“The people who get angriest about fat girls looking good and feeling hot are the people who are the most strongly invested in the idea that a person has to be skinny in order to be happy, healthy, and loved.” - Lesley Kinzel
When the sorcerer found the dragon, it was attacking a grape.
This was only possible because the dragon was not much larger than a grape itself, but she still had to do a double take to be sure the object it was fighting with such animosity was in fact inanimate.
She crouched so that her eyes were level with the top of the table and squinted at it. The dragon sank its tiny fangs into the grape’s skin and gave a great tug, succeeding only in throwing it and the grape into a backwards tumble. The tiny green reptile rolled to a stop with its whole body wrapped around the grape and shook its head ferociously, managing to pull its teeth out but also launching the grape across the table. It gave a mighty roar of anger (about as loud as a human clearing their throat) and stalked after it, tail swishing dangerously.
“Do you need help?” she offered.
The dragon froze mid-prowl and whipped its head around to look at her, looking so offended she almost apologized for asking.
“I mean, I could peel it for you, if that’s the problem.” She wasn’t sure it was getting the message. One could never tell how much human language these little creatures picked up by hanging around the magic labs. Some understood only such essentials as “scat!” or “oh fuck, that sure did just explode”, while others could hold entire conversations — if they deigned to interact.
This one looked like it was deciding whether she was worthy. Finally, it sniffed daintily and flicked its tail, scales clacking together. “Little monster is my prey, and you can’t have it. Found it first. Will devour it!”
“Oh, sure,” she agreed. “But you know it’s a grape, right?”
This was the wrong thing to say. It glared at her and then bounded away to the other end of the table, where it slithered up to the grape and pounced on it.
Grape and dragon promptly rolled off the edge of the table.
The sorcerer quickly went around to that side, alarmed that it would be stepped on. The labs were bustling with shoppers stopping by to watch demonstrations this time of day, and a small dragon wouldn’t be easily visible on the blue and green tiled floor.
“Horrible! Dirty!” The tiny dragon was screeching at the top of its lungs, holding onto its prey for dear life. It would have been hard to hear anyway, with all the noise of the labs, but with the sorcerer’s diminished hearing it took several seconds to locate the screaming creature.
She scanned the pattern of the tiles for it and sighed. “Oh, hold on, we mopped this morning.” She cupped her hands around it and deposited it into her skirt pocket, an indignity the dragon endured only with more screaming.
“An outrage! Put me down!”
“Shh,” she advised. Lab workers were strongly discouraged from bringing creatures into the back rooms, which was where she was heading, picking her way through the crowded front lab.
“Fuck pockets!” her pocket responded.
“Oh, you can curse. Wonderful.”
The dragon seemed to take this as an actual compliment. “Am multitalented. Can also compose poetry.”
“Really? Can I hear some?”
“No. For dragon ears only.” It sounded viciously pleased to hold this over her head. The bulge in her pocket rearranged itself, and she thought it might be trying to gnaw on the grape.
She felt herself smiling even as she tried to squash her mouth into a straight line. She liked this little bad-tempered thing, even though its spiky feet were digging into her thigh.
In the much quieter kitchen of the back rooms behind the lab, she transferred the wriggling, scaly handful from her pocket to the table. The dragon hissed out a few more insults as it got up and straightened itself out, but its jaw fell open when it finally took in its surroundings. She’d set it down next to the fruit bowl.
“There you go. Food mountain.”
The dragon’s shock didn’t last long. Abandoning the grape, it scraped and scrabbled its way up the side of the bowl and from there onto an apple, its claws leaving tiny puncture marks as it hiked to the top of the arrangement. “Food mountain!” It repeated, its gleeful crowing much clearer and almost sing-song without having to compete with the noise of the crowd.
She watched it turn in a circle, surveying the feast. “But… cannot eat it all,” it observed after a while, crestfallen. “Human-sized. Big shame.”
“Don’t you have nest-mates who can help you with it?” she asked. She had assumed not, from the way it had apparently been foraging for food on its own, but she needed to be sure she’d found a loner.
