I Have No Shame

This is a super secret blog with occasional titties 18+

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Once upon a time, a Boy met Girl, and the Girl met Boy, and a tall glass of beer met the Boy’s shirt. If you think there is nothing new about this story, you would be correct. It is, in many ways, as cliche as things get. The boy could quote dead philosophers for hours, and the girl could name every muscle and bone in your body, and they, as boys and girls do in these particular stories, fell in love. And in many ways, they worked on many levels - friends, partners, lovers, spouses, parents. And I promise you, at many many times in their mutual lives they had very passionate mind-numbing sexual intercourse. This is just not one of these times. Kinda.

[I'mDad!Au: where Walter is a history grad, and Barbara is a med student, and they have a whole life together and one (1) kid, but before that, they need to figure out that Walter is not a top, and Barbara is definitely not a bottom]

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Hey hey hey, people, it’s me, Ler. 

You have been cordially invited to the soft femdom circle of Stricklake Pit on this International Women’s Day.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Good boy.”

[creativenicocorner]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander Characters: Barbara Lake, Walter Strickler | Stricklander Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, DorkyGoofs.jpg, Established Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Indulgent, Cunnilingus, Putting the angst on the back burner (for now), Is it possible for smut to be wholesome? - who’s to say, What lemonade can we squeeze from the lemon grove today? Summary:

A series of self contained smutty tales depicting the zesty carnal exploits of Dr Barbara Lake and Waltolomew Strickler

Please read responsibly

Ch1 is inspired by @bifacialler ‘s   fantastic art!! 

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

BRUH

YASSS

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

it’s been a while since i wandered into the Pit, but here I am, and Stricklake discord is to blame. 

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Hey, Nico, if I’m going to hell, you’re coming with me.

Warning: suggestive themes under the cut

Keep reading

[creativenicocorner]

Walter: 

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

I don’t reblog stuff on this blog, BUTTTT this is exactly what is going on and no gif could describe is better. but also:

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Hey, Nico, if I’m going to hell, you’re coming with me.

Warning: suggestive themes under the cut

TRANSCRIPT:

B: So, baby, how do you like your surprise?

W: Absolutely love-

W:-it. 

W: Okay, uhhh... Barbara?

W: I appreciate you enthusiam, BUT-

W: I don’t think I-

W: That is not-

W: Please don’t take this the wrong way-

B: Too big?

W: You can kill a man with this thing.

B: I’m going to take it off before you get an aneurysm.

[bifacialler]

I didn’t thing I’d get this finished today, but I did! ..jeesus, this took some toll. It’s all the facial expressions and anatomy, and making it all fit into frames and look organic and actually read as a solid dialogue…. 

So yeah, this is the comics I told about, with suggestive themes under the cut, if you catch my drift. But mostly with a really stupid joke. 

Aka in today’s instalment of “Ler draws Stricklake”, Barbara Lake broke her boyfriend there for a second, until she remembered that he was an over-dramatic nerd. Foreplay level: bespoke compliments.

Keep reading

[bifacialler]

I have Stricklake withdrawal. All I want is for these two to be in love, and kiss a lot. And other things. [lack of clothes UNDER THE CUT warning]

Send help.

Keep reading

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

I have trouble reeding cursive/handwriting/English; what does your newest comic say?

[oops, sorry, I know handwriting with a stylus is horrible. I’m working on it.]Frame 1:B: what was the name of that position again?W: The Italian Butler, dear.Frame 2:B: Well, he sure knew HOW TO MAKE IT RAIN.Frame 3:W: Did you... spend out ENTIRE intercourse waiting to use this one?

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Hey, while the evolution of works and ideas in the corner of the fandom dedicated to the Doctor Mom and Stab-dad are very interesting and captivating to observe, I think we all would agree that sometimes you had to go to the roots. And in our case, the roots are stupid puns and innuendo. Also Barbara’s hair in Walt’s face.

YES. YES SHE DID. You know you love it, Walter.

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

“It’s all layers and pastels. Not really Trez’s usual colors. Soft material, easy to move in. Could be worn be any gender.”

*draws the weirdest outfit ever* …sounds about right. Redhead in pink? Good stuff. Classic. Iconic.

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Is it bad that I want a fic about Barbara getting very turned on by Strickler doing knife tricks? Like twisting it in his fingers absenmindly while cooking, and she catches her breath, licking her bottom lip, softly nibbling on it, except he has no idea? I just want Barbara silently thirsting for her oblivious nerd boyfriend.

