Daisy's Are Frequently Associated With Purity, Childbirth, New Beginnings, And Cheerfulness. Daisy Petals

Sugar sweet

Pairing: John price x assistant! Reader

Warning: unspecified age gap, 'bratty' reader, brief description of past, implied emotional neglect, mild/tame bits of angst, reader is kinda pathetic but we salute her, AFAB/female! Reader, suggestive content at the end, Mild NSFW at end, brief sexual fantasies (oral - male receiving) , John is pining in his own way

Tag: msil

Apologies. I've never written for Price so please bare with me if he's ooc. This is my firt time posting writing on here 🙏 but I got a spark of courage from some encouragement!I absolutely love this idea and couldn't help but be inspired. Full credit to Dante for the prompt. I just got writing fuel from it.

Was it so wrong to want some praise for your hard work? To want to hear “good job” for once in your life? You did a good job, and you know that. Your salary reflects it, along with a few appreciative pats from others. You often hear murmurs from colleagues who say, “You just work too hard; take a break,” along with their well-meaning concerns. But you liked being busy—helping those who sacrificed so much for everyone else, often with little reward, just paperwork, bruises, and bleeding wounds. Your hands were rough from the grit on your gun grinding against your palms and fingertips.

You were just being grateful. Helpful.

And a helpful little bird you were—always fluttering around Price’s office. This time, you brought him a fresh cup of coffee and a bagel: egg, sausage, and spinach. You left it at his desk to the side so his arm wouldn’t knock it over. Taking a silent breath, you stood there, lingering, hands clasped behind you, as your eyes flitted over the man currently hunched over his desk and the food you had brought.

Another beat passed. Nothing.

He let out a small grunt as he shifted in his seat, giving a small sniff as he continued to drag his eyes along each word, scratching a few out with a thick black Sharpie. His thick brows were pinched tight, creasing his forehead—a look you were all too familiar with when it came to Price. It always made him look older, though the air he gave off already did that just fine, making the wrinkles forming around his eyes and on his forehead more prominent. He squinted at the words as if each one were an offense.

“I thought you’d like something to eat; I haven’t seen you have anything for a few hours, so—” you gestured to the bagel, a smile curled on your lips. The tinted lip balm gave them a pleasant shine and a healthy hue, and a faint taste of strawberries lingered on your tongue from when you had licked your lips, nerves tight in your core before entering his office.

And once again—nothing.

He only vaguely acknowledged it, barely glancing before he reached for the coffee and took a sip. A small gruff sound escaped him as the warmth pooled down his throat.

You faltered, but your smile remained brave in the face of his stoic behavior. “Well, I’ll leave you be,” you said, the words coming out cheery in your desperate attempt to not sound as awkward as you felt.

You shuffled toward the door after a few more seconds of waiting. Maybe, just maybe-

“Love?”

Instantly, you whipped around, chest puffing out as your heels squeaked against the floor. “Yes, sir?”

“Blue suits you.”

Your face twisted as you paused, about to ask what he meant. Looking down at yourself, you saw a crisp white blouse snugly tucked into a black pencil skirt—one that was smaller than you had anticipated. You had noticed it seemed to draw his attention more often than not, so the purchase didn’t seem to be all for nothing. There was only a single hint of blue on you, except for your—

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you let out a sharp gasp. Immediately, you twisted around to see that the skirt had ridden up, revealing the edge of your baby blue panties stretched across your backside. The lace trim was exposed for all to see. Hastily, you pushed down the fabric of your skirt, adjusting it to sit better on your hips. Smoothing it down was when you saw it: his eyes finally lifted from the paper, a steaming mug pressed to his lips. A pleased crinkle appeared in his eye as he took in everything.

You had never left his office faster. Your face was too warm—much too warm. Before you knew it, you were stumbling into the bathroom, splashing water onto your face to cool down. Lifting your head to stare at your reflection, you cursed. Your mascara had smudged, streaking down your cheeks as if you had cried. The light, natural shade of your eyeshadow was now splotchy and smeared around your eyes. You pressed your lips together in a tight purse, scolding yourself for your forgetfulness.

Yanking rough tissues from the dispenser, you dabbed at your face, trying to salvage what makeup remained.

Standing amid the dim lighting of the bathroom, you couldn’t help but stare. What were you doing? A woman your age prancing around in short skirts and makeup? Sure, you had always been inclined to doll yourself up, but it had usually been a treat—something to anticipate after a rough week. Now, it felt like a routine, ensuring you had a pretty glow and your best features enhanced. When did you become so desperate for such minimal attention?

Perhaps it was when your father always hummed in stiff, dry tones whenever you spoke. Or when your mother would glance up from her phone, scrolling while you tried to show her something you were proud of, only for her to finally respond to something you had said five sentences ago.

Maybe it was when you did your best at everything—school work, getting a job as soon as possible, and even landing an office position mere months after finishing your education. Always made sure the house is clean and never ask your parents for help, despite feeling sickly and overwhelmed. Always doing your very best to remain as pleasant as possible and chase any spontaneous kiss to your head and word of approval from either of them. But the majority of the time, it was nothing. After all, you were expected to do well. So independent and mature at such a young age. How well they must have raised you to be so self-sufficient. They would praise so highly to their friends. Expected to have a good job and a happy air to you.

After all, you were so lucky. They were people having it worse than you. Why would you ever feel so low you wanted to quit everything and grovel in your bed?

Or it could have started when friends would always have an excuse to decline your plans or something last minute came up. Dates always having you carry the conversation after having to endure hours of dry texting and inconsistent messages.

A nagging need to just hear one satisfied hum. To feel a ruffle to your hair or a firm pat on your shoulder. The sweet euphoria of hearing a pleased “Good girl”. You craved it like how a chef always twitched to snag a cigarette between their lips. An itch you could never scratch no matter how many times you self-affirmed with loving post-stick notes on your bedroom mirror and muttered endless approval to yourself for the most simple of things.

You huffed as you shook your head. Why bother with such a man like Price? The only time he seemed to even bat an eye in your direction was when you flashed your legs or your shirt hugged your breasts too tight. You were mere meat and he was a hungry dog. A frown grew on your lips as you patted your cheeks. Glaring at your reflection as you fixed yourself up and pushed out of the bathroom.