“No nest. No mates. No nest-mates. You’re rude.” It flopped down ungracefully, wings spread out flat on the apple like it was trying to hug the entire much-larger fruit.
She gave it a moment to be dramatic, and then offered it the grape, minus the peel. “You seem to have a good grasp on human-speak.”
It grabbed the grape without so much as a thank you. “Yes. Have composed poetry in both Dragonese and Humanese. Not for humans to hear, though.” Bragging cheered it up a little.
“You mentioned. I can’t hear very well, anyway.” She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Actually, I’ve been looking for a helper.”
“An assistant,” it said, apparently showing off its Humanese. “An attendant. An aid.”
She watched it bury its snout in the grape, juice dribbling down onto the apple it sat on. “Yes. A hearing aid. How would you feel about having a job?”
It smiled craftily. “Would feel positively, if job comes with chocolate chips.”
“It could,” she said, grinning. She had some friends who employed bird-sized dragons as messengers, but this was the first time she’d heard of one negotiating its salary for itself. “It certainly could. What’s your name?”
“Peep,” said Peep. “It is self-explanatory.”
“Don’t worry, I got it.”
Peep expressed its doubt that humans ever got anything, but she thought the tiny, prickly creature might be warming up to her.
It’s been awhile since I was inspired to create an item. But during @dndwizards Stream of Annihilation a better “Dice Shaming” conversation came up, and I knew I had to make a Funtional Dice Stocks for shaming fail Dice.
A man who disrespects a woman to whom he is not attracted makes obvious that he believes a woman’s sole purpose is to be an object of attraction to him – that conventional attractiveness (thinness) is the ONLY marker of a worthy woman and that a woman who does not fulfill her primary obligation of turning him on is therefore not worthy and has no value.
LISALAMB BEACH CLUB LIFE i get cyberbullies telling me theres no way im happy im that my blog is a lie my life is a lie FUCK YOU IM FAT AND HAPPY get tf over it you dont have to look a certain way to enjoy life!!!! now im not saying being fat doesnt have negative side effects im just saying LIVE and enjoy whatever body you have dont be afraid to love yourself just the way you are RN
Well I guess humpday is technically over... but w/e. Have some Raph smut to getcha through the work week. 18+ only!!
Heat coiled low in her gut, making her toes curl and her thighs tremble. The achingly slow tug of his cock inside her was unbearable, and she let herself fall back against his plastron, mewling in need. He was doing it on purpose, the bastard, but she didn’t have time for his games tonight. Rae needed him to go faster. Now.
She could feel him smirking.
Frustration mounting, she tried grinding back against him, but his broad hands held her hips immobile. His pace slowed to a crawl, and she heard him chuckle when she whined.
If he didn’t pick it up, she was going to lose her goddamn mind! “C'mon! Just give it to me, daddy!”
Rae tipped her head back to look at him, and the shocked expression on his face made her balk. ‘Oh shit, did I say that out loud? He must think I’m so weird!’
Hunching her shoulders in mortification, she stammered, “I’m… I didn’t mean… y-you dont-”
“Say it again.”
His usually deep voice had dropped another octave, the gravely baritone reverberating straight into her bones and making her throb around his impressive girth.
“Say. It. Again.”
A knowing grin pulled at her mouth. Tongue swiping across red painted lips, she practically purred, “Give it to me, big daddy.”
He abandoned his hold on her hips; one arm wound across her shoulders to trap her against him and the other pushed him from his back and onto his haunches. Her legs were splayed wide, draped over his thighs as her toes dangled above the mattress.
Raph latched onto the side of her neck with his teeth, laving the abused skin with his tongue before rumbling lowly, “Be careful what ya wish for.”
He thrust into her sharply, and the burst of pleasure/pain tore a hoarse shout from her throat. She was pinned against him, his iron grip unwavering as he began jerking up into her with abandon. When he pressed a finger against her clit she nearly came undone, mouth falling open as an incoherent jumble of sounds came pouring out.
“This what ya wanted? Hn? Ya like that?!”