[seffironnsfw]

Ask and ye shall receive - https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12967295/1/A-Twist-of-The-Blade

I warn you though; I have never written fanfiction before and english is not my native language, so it might be lacking in some parts ;v;

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS

This is wonderful and we are blessed. And also VERY HONORED that of all the things a person could have chosen to write about, their first fic is Stricklake smut. 🙏

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Strickler has such clever, clever fingers, and no apparent *idea* that this human who has kissed him can put those fingers to *very good use.*

Walter: No, but like IN THEORY, Love of Life + Any Intimate Gesture = VERY GOOD, but like Would she want me to? 

Barbara: *putting on an even Shorter skirt and even Higher heels and doing a Things with her shoulder* So smart but so stupid. How. 

[demiiwhiffin]

from girl of the earth by katy maxwell 

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Is it bad that I want a fic about Barbara getting very turned on by Strickler doing knife tricks? Like twisting it in his fingers absenmindly while cooking, and she catches her breath, licking her bottom lip, softly nibbling on it, except he has no idea? I just want Barbara silently thirsting for her oblivious nerd boyfriend.

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

I tried to come up with some cheezy title but failed miserably.

This is entirely self-indulgent. But this is what we are here for: to self-indulge. 

Kinda a response to prompt someone send me. Reminder to self: make a proper ask button on this here very dirty blog. 

Foreplay level: idiomatic expressions

Walter sleeps on his stomach. Always. 

She doesn’t notice it as first, because in the beginning, the new beginning, most of the times when they do share a bed she is too exhausted to render anything else but the shakiness in her limbs, shortness of her breath, and the lead weight of her back, exalted by his quiet breathing in the nook of her neck, but as things calm down - and they eventually do, with her son and his amulet and the whole world under their feet that keeps calling, but usually just existing, homogenous, in the back of their minds - and she finds herself living with him, Barbara realises that it might be kind of strange for someone to have only one preferred sleeping position. 

It takes her months to confirm, with her coming home after night shifts that made sure she got to bed at an ungodly AM of the morning, to find him sprawled on his side of the bed softly snoring into his pillow. His head would turn, lightly, side to side, and she would illicit from him a grumbling hum when her fingers would comb through greying bed hair. And sometimes he would open one green eye to see her watching, cautiously, from the edge of the bed. Welcome home, his thin lips would part, and a long arm would stretch out for her, pulling her down, scrubs and all, to curl against him, and she would respond in a similar way, yawning and crooning, his delighted murmurs into her ear and hair lulling her to sleep faster than any pill. [Her glasses would find her in the morning folded on the bedside table, with a still warm plate of breakfast, a cup of coffee and flower of some kind, who knows where he finds them (hopefully not on Mrs Domzalski’s flowerbed). The note would say “Gone to school. Will be back at five. Love, Walter”, and it would smell of him, just like everything else - her sheets, her wardrobe, her towels, even her bloody curtains, because Walter Strickler became a part of her life, and, as he said it himself what seemed to be lifetime ago, he would leave only when she asks him to.]   

Yet still. 

Walter would sleep on him stomach even if there was no way for him to end up like that. She checks that theory in turns, at first with her thigh thrown over his, arm wrapped around his shoulders-neck-head, and gradually coming to blatant collapsing on top of him - 

(her hips and tights naked, hot, slick, heavy, straddling his, hot, naked, slick, narrow, pressing up, pressing down, pressing against, their tensions erupting in a chained explosion, when his hands on her thin waist grind her down to stay, and she digs her nails into the skin of his chest and soft abdomen the same way her teeth dig into her lower lip) 

- stomach to stomach, chest to chest, one opened panting mouth to another with her breathy “I love you” and a brisk inelegant smudge of his nose against her cheek-temple-hair that makes her toes curl at the raw honesty of it. And all these times, it would end exactly the same: with Barbara on her back and her bedmate in variously states of on-top-of-her, snoring. 

“You need to explain this to me,” she starts eventually, when the morning is empty of obligations, all of her bare skin barely tingling from their nightly activities and at the sight of his lightly tanned bony naked shoulders and the strings of his neck, blemished with her bites. 

“Explain what,” the corner of his mouth pulls lightly, as that very neck stretches because she is looking and he knows all her dirty little thoughts. 

“This. Your preference of suffocating yourself with a pillow in your sleep.” 

He raises himself, pointy elbows pressed into her old mattress embedded with her almost forgotten loneliness, the wave of his hair in a tsunami of twisting stands and falling locks, some - crossing the questioning arch of his eyebrow.