It started with your wardrobe; wearing trousers that looked smart enough for your job but gave your shape no compliments. Its rigid seams even making your hips look boxier and your legs shorter as you trade your polished heels for simple flats. Your blouses no longer hugged the curve of your chest. And if you wanted the relief skirts gave then it was unshapely skirts – pleated or plain and sleek – that ended half way down to your calf.

And then it was the coffee. It tasted the same? Then why bother with saving an extra palmful of cash for the fancy brand. You served it in John’s signature mug with the same beaming smile and didn’t waste your time to linger. To wait for any response. Bustling down the halls with files tucked to your chest. With the extra cash now staying in your pockets you treated yourself to paying for a nice cake or an overpriced coffee of your own that gave you that needed rush for the busy day.

Head held high as you gave up your pursuit. You were always such a independent girl.

And Price? Well, as soon as he tasted the bland blend of coffee he frowned. Lips smacking as the familiar graininess of the bases blend hit his tongue. His head lifting but you were already gone. Huffing like a bull every time he drank from it. In the end, it went cold half drunk and staining the white mug.

And your clothes; what happened to his pretty bird? Sure, your beauty wasn’t easy to conceal and the lack of powder to your face didn’t change the natural charm of your features. But he had to hide his scowl of disapproval as he saw you were in another long skirt. It was flowy and dull. Those pretty legs hidden from his view. His hand digging against the scratch of his facial hair as he glared at the skirt. Half tempted to make a house call and strip every offending cloth out of your wardrobe. His jaw twitching as it clenched tight.

That smile. That sickly sweet smile you always flashed his way. He wondered if you’d smile like that to him after he’s lodged his cock from your bruised throat, cum and spit smearing on those perfect lips. Glossier than any lip balm or lip gloss you insisted to wear. A breathy ‘thank you, sir’ spilling out with tears making those insistent eyes of yours sparkle. He almost thought he went crazy when he couldn’t feel your expectant gaze boring into his skull.

He was much too old to be entertaining a sweet thing like you. Always making sure his boots were polished, his office tidied when he was gone for too many weeks, adding sticky notes to files and color coding each one to make sure they were in perfect order. Treating him to good coffee and pleasant meals. It took everything in him to keep himself glued to his paperwork when you came in and was so kind. So needy. You didn’t need a grump like him. A man with too many burdens on his sunken shoulders and blood staining more than his hands.

He tried to dismiss your quirks by giving it no attention. Mutters of disapproval whenever you spent money on him. But it just made you more keen. Trying again and again to get him to say something. To look at you but he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. But now he was finally getting what he wanted? He couldn’t help but swallow each bitter grain of his efforts.

His day was long. His team giving him their usual shit but it was giving him a bigger headache than ever. Any bark of demand towards him had his hand clenching in a tight fist behind his back. Most of his paperwork had fallen to you and this time, it was his turn to come into your little space, knocking on the door with a coffee much too sugary for any of his teeth to withstand.

There you were, cramped in your chair with a flood of paperwork looming high to your shoulder. He cleared his throat and you snapped your head up, perking in surprise at his appearance. Wide doe eyes blinking at him as didn’t stop at your desk. No, he pressed a big calloused hand to the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the peek of skin between your hair and your shirt collar. Pressing the coffee down as he looked down to see how much you’ve done. His breath warm against your ear making your whole body turn to stone.

“atta girl. That’s it, love.” John murmured as he gave the back of your neck a small squeeze and stood back up. Leaving you gawking at the door as he left just like that. The warmth of his hand lingering on your skin. A blood that was meant to go to your cheeks oozed down, pouring between your legs as your sex throbbed at the simple praise.

It didn't take long, no, It only took the next day for you to be back in those little pencil skirts and a new blouse that embraced your figure nicely. Heels on your feet signaling your arrival as you leave a fresh mug of coffee on his desk and a small pile of files. All colored and checked, sticky notes paper clipped to each.

One file slipped from the stack making you bend down and scramble it back into your hands giving John a beautiful eyeful of those baby blue panties hugging your ass and a small chub of your sex teasing him as it peered between your thighs. A pleased growl, deep from his chest rumbling out as he took the file from your hand.

“good girl.”

something about mean old bastard price and his sweet new assistant who just wants his approval so bad but can never seem to get a positive response from him

your sweet gestures, like using your own money to buy him fancy coffee instead of the generic brand on base are only met with an unappreciative grunt followed with, “fuckin’ waste of money. tastes exactly the same.”

barely looks up at you when you drop folders on his desk, only nudges his empty cup towards you. a silent way of commanding you to make yourself useful

until one day when you catch him shameless checking out your ass in the new skirt you bought, his usual grunting response actually seems to be out of approval for once. doesn’t even acknowledge your eyes watching him as he rakes his own down your legs before adjusting himself in his trousers and going back to his paperwork

….’Give your son a little brother’

…and if I give twin girls? My family has a propensity for twins and *girls*. My mom came from a family of 7 girls, 1 boy. 4 of those girls being twins. (The realization as an adult woman struck fear into my heart- 1 baby is scary enough but 2??? 2 girls with the potential for attitude? Good lord.)

Double the baby? Price would be thrilled. He doesn't need a son and he's secretly a total girl dad. He just doesn't know it but he's so use to be surrounded by men he never anticipated a daughter - let alone two. But this just proves why you're the perfect little wife. Giving him twice as much as he asked for in two beautiful children he can love and spoil.

Fic link🔗

dev gets hip surgery

realized i never actually made a post about this other than silly little afterthought ones. but here it goes- i'm officially having surgery on my hip the first half of june!

it's a pretty major surgery and the main objective is to remove a soft cell sarcoma they identified on an MRI

even with my insurance, it's going to be a large sum due up front in order to get the surgery and i am humbly, hesitantly, cautiously asking for help with this official post. initially, y'all have really come through and it's been such an amazing thing to see and be on the receiving end of. i'm so grateful for shares and support and donations received thus far, y'all have no idea how much it means to me that we are still capable of banding together to support each other despite recent drama

i'm still working as much as i can, but i am feeling the effects of everything and dealing with these issues for over a year now is catching up with me. 2 months of working and then filing for the necessary gov't aid will be all i'll have for the entirety of my 4-6 month recovery period- there are more details in the post below

-> gofund me link

-> ko-fi link

thank you, thank you, thank you to every single one of you. so much love and hope the days are good to you

x.o dev

I'm celebrating every new fic that's added to the Guy nation

Now..... consider... ..hear me out..sex pollen that forces Guy and reader to finally confront all the tension that's been between them and having the most mind-blowing sex and waking up, pollen out of their system and Guy is just smug and grinning at you and you feel like you need a cigarette

Llet Eht Hturt

Guy Gardner/Reader Quick little truth spell flashfic while the idea is floating around in my brain, and to try and get some writing juices flowing.

