave a comment, send and ask/DM, or even join the Discord!

Nature does not have any effect on the character, it is purely for flavor text

Heal Pool refers to how many D6 you can roll when you move floors in a Dungeon. The outcome of the roll is how much your character heals

The circle in Type in the Moves section is to mark if the move has STAB

The Boost section of Skills is for keeping track of any modifiers that might be added during a Dungeon

Other Effects refers to Status Effects that can be stacked and/or are not permanent, such as Confused or Enamored

The Incoming section of Relationships is to note how many points that character could contribute to a roll if they were to help

Edit: Fixed typo

#pmdnd #ttrpg #pmd #homebrew #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #feedback welcome #any suggestions are appreciated #character sheet

[the-unlovely-kiki]

help I tried to draw my HPMA OC but it looks like sh!t, feedback needed

my character's name is Elliott M. Buchls btw (username Elliott M.)

he also has a little sister

#harry potter magic awakened #hpma #magic awakened #hpma mc #my art #hp magic awakened #feedback welcome #please help #don't bully me #hpma fanart #digital drawing #procreate #weasleyposting is ok

[thestarkcollective]

short poem! no trigger warnings

Sometimes I wish,

as the sun sets low.

To be alone,

with just the tall trees.

The sandy beach,

the lapping ocean.

The long forgotten asphalt,

hasn’t seen cars in years.

To be the only one,

left alive.

Vines curling their way,

around buildings.

Grass overgrown,

making my feet so itchy.

The wind ruffles my hair,

as animals scurry and talk.

Not one other like me,

anywhere else.

The whole wide world.

Blue skies,

glimmering stars.

Icy deserts,

warm hot ones too.

Never hungry,

never thirsty.

No whispers,

catering just to me.

No staring eyes,

with none of their hate.

Sometimes I wish,

I’d be the only one alive.

#original poem #poem #writing #writers and poets #first writing post #please comment #feedback welcome #no trigger warnings #poetry #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry #short poetry #short poem #words words words #writers #🦝Luci

[tavyliasin]

The first half of a Soft!Raphael piece, where he's stuck in a strange mire of denial when faced with an injured Tav in need of a saviour. This may get moved around in ATG continuity, but it is a part of the story and keeps the motivations and experiences of Tav, Raphael, and Haarlep from the story so far (up to ATG13 Bear? Bare.) The smut will come, as will our dear characters, in the second half which I'm still wrestling with. Expect some more complicated feelings, plenty of banter, and a cambion fighting with his own emotions. Sample below the cut, and feedback very welcome on this piece as it's getting tougher to finish it~

“Quite the predicament you ended up in, Little Mouse. Taking the cheese from within the trap and getting your tail caught? I thought you were smarter than that.” His words carried condescension, but the tone and the glimpse of the wrinkles on his brow spoke of concern, only lightly tinged with disappointment. “Luckily, it seems the cat came to the rescue just in time.” She smiled, teasing a little, but genuinely grateful. Gratitude, it seemed, was not something he knew how to handle. Not the sincere kind, anyway. Tav reasoned his discomfort must be because he was expecting something. “There’s a price to pay for your help, isn’t there?” She shrugged. “No need to explain, I know how the world works, Raphael, especially with demons and deals. But if you want my eternal servitude, I’m afraid you should’ve left me to a quicker burial back there.”

“What?” He sounded genuinely taken aback, offended perhaps by the suggestion, or by the implication the moment he denied it. “If I wanted your servitude, the contract and pen would be in your hand already. No, that achieves nothing.” He pulled up a chair taking a seat beside where she lay face down, devoid of most dignity as the cleric yanked another large chunk of mahogany from her rear. “FUCK could you at least warn me a little next time?” The elf shrugged. “The pain would be no different either way. Kinder if you don’t know it’s coming, really.” They pulled another piece midway through the sentence as if to prove a point. “Are you almost finished?” Raphael hissed a little too impatiently, brown eyes flicking across Tav’s face briefly again as she winced in pain. He should be used to people suffering, he was certainly good enough at arranging it, but there was something in the way his face twitched, as if his expressions were beginning to slip. “Not much left. Only half a door in her, not a whole one, and the bones will need longer to set.” They gestured to the splint and bandages down Tav’s leg and on one of her wrists. “Only a few days, especially if you use everything you have at your disposal, but the bone still needs to knit together properly or her dreams of joining the circus will be completely gone.” “The circus?” The cambion looked at her, perplexed. “In my defence, those potions are really strong. And so is the pain. I was barely conscious.” She shrugged. “Besides, I used to enjoy Dribbles performing when I was young. Who didn’t?” She tried to push aside the memory of the clown’s dismembered body parts they kept finding in the city. That could wait. “Little Mouse, you’re not a performer. Even if you do like to dance with danger for no reason.” He sighed, almost reaching out to her but stopping short, putting his hand instead on the edge of the table and standing up.  “The damage shouldn’t be permanent. But you will be staying here for the duration of your recovery.” “Excuse me?” She tried to raise herself up more on her arms to see his face where he stood above her, but shuddered as the pain pulled at the nerves in her shoulder. “Stop trying so hard, Little Mouse, you are quite safe. I will not have any further harm come to my favourite client.” He gently pressed her shoulder back down, hand remaining there for far longer than either of them expected. “Ah. There it is. Client. You still have use for me, that’s why you’re going so far for my sake.” She hadn’t expected anything more, but it stung nonetheless. Raphael faltered, the warmth of his fingers still refusing to leave her. “You are not just any client, Mouse. I have told you before, I have no desire to turn you into just some pitiful debtor, nor do I wish to chain you to any contract beyond what I offered before.” He continued to justify his actions, denying his motivations to himself as much as to anyone else. “You and your friends are uniquely positioned to get what I want, and I can provide you with the means to keep your lovely face tentacle free.” Lovely? She turned the word over in her mind. No, another trick to loosen her grip on her sanity and make her sign. She hadn’t decided yet...and they had time still. She was certain that if it came down to it, she could make that deal at the very last possible moment, if she had to. Although, that would give him a lot more power… Tav groaned. Why is nothing ever simple, and why do I have to be the one to decide all of this? And why is he still being so nice? It’s easier when it’s just unhinged sex, or the usual mind games, the back and forth of Cat and Mouse… “Get some rest, Little Mouse. You will need it. Our foes will not wait forever.” The cambion’s hand caressed her hair gently, a move that surprised them both again. He withdrew, as if he had touched the very edge of a hot stove. Although, who had ever heard of a devil getting burned? 

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #a tav's guide #haarlep #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ao3fic #soft raphael #hurt/comfort #literally #raphael has emotions and he did not agree to them #WIP #feedback welcome