She clasped desperately at the hand toying her slick pearl. “Nngh! R-Raph!!”
“What’s wrong? Too much for ya?”
She bit her lip, eyes snapping shut as she shook her head, unwilling to back down now.
He rumbled in appreciation. “Atta girl.”
Rae could do little else but hold tightly to the arm that held her prisoner, her nails raking over thick, sinewy muscle and smooth scales. His breath was hot on her throat as he moved, every thrust drawing an animalistic sound from deep within his chest. Each time he withdrew he brushed against that sweet spot inside of her, and soon she could feel her juices sliding down the cleft of her ass.
She felt his lips pull away from his teeth as he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Lookit how wet ya are, dirty girl. Yer soaked.”
There were few things that could get her off faster than that filthy mouth of his, and she felt herself shaking at the smug utterance, his manic pace shoving her precariously close to the edge.
Raphael coated a finger in her wetness and pressed the pad of it to her lips. She obliged without protest, her tongue sweeping over the thick digit as he pushed it into her mouth. Tasting herself on his skin was such a turn on, and she moaned throatily, her teeth scraping his knuckle.
He withdrew his hand and gripped her thigh firmly, kneading the soft flesh before giving it a sound smack. “Who’s yer daddy?!”
She gasped, her head reeling as she felt her pussy start to tighten around him. “You are!”
Rae tried to move, straining against his arm and grasping at him, trying to anchor herself to something as she felt her release rising up to consume her. It was so much sensation. So fast, so hard and sooo fucking good! She couldn’t stand it!
“Whaddya want? Beg me for it!” he barked, voice so loud it made her windows rattle.
“Please! Oh fuck, please, please m-make me cum!”
“Yeah?! You want it?!”
She could have cried. It was so close. So close! She could hardly speak! Could hardly breathe anymore!! Just when she thought she might never reach nirvana he pulled her down hard onto his cock, and her mind went blank. White light streamed across her vision, filling it with spots as she came hard. She dug her nails into his arms, shrieking like someone was fucking murdering her as it hit. Behind her she felt him tense up, heard his deep, thrumming churr as he went over the edge. His seed filled her up, gushing out of her cunt to drip on the sheets below them.
The big male at her back finally released her, letting her lax body fall forward onto the bed. He leaned over her prone form, thick member still seated deeply inside. “Hope yer ready for round two. Big daddy’s just gettin started.”
Despite the fact that she couldn’t really remember her own name… or where she was, one very clear thought managed to filter through her fuck-addled brain.
‘Oh sweet lord… what have I done?’
Hello everyone! Anyone interested in helping me play a harmless prank to kick off April? I had a chat with cowardlycomics (shown above) that resulted in me shame deleting my blog. I however did not actually delete, I only blocked cowardlycomics to make it look like I really deleted! I was hoping that all of you could message/submit asks to cowardlycomics, inquiring if they had any idea why I deleted my blog. Be sure to follow them too, their comics are great!
you know, when i think about how much more active of a writer i was when i was a kid, it’s kind of depressing.
i mean, i had the original Big Epic Fantasy Novel in the works (which i still occasionally think about going back to, but probably never will), and that came to around 500 or 600 pages when you include the countless redrafts, 50-page synopsis, character sheets, lore, worldbuilding, sequel ideas, and assorted random scenes/episodes. then there was the 90-page evil granny novel, which we all know and (?) love, the rambling play about the two kids who get trapped in the underworld together and end up organising a rebellion against the Lord of the Dead, and at least five others - all of which were over a hundred pages long. and that’s not even counting the short stories, scripts, and poetry that i churned out on a fairly regular basis.
i think about it, and it’s like: wow, how the hell did i even do that? nowadays, if i can write something that’s over 10k, it feels like a huge achievement - and even when i do manage it, it invariably gets abandoned after i lose the motivation to finish it. i’m not sure if that’s because of lack of time or lack of drive, but either way it makes me a bit sad. i hope that one day i’ll get the chance to be as prolific as my weird, obsessive eight-year-old self was.