“So, which of us do you think is the hottest?”

The question is playful, but invasive, considering the truth spell you’re currently hexed with. Guys not annoyed at Booster for asking it though; he’s just annoyed that he didn’t get there first. He doesn’t have time to scowl about it, however.

“Guy.” You answer instantly, mortification evident on your face. You close your eyes as if to block out the situation, but not before Guy catches them darting to look at him. “Asshole!”

"What?!" Booster laughs as you blindly reach out to slap his arm. “Guy?! No fucking way! What is it? The bowl cut? Does that do it for you?”

“It does.” You reluctantly confirm. “He’s sexy, okay. Sue me!”

He almost feels bad. He can tell by your tone of voice and the way you’re still refusing to look at him that you’re itching to put your foot in your mouth, but the spell won’t let you.

“He’s funny and smart and strong and every time I look at him my heart races and I will never forgive the next person who asks me about this.”

“Me included, sweetstuff?” Your whole body jerks when he puts his arm around you, wrapping it over your shoulder and pulling you tight into his chest. He really does feel bad, you’re already stressed as hell, without having your dirty laundry aired for all of your coworkers to see, but he’s equally overjoyed. “It’s alright. I always knew ya had a thing fer me, most people do. Nothin’ ta be shy about.”

The two of you had always had a lot of back and fourth, banter that usually revolved around him shamelessly hitting on you, and you acting like you’re not into it. For the longest time, he’d doubted his ability to read people, thought maybe he was projecting his own feelings back onto you, but he’d always suspected you were more into him than you let on, and now there was no denying it.

“Oh my god.” You murmur quietly into his chest. You’re radiating heat as you look up at him from between his pecs, a dire mix of frustration and tenderness clouding your expression before you nuzzle deeper into him, hiding from his smug face. Fuck, you’re cute. “Shut up.”

Pairing: Marcus Perez (oc) x AFAB! reader

(general) Warning: age gap (he's 50, reader is in mid/late twenties), virgin reader, inexperienced reader, daddy issues™, marcus is a dilf, daddy kink, angst, lots of food/baking, size difference, reader is not overly described but is implied to be skinny & small breasted, able bodied reader, hair length is not defined but will be mentioned, reader is feminine and AFAB but gender is undefined, Marcus drinks and smokes, eventual smut, slow burn-ish, series fic

Plot: Marcus seeks out a fresh start living the city life, renting an apartment above a small business bakery. That's where he met you. His sweet temptation.

Note: update schedule currently unknown.

Sunshine and whiskey:

Part 1 | ??? | ??? | ???

psa clint isn’t joel miller and if you’re flattening him into a joel archetype we need to talk about race again

i’m aware they both wear plaid, have a daughter, battle with grief, and are hot covered in blood and enacting violence

this isn’t a callout i just don’t remember where i saw these specific posts about the red handkerchief and clint as a ‘blue collar’ man. but i know i’ve seen plenty of clint = joel posts floating around. 

AND i wasn’t going to say anything bc i thought i was just being gatekeepy bc i didn’t wanna see clint get the dbf treatment which would be my personal problem and i can happily write about him on my own blog how i want etc etc and i know i don’t have to read anyone else’s takes BUT then i thought about it and once again…it’s always about race… re: the post i saw somewhere about someone having a head canon about clint having a red handkerchief as a snot rag - sorry i forgot where i saw it and this isn’t an attack on whoever wrote that, but an fyi to anyone thinking about him the same way… if you’re writing a latino man in 1987 oakland—especially someone working street-level jobs or tied to criminal economies—and you think a red bandana is just a ‘snot rag,’ you’re missing major context

fyi, in 1987, color politics were not optional if you were a man of color in california. even though bloods (red) and crips (blue) originated in LA, their color codes and the larger gang culture around them were already known across the state. in northern california specifically, norteños (tied to the nuestra familia prison gang) wore red. their rivals, sureños (tied to the mexican mafia), wore blue. 

who cares? well, even though oakland wasn’t dominated by bloods and crips the way LA was (in part due to the black panthers), it had its own street crews, plus a heavy norteño/sureño influence by the mid-80s. even outside organized gangs, the association between red and gang affiliation was strong enough that wearing a red bandana could get you profiled, targeted, or attacked—by cops, by other crews, or by random people trying to read your allegiance.

if you were a latino man in oakland in the 80s—like clint—you wouldn’t carry a red bandana by accident. it would be flagging. even if you weren’t affiliated. as a street smart guy, survival would mean being hyper-aware of how you present yourself, especially in neighborhoods policed by gang dynamics and racial profiling. cops would use color displays like a bandana as probable cause for harassment searches or worse during the height of the ‘war on drugs’ and the crack epidemic. 

characters like clint—latino, working-class, street-adjacent—would have understood the consequences of being read wrong. this doesn’t mean no one ever had cloths, handkerchiefs, or functional rags. it means the color and the way you carried it mattered: what pocket, what visibility, how deliberate it looked.

throwing a red bandana in your pocket wasn’t neutral. it wasn’t folksy. it wasn’t just blue-collar roughness. it was a risk, and survival was about reading the street, not walking through it like color codes didn’t apply to you.

clint wouldn’t casually rock a red bandana like a cowboy. latino men have never had the privilege of being casual about how they're read in public, especially not in a city like oakland, especially not in the 1980s.

re: clint as a ‘blue collar’ character there’s a difference between being ‘blue collar’ and being trapped in criminalized labor. wearing a plaid shirt and working with your hands doesn’t automatically make someone a blue-collar worker in the traditional sense. 

blue collar historically refers to wage labor—construction, manufacturing, trade work—where the worker is paid (poorly) but still operating within the boundaries of legal employment. union jobs. often unionized labor, tied to systems that, at least in theory, protected workers through collective bargaining, benefits, and job security. those protections were never equally available, especially to workers of color, but they existed as part of the larger working-class structure. 

clint’s labor isn’t protected. it isn’t recognized. it’s criminalized. he’s not just a man doing rough work for low pay—he’s disposable labor, surviving in a system that sees him as expendable from the start. calling him ‘blue collar’ erases the fact that he’s not inside the working class safety net. he’s on the outside, paying off debt with violence he didn’t choose.

it carries a specific context of class exploitation, yes, but it’s still different from the kind of criminal coercion characters like clint are caught in.

clint is not a proud working man making an honest living. his entire arc in freaky tales is about being forced into violent labor to pay off inherited debt he had no choice in. he is not rough and gritty because he chose a rugged life. 

he is rough because he was born into a system designed to keep him indebted, desperate, and expendable. he’s not working a blue collar job—he’s surviving in a criminal economy that feeds off people like him, using violence he doesn’t even want to enact just to stay afloat.

flattening clint into a vague ‘marlboro man’ archetype (joel coded)—rough clothes, kind heart, good intentions—it strips away everything sharp and painful about his actual story. it whitewashes the complexity of being a latino man criminalized by birth and survival, not by choice. it reframes his struggle as a generic americana fantasy about working-class virtue, when what’s actually at stake is how structural violence forces people into roles they never asked for.

especially when it’s a latino character, this flattening isn’t neutral. it erases the realities of racialized labor, racialized criminalization, and survival. clint’s tragedy isn’t that he’s a gruff tough guy with a soft interior. his tragedy is that he was forced to become violent in order to pay off a life he was never allowed to own, and he carries that weight without any guarantee of getting free.

you can’t understand clint if you don’t understand that. and if you’re not willing to sit with that discomfort, what you’re writing isn’t really him—it’s just a projection of a character he was never allowed to be.

clint and joel might overlap in aesthetics, being single girl dads, and physical strength—but reducing clint to a copy of joel misses everything that actually defines who he is, and why his story matters.

joel miller is a texas man—a man shaped by frontier mythology, southern survivalism, deep mistrust, and violent individualism. he is, by his own admission, a man whose grief and guilt hollowed him out so badly that even his brother was scared of him. he’s not just traumatized; he’s actively dangerous, closed off, and isolated. his story is about losing his humanity and clawing parts of it back, maybe too late.

clint is not that. clint is an oakland man—east bay, west coast, working-class and criminalized, not because he chose violence but because he was born into debt he could never pay off. he’s an underdog, not an antihero. 

he’s soft with his woman, he lights up under her attention. he’s goofy in the video store with the clerk. he’s not some hardened loner who scares everyone around him. he’s just a man trying to survive a system that was designed to use him up.

when you flatten clint into joel, you’re misreading two characters with different emotional cores and fetishizing the aesthetics of pain and ruggedness while ignoring race, class, place, and survival context.

clint isn't a texas cowboy. he’s not steeped in frontier violence or manifest destiny myths. he’s a west coast underdog who knows every step he takes could get him crushed, and he still tries to protect the people he loves without letting it rot him from the inside out.

the tragedy of joel is that the world took everything from him and he let it turn him into something colder, crueler.

the tragedy of clint is that the world gave him no choice- he says he was born into breaking bones to pay off his father’s debt, and he still tries to hold onto his softness anyway.

if you can’t tell the difference, you’re not seeing clint, you’re just projecting a fetishized joel trope onto another character… 

Green Lanterns Might

Pairing: Guy Gardner x AFAB! reader

Warnings: B.O/musk kink, manhandling, ALOT of teasing , dirty talk but I mean like, Guy gets FILTHY, this is the same man who canonically called his imagination fertile, he's gonna say cringe. Full Nelson position, brief headlock, creampie, Afab! Reader but gender is not specified, 'fem' nicknames given (dolly, doll, sweetheart, babe), reader is a brat, reader has hair but texture/ length/style is unspecified, hair tugging, alot of sniffing, boob fondling, abit of cock worship, ball-sucking, M! receiving oral, fingering, mirror sex - kinda, squirting, surprisingly fluffy

I WILL BE WRITING GUY HAVING A PAINFULLY THICK BALTIMORE ACCENT BECAUSE I NEED EVERYONE TO UNDERSTAND AND KNOW THAT HE IS, INFACT, FROM BALTIMORE

This fic was originally a very self indulgent oc x Guy fic but I got embarrassed and turned it into an X reader.

Tried to edit this as much as I could but I'm bound to have missed stuff so please tell me and I'm sorry 😶‍🌫️

Guy burst through the door of your shared apartment, still buzzing with adrenaline from his intense training session. His gym clothes were drenched in sweat, a worn-out sleeveless hoodie, and some loose gym shorts as he stomped inside his apartment. Abandoning his duffle bag at the door. Kicking off his shoes clumsily behind him. He paused for a moment once the sound of his things cluttering to the floor turned to silence. Expecting to hear the sound of feet padding over to him, to feel a sweet kiss on his cheek, but there was nothing. His brows immediately knitted together, lips pressing into a pout.

He peered around with a thick brow raised, venturing further before he finally spotted you, too engrossed in your phone, just standing in the middle of the room. Ignoring his existence. Scoffing, without missing a beat, Guy charged over, suddenly yanking you backward as he pulled you into a headlock. Making you screamin surprise, dropping his phone(which fell to the floor without damage, thankfully) in the middle of the manhandling as you squirmed.

Guy snickered nasally as he squeezed lightly your face between his muscles. “Hey there, hot stuff!” Guy greeted with a wolfish grin.

“Miss me?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Guy’s heart raced and it wasn't just because of his adrenaline high.

When you gasped you were forced to breath in, making the sharp, salty scent of sweat fill your senses. Your face dangerously close to the thick curls of orange at Guy’s armpits. Your cheeks flushed your thighs pressed together. Inhaling another huff of the man’s sweaty musk. A heady scent that reeked of masculinity and potent testosterone.

You immediately whined as you tugged on Guy’s arms. “Don’t scare me like that-!”

Your reaction only just made Guy laugh, a deep rumbling sound in his chest, as he tightened his hold slightly. Not enough to hurt but enough to make you feel the sheer power and strength in his muscular arms.

“Aww, did I scare my little dolly?” He teased, his voice a low, mocking drawl.

Guy leaned in closer, his nose brushing against your hair as he inhaled deeply, picking up on the scent of your shampoo mingling with his own musky aroma. Just from that whine alone, he knew you were getting worked up; it made his ego swell. His chest subconsciously puffed out like a bird.

“C’mon, dolly, don’t tell me you weren’t missin’ this.”

He suddenly pulled you into his armpit. A big smug grin on his face that made his crooked nose scrunch. One arm wrapped around the back of your head whilst the other gripped the back of his neck to keep him from squirming away.

“You smell dat, babe? Dat’s da scent of a real man.”

You let out a sound that was a mix between a scoff and a squeal. Trying to act like you weren't absolutely melting against Guy’s side, your hands twitched as they clenched and grasped at the ginger's hoodie. Your leg stomped petulantly. You could feel the course hair of Guy’s pubes tickling at your skin, the warm damp of sweat that was most definitely going to leave a shine on your nose; which was buried in the jungle of curls. Your eyes fluttered with every shaky breath as you tried to complain.

“Guy-!” you let out another whine. “Stoop-“ you weakly tried to pull your face away. “You stink!”

Guy just chuckled again. Your brattiness really was amusing. It only spurred on Guy’s desire to tease you more. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your neck, feeling the smooth skin beneath his calloused touch. Holding you firmly in place, not allowing you to pull away. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it lightly as he rubbed your face further into the sweat-damp curls of his armpit.

“I stink? Yeah, dat's what happens when ya out, trainin' hard.” Guy dismissively spoke, sniffing as he shrugged his shoulder like it was all no big deal that he spent hours dedicated to always keeping him and his rookies up to shape.

He finally released you but kept a hand on the back of his neck. “But yer right, I should shower-“

That made You tense. Immediately your hands were clutching at Guy tighter to keep him from leaving your side. Sucking in greedy breaths of air, keeping yourself nuzzled into his armpit. Peering up at him through low lashes as you panted softly. Too embarrassed to verbally protest but you kept tugging Guy impossibly closer to you. Silently demanding he didn’t shower.

He immediately looked down, meeting your gaze as you peered up at him with those pretty eyes. The sight of you like this, taking in his scent like it was some kind of aphrodisiac. His cock chubbed, eager and fat in his shorts as his ears went bright red, threatening to spread to his cheeks. He really couldn’t believe that someone was this into him- sure, he was a hot guy(he believed he was, but others seemed to disagree), but he wasn’t blind to the truth. He knew he was a selective choice for people; he’s had partners that have loved him, but you? You adored every single bit. Especially the parts so many have tried to fix, you embraced them. Cherished him. It made his head spin and his heart race.

Guy’s other hand slid down to the small of your back, pulling your hips flush together. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, could feel every curve and dip of your form pressed up against his. Already beginning to walk backwards towards the bedroom.

“But I stink; ya were whinin’ 'bout it a second ago; gotta clean up somehow.” He teased, eyes full of knowing and a grin permanent on his face. “So, you gonna clean me up then, huh?”

The two of you barely made it to the bedroom before you sank down to your knees, your hands dragged down the fabric of Guy’s gym shorts making

Guy stumbles back, his lower back pressing against the footboard of the bed. Biting your lip, a soft groan escaped you as he saw the big man was wearing a jockstrap; diving your face forward, nuzzling against the prominent bulge, feeling the damp spot of pre on the fabric against your cheek.

“You’re so mean to me.” you falsely complained, huffing as you pulled Guy’s jockstrap down his toned legs, marveling at the way his ass bounced when the strap got caught on the globe. Letting the man’s cock rest on your face. The heavyweight, from his girth, draped from your nose to your forehead. Your tongue happily made wet trails along the underside of the man's cock, feeling each vein that twitched against your wet muscle. Your tongue was just able to brush against the balls that were pressed to your chin.

Guy let out a low groan, his head falling back as he felt Your tongue dragging along his thick shaft. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it tightly as he fought the urge to thrust his hips forward.

He could feel the heat of your breath on his sensitive skin. It made his cock throb, leaking pre all over your face. He looked down, taking in the sight of his thick cock resting heavy on the your features. The sight of his balls, big and hairy, pressed against your chin. It was enough to make a strained whimper crack from his throat.

“Baby-“ he shook his head. His hips bucked as he felt another lick to his shaft.

“I’m mean to ya?” Guy growled, his voice rough with lust. Clearing his throat as he tried to ignore the whiney little sounds desperately trying to escape him.

“From up here, looks like ya dig it when I'm bein' all mean to ya.” He punctuated his words by thrusting his hips forward, rubbing his cock against your face, smearing pre all over your forehead and into your hairline.

“pretty privilege.” You state before dragging your tongue up and down Guy’s cock, tasting the salt of sweat on the skin.

He almost laughed but was cut off by his own whiney groans. Pretty privilege, huh? His chest grew warm at the teasing compliment. Wasn’t often a guy like him was considered pretty.

Your hand reached up as he pulled back the extra skin at the top, exposing the glossy red head of Guy’s leaky dick. Leaning back so you could pump his shaft. Guy's grip on your hair tightened as he felt the wet heat of your mouth enveloping his heavy balls. you sucked on one, tongue darting out to give the other some attention.

His head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as jolts of pleasure shot up his spine. His cock throbbed In your hand, the head an angry red almost purple and leaking steadily onto the your cheek. Guy’s chest heaved with each ragged breath he took, his muscles flexing and rippling beneath the skin. He was lost in the sensation, drowning in the feeling of your eager mouth. Your soft hand. The feeling of being desired without an ounce of shame or hesitation.

Guy’s other hand came up to grip the footboard of the bed, knuckles turning white as he held on for dear. His face flushed and eyes dark with lust as he stared down at the erotica sight before him. He was already so close, and you had barely even started.

'So embarrassing- c'mon Gardner ya can't be jizzing on a pretty face like a god damn virgin!'

This little tease was going to be the death of him. He licked his lips, his voice a low, husky growl. “Fuck, baby… you keep suckin’ on my balls like that, I’m gonna paint ya face white.”

That made you pull back, releasing Guy’s ball with a wet pop. Licking your own lips as you tried to soften your breaths. “and let it go to waste?” you teased back, finally guiding the man’s cock to your mouth. Feeling your lips stretch around its chub. Groaning, staring up at Guy as you bobbed your head.

Guy let out a low groan, his head falling back as he felt your lips wrap around his throbbing cock. The way the wet heat embraced his dick so perfectly, the way your tongue swirled around the sensitive head of his dick. It made his hips buck forward, pushing more of his length into your eager mouth.

Taking In the sight of your stretched lips wrapped around his thick shaft. The way your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked, the way you gazed up at Guy with those big, innocent eyes. When you were everything but. Those eyes could make you get away with anything, a bat of your lashes, and Guy would serve you the world if you asked. It was enough to make Guy’s balls tighten, his orgasm approaching faster and faster.

Guy’s fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your head as he began to thrust his hips forward. He set a steady rhythm, fucking into the wet cavern. His balls swinging and knocking into your chin. The bubble of spit and drool building up at the corner of your lips. He could feel your throat constricting around the fat head, groaning with each swallow around it. It was too much, too intense to be wanted this happily. But Guy didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop. Refused to.

He was too far gone, too lost in the sensation of your perfect mouth. He was digging his calloused fingers into every piece of loving you gave, and he would take it greedily. He wasn't going to ruin another relationship with walls drawn up.

Guy’s breath came out in short, sharp gasps. His muscles tensed, tummy flexing as he chased his release. He was close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he would-

"Oh SHIT-!"

With a loud, guttural moan, Guy’s cock pulsed and throbbed as he came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot down your throat, filling your mouth and coating his tonsils. Guy’s hips jerked and spasmed, riding out the waves of his orgasm.

Finally, with a shuddering gasp, Guy pulled out of your mouth. Prying himself away reluctantly as he heard the heavy breathes through your nose clearly now. His softening cock slipped from between your lips, a strand of cum and spit connecting the tip to your glossy bottom lip. A big, happy grin spread across his face.

“C’mere doll-“ he was immediately reaching out and helping you up, pulling you flush against him. “Treatin' me so good.” He nipped at your cheek before tugging at your clothes. Eagerly stripping you down to bare skin, letting his hands wander, pinch, and grope as soon as any new part of you was shown. You Let out a giggle, wrapping his arms around Guy’s neck as he was pawed at. Kissing along the man’s cheek as he leaned into him.

“But I ain’t lettin' ya be the winner-“ Suddenly, you were hoisted up. Squealing as the ginger suddenly ran around to the side of the bed, practically throwing you both onto the bed with Guy holding you tight, falling into Guy’s lap like it was some sort of wrestling match.

“GUY-!” you shook your head, catching your reflection in the mirror.(A tall one with a simple frame. Propped up at the wall, pointed at the side of the bed.)

Guy just grinned wickedly at your surprised squeal, holding you tight in his lap. At some point chucked off his hoodie so He could feel your naked body pressed against his own, soft curves melding with his hard muscles. It made his spent cock twitch and start to harden again, nestling up against Your ass cheeks.

Guy’s hands roamed over your bare skin, squeezing and groping every inch that he could reach. He palmed your tits, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers until you arched into his touch with a whimper. Guy’s mouth watered at the sight of your reflection in the mirror, flushed and panting, tits bouncing slightly with each movement.

He leaned In, breath hot against your ear as he growled, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, doll. Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good.” He eased Your legs opened wider, presenting him to the mirror, and let out another groan. “Oh baby…look how wet you are, all dat from a bit of sniffin' and suckin'?” His arm reached around, cupping your face as he stared at you through the reflection. “You really like me, don’tcha?”

"shut up-" you flushed deeper, squirming in his lap as you pressed your back into his broad chest. Slapping at the meat of his thick thigh in protest. Panting softly with the gloss of his cum still on your lips. Your eyes fluttered as you grasped his hand, nails scratching slightly at Guy's knuckles.

Guy just smirked wider at your flustered protests, not put off in the slightest by your feeble attempts to push him away. If anything, your squirming and blushing only spurred him on more. Looking so gorgeous all flustered and needy.

"Slapping me? Can't have ya fighting me, sweetheart," Guy shook his head, his voice a low rumble in his chest that you could feel vibrating against your back. His hand on your cheek tightened slightly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he tilted your head to the side, forcing you to hold eye contact with your reflection.

"I'm just tellin' ya the truth, you're wetter than a slip and slide." he teased, his other hand drifting down from your tits to your dripping slit. He ran a finger through your folds, purposefully curling his feelings to hear it squelch.

He teased your hole, slowly prodding it with his calloused finger before finally pushing it in. Sinking a finger into your weeping slit as he let out a growl. His eyes never left yours, watching your every reaction with a hungry intensity. Relishing in the ease as he added a second finger, pumping into you. In and out. "Drowning my fingers here, baby."

"don't be-" your words were cut off by your own moan as your hips bucked. Letting out a shaky breath as his fingers moved. "Don't be disgusting-"

you pawed at his hairy arm, nails dragging along as your shifting only made your ass wiggle against Guy's leaky cock. Landing another sharp smack to his thigh.

Guy just chuckled darkly at your breathless protest, the sound rumbling through his broad chest. His fingers never stopping their relentless pumping, plunging in and out of your soaked, clenching heat.

"Disgusting? Nah, just honest," Guy growled, his voice rough with lust. "Can't deny how fuckin' soaked you are, makin' puddles down 'ere."

He punctuated his words by curling his fingers just right, rubbing against that sensitive spot deep inside you. His thumb flicked over your clit, making your hips jerk and your pussy clench around the invading digits. His hips continuing to rut, smearing gloves of pre over your ass cheeks, groaning as it slipped between your cheeks. Catching on the rim.

"Fuck, look at ya," Guy rasped, his eyes dark with desire as he watched your reflection. "So fuckin' sexy, wigglin' against my cock, betcha you'd just let me do anythin' to this sloppy little hole of yours."

Making you moan in response with a sharp thrust of his fingers, pushing them as deep as they could go. Grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. "But I can't do it if ya keep fightin' me, slap me again and I'll restrain ya."

It was obvious bait. You were being tempted. Dared to. Challenged. It made your stomach coil. Biting down on your bottom lip, tasting the musky salt of his cock on the skin. You took it like a fish spotting a worm on a hook. Slapping his thigh again with a squeaky moans as your legs twitched and tried to snap shut but his hand was blocking the way.

Guy smirked wickedly at your squeaky moan, your legs twitching and trying to close around his hand. He took the challenge. He warned you and you immediately forced his hand.

"Uh uh uh, none of that now," Guy tutted, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. In a flash, he hooked his burly arms under your calves, lifting your legs and pressing them back towards your shoulders. The new position left you completely exposed and at his mercy.

"Guy!" you yelped, instinctively trying to grasp at him to get some balance. Opting to grip the bedsheets instead.

"I mean, you were practically beggin' for this, doll, so don't start whinin'-" he growled, his hands sliding up your thighs, over your knees, until they reached your head. Guy cradled your skull between his large, calloused hands, keeping it steady as he lined himself up. He had to adjust his hips causing his cock to spring from your ass, slapping against your folds.

"FUCK!" you screamed, your back arching as much as it could in your current position as his hips thrusted up. The sudden intrusion stretching you out, filling you up so completely. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his thick cock, trying to adjust to the intrusion.

"That's it, take it," Guy huffed, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight. Squeezin' my cock like a vice." starting to roll his hips, fucking into you with deep, purposeful thrusts. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he took you hard and fast, just the way you needed.

His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tight as he held your head still, forcing you to watch as he used your pussy. His heavy balls swung up with each deep thrust, smacking against your clit making you keen.

You felt like a doll in his grasp. Toes curling as your body jolted. Hands bunching the fabric so tight you were sure it would tear by the end of this. Eyes unable to focus; fluttering and rolling back causing your vision to blur. Your lips stick in a permanent 'O'.

"With the way you're soundin' , Bet you're making some real pretty faces." Guy teased, wishing he could see the mirror better so he could watch you but he was had to lean back to support your shared weight. Watching your back twitch and your muscles stretch as you tried to arch in his restrictive hold.

You doubt you looked pretty. You wouldn't even consider the faces you're pulling porn worthy. With the way your teeth kept tugging on your bottom lip everytime his balls slapped against your sex. The way your eyes were unable to stay still. But God- it felt too good to care.

"Ohh- ffffuck- Guy-" your words were broken between moans. Barely able to slur them out.

"Fuck yeah, dat's my name, baby. C'mon, say it louder," Guy growled, his voice dripping with lust and pride. "Whose fuckin' ya?"

"GUY!" you screamed out as he sent another pounding thrust into your velvety heat.

Guy grinned ferally at your scream, his eyes dark with lust and pride. "That's right, baby. Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his hips never stopping their relentless pace. The room filled with the erotic symphony of your moans, the creaking of the bed, and the lewd squelching of his cock driving into your soaked pussy.

"Who fucks you this good, huh?" He could feel your velvety walls fluttering and clenching around him, trying desperately to draw him deeper. It only drove him to pound into you with even more fervor.

"Guy! Fuck, Guy!" you wailed, your voice breaking on a particularly hard thrust. Your toes curled so tightly they started to cramp, and your fingers twisted the sheets into a tangled mess. Drool leaked from the corner of your slack mouth as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

"Who gets you riled up just from being sweaty and manhandling your cute ass?"

"Guy-!"

"Yeah..yeah- fuck it's me, who do you love, sweetheart, admit it," Guy snarled, his breath coming in harsh pants. Ego swelling to new heights everytime you called out his name. His cheeks as red as his ears, heart pounding against his ribs in anticipation. Sweat dripped down his chest and back from exertion, making his skin glisten in the dim light. He could feel his heavy balls tightening, his release fast approaching.

"GUY- I LOVE GUY-!" You practically screeched, high pitched and voice cracking. Your tummy unbearably tight as your orgasm grew closer and closer.

Your face was so hot you were melting. Tears of pleasure building beneath your lashes as your legs twitched in his hold.

Guy let out a roar of triumph as you screamed out your love. A giddy loud moan spilling from his lips in a mix of disbelief and pure pleasure at your admission. "Fuck yeah, you love me, baby! You fuckin' love me!" he bellowed, slamming into you with wild abandon. The bed screamed beneath you two as if I warn It'll give out under the force of his thrusts.

He could feel your warm walls starting to quiver and clench around his pistoning cock, your body tensing as your climax approached. "That's it, sweetheart. Come on my cock. I wanna feel you fuckin' explode on my dick," Guy growled, his voice a low, lustful rumble.

His body was coated in a new sheen of sweat, and twice as rewarded than any training he did today. his muscles flexing with each powerful thrust. The room was filled with the erotic symphony of your moans, the slapping of skin on skin, and the creaking of the overtaxed bed.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby. I'm gonna pump you full of my hot fuckin' spunk. Gonna cum so deep in ya you'll be tasting me-" Guy snarled, his eyes wild and fevered with lust as watched your body squirm ontop of him. His hips jerked erratically as he teetered on the brink.

Your whole body seized. Gasping sharply as your body was strung taut. A curse leaving you as with one final smack to your clit, your orgasm crashed over you. A rush of liquid shooting out, walls spasming around his cock as you squirted. The clear liquid spraying at the edges of where your sexes meet, misting the air and edge of the bed.

Guy let out a guttural moan as he felt your pussy clamp down on him like a vice, your release gushing out around his him. The sensation of your slick walls rippling and milking his shaft pushed him over the edge. "FUCK! Take it all, baby! Fuckin' take my load!" he roared.

With one last powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he started to cum. Thick, hot ropes of his seed erupted from the tip, painting your insides white. He grunted and shuddered through each spurt, filling you up just like he promised.

"Unngh, so fuckin' good... Love you so much, sweetheart," Guy panted, his hips giving shallow little thrusts as the last of his release dribbled out.

Pulling you down to lay ontop of him, grunting as his cock slipped out of your sloppy sex as he nuzzled against the side of your head. Finally able to see your reflection once more. Letting your legs hang on his arms, no longer in the air as he felt the you slump against his chest. The sight of his thick cum oozing out of your gaping, well-used hole made his spent cock twitch and jump

“Looks like I really gave this pussy a workout, huh?” he teased, kissing along the side of your head to your cheek. "Look at you, all stuffed with my cream." He gripped at your thigh, showing off your puffy hole to you in the mirror. "Got my own personal eclair."

His chest heaved as he caught his breath, a sheen of sweat and a dazed grin on his face. He looked down at you with a mix of satisfaction and adoration, taking in your wrecked and blissed-out expression. He let out a low, appreciative whistle as another glob of his seed dripped out of your puffy, stretched-out sex.

Bliss fades to exasperation as you groaned at his comparison. "Don't ruin it-" you whined as your back pressed to his sweaty chest.

Guy chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling through his chest pressed against your back. "Aww, whaddya mean ruin it, sweetheart? I'm just sayin' you look fuckin' sexy as hell with my load leakin' outta ya," he murmured, nuzzling into your neck. His hands roamed over your curves possessively, one sliding up to cup and squeeze your breast.

"Can't help myself 'round you, doll. You just do somethin' to me," Guy said, voice husky and low. He pressed a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade, teeth grazing at the skin. "Tell me you didn't like it. Tell me you didn't fuckin' love havin' me inside ya, fillin' ya up," he challenged, giving your earlobe a nip.

His other hand drifted down your belly, skimming through the mess between your thighs. Smearing it a long your well fucked hole. scooping up some of the cum that had leaked out and pushing it back inside your fluttering hole. He pumped two thick fingers in and out of your sensitive entrance, feeling it clench and squeeze around the invading digits.

“Gotta keep all my cream inside this sweet cunt, don’t we?” Guy purred, scissoring his fingers and rubbing against your inner walls. “Can’t let a single drop go to waste."

You melted, cooing at the sensitivity he felt in his poor sex. “Guy-“ you whined, still trying to come down from you shared orgasm. “I need to get cleaned up.”

Guy’s fingers stilled their movements as he heard the need in your voice. He pressed a lingering kiss to your neck before gently easing you off his lap and onto the bed. Guy stood up, his muscular frame on full display, completely naked and not a hint of shame. He scooped you up into his strong arms, cradling him against his broad chest.

As the steam began to fill the bathroom, Guy knelt down in front of you. "You do what ya need to, I'll be waitin' for your fine ass in the shower, Kay?"

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can take a little nap, yeah?” Guy said with a pleased huff, carrying you towards the bathroom. He set you down gently on the open toilet seat and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up.

with how much price is always there for simon it's only right simon gives back in some sort of way and what better way to do that other than let the captain have a go at his pretty little lovie

simon sat there with a smirk as he watched price fuck you, your face pushed into the pillow as he plowed your hole open, simon fisting his own cock to the erotic sight of it all "i gotta say si' your boy's got a good hole" price smirked listening to you moan out so loudly the pillows did nothing to muffle it

"wan' me to do something about that noisy mouth captain" simon asked standing up "affirmative" price answered lifting your head from the pillows to look at simons dark scowl "open" he ordered, his thumb holding up your chin to look at him firmly

dropping open your mouth with your tongue out for simon to slap his glistening tip on before pushing it into your mouth and all that way down your throat "quite a good gift i must say" price says tightening his grip on your hips as he fucked into you harder, pushing your mouth further onto simons dick

"only the best for you captain" simon nods at price, grabbing a handful of your hair and fucking your mouth back and forth before spurting his load down your throat, pulling out to slap his messy cock on your cute face "so fuckin' pretty" he leans down to kiss you

price soon follows, filling you up with his load "good boy, now what do we say" simon says "thank you sir" you tell price "that's right now clean him up too" simon orders and you do so, pulling yourself from prices cock to lick it clean like a good pup

Insane shit like this is deemed acceptable. Petty discourse should never so much importance over real issues

Genuinely disgusting behavior people have been expressing and I'm sorry you have to deal with that

not to be that person but after regularly talking about it with a few friends and nothing ever seems to change, i wanted to put my thoughts out there in hopes that people are more mindful of some things going forward.

once again one person says something negative about taboo kink and tropes in this fandom (y’all know exactly where i stand on this so don’t even play) and (rightfully) everyone comes together with their pitchforks to fight that one person.

but when other writers and i post about the perpetual racism and ableism we face in this fandom; being called racial and ableist slurs, just to give y'all a slight idea of what we have to deal with — one of my closest friends on here was told, only a month ago, that they should become a SLAVE again (you read that right), on more than one occasion hateful anons have called her the r slur — the f slur — the b slur, and i was told that my people deserve the genocide they're facing and that i have no place in this fandom and instead should "fuck goats" and was called a terrorist, and on top of all that we’re continuously sent graphic rape and death threats. and yet when one of us makes even one post about it, it is crickets from y’all — from our fellow white writers and mutuals within a predominantly white fandom.

this might just be me and it may ruffle some feathers (obvs because it directly affects me and my poc friends in this community so i’m very tired and very pissed off) but y’all can complain about the fandom being isolating, unwelcoming, and torn apart all you want but until y’all actually talk about the blatant racism and ableism that is becoming increasingly more frequent around here and unless you rally in support the same way you do when some puritanical eighteen year old freak complains about the kinks we all collectively indulge in, we won’t see real change within the fandom. and someone once told me i was “too woke” for saying this but it needs to be said. minorities quite literally make up the backbone of this (and many other fandoms) and the literal hate speech thrown at us should take priority over a post about what some naive kid has to say about kink. i’m not saying it’s not a valid concern — it is, but i just think the fact that your poc peers are battling literal nazis regularly in this fandom should be talked about as well.

so until then, your takes and think pieces about the discourse and disparities within this fandom and all your words about hope for a safe, more inclusive and welcoming community don’t hold any weight because your actions don’t align with your words and it's deeply upsetting and disappointing. your poc followers/readers/writers/friends DO notice you not saying anything in our defense — we DO notice the lack of support. and honestly, i think there needs to be some serious self-reflection and action ASAP otherwise it will result in more of us leaving — never to be heard from again and that, to me, is a real fucking tragedy.

Hi gang 🧍

So...yeah 💕 @gilverrwrites posts and their anons yapping about Guy Gardner Being sweaty and fucking in full Nelson, I took it upon myself to write for him. I am also posting this so I am forced to finish this.

Tackling writers block one bit of peer pressure at a time / HJ

Edit: fic is out. Link