“Preference of what again?” 

The wood of the headboard is smooth and cold against her shoulder blades. 

“You sleep on your stomach, Walt. And no other way. And for the love of me, I cannot figure why,” Her hands fold under her breasts - which doesn’t go unnoticed by his minutely change of focus - and she taps her finger against her lower lip. “Any anxieties?” 

The second eyebrows joins in, and he ever turns to his side, soft mirth she is so familiar with radiating in waves. “Anxieties?” 

“Back problems? Neck problems? It’s really not healthy for your spine.”

“Barbara,” Walter’s hand, soft skin with barely visible sighs of age, rubs over the length of her shoulder. “My spine is doing just fine. Could have been better, but after centuries of being slammed into hard objects by even harder objects, beggars can’t be choosers.” 

She catches his wandering fingers and twines them through hers. It’s so surprising sometimes how human he is, how well they fit. “So you’re... alright. And it’s just me being weirded out by your one and only sleeping position for no apparent reason?” 

Walter laughs. Like he always does, it’s a snort, and a chuckle, and then an exalted exclamation, ending with a stupid little snort that she finds so endearing for an unknown reason. 

“There is actually a rather simple explanation,” he crawls closer, lips pressing against her shoulder.

“Oh?” 

“Horns.” 

It takes her a moment to comprehend what he is saying. Walter spends that moment kissing along her clavicle to her neck, his fingers untangling to brace himself on the other side of her hips, long nose nudging for her chin to raise.

“Horns,” she repeats. “Ho- OH.” 

He nibbles her neck. Barbara, meanwhile, rakes her fingers along his skull where she knows the mentioned horns have to be. “Even in this form?” 

“Century-old habits die hard,” he growls, because that’s a dirty move, she knows how sensitive he is in certain places. Something jolts in her lower abdomen. “I doubt you need a visual demonstration.” 

The muscles of her core constrict with more enthusiasm than she would have expected. 

“Actually,” Barbara murmurs, her nails digging into his skull. 

Except the effect is lessened this time, or perhaps less obvious, because the disheveled member of academia pulls back from that certain point on her neck that he has been working and examines her instead. His lips pull together. 

“Could you repeat that?” 

“If you don’t feel comfortable doing-“ her cheeks and ears start to burn. She mitigates that by covering her face with her hands. “-it, we could just-“ 

“Barbara, it’s not about me being uncomfortable, as you put it, I would be just fine, better than fine, but-“ 

Long fingers wrap around her wrists and pull them away, and his eyes very green and very questioning. “I highly doubt you would find my troll form as-“ 

“Attractive?” she suggests. 

“Yes, let’s go with ‘attractive’ - as attractive in that sense as you would think.” 

Ah. Oh. Well, this is a misunderstanding that should have been cleared a long time ago. “Walter, you do understand that the main reason I like pinning you down from time to time is that so I can catch you eyes turn involuntary? Yeah, I think that ship has sailed a long time ago.” 

Her bedmate sits back on his heels. His long thin neck stretches as his eyes fixate on a spot somewhere behind her shoulder. The rims of his ears turn slightly pink. 

“That’s-“ he says, and pauses. His pause proceeds to grow longer with each of her consecutive breaths. 

Also, with each breath, the desire for the bed to open up and consume her becomes more and more prominent. And quite burning as well. “I didn’t mean to make it this awkward, this is stupid,” her face burning, again, she pulls her knees from under the comforter and towards her chest. Hair falls over her face, and she leaves it that way. “Sorry, I really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable-“ 

Something flashes. 

Barbara doesn’t catch it, her fringe obstructing most of her view. What she does catch are smooth hard hands on her knees that caress and grip, and then pull them open for a smooth hard green body to put itself inbetween. 

A shade fall over her, and she has to look up, higher, over a carved chin, into glowing yellow eyes, the only thing alight in his face crowned with horns. 

“On the contrary,” he pulls, and she can recognise this tone, it’s the same one he has when she’s been on the phone for way longer than it was called for and his fingers, distracting human fingers, hook on her iliac crests to press her hips back into his, except now it’s gravely, thin wide mouth with tusks sticking out growing even wider. “I’m about to get very comfortable.” 

Okay, her whole body responds. 

“Okay,” she repeats, and lifts her hips to press them, hard, into the brown cloth over his narrow chiselled waist. 

One of the hands urgently leaves her knees to grab the headboard, claws digging into the wood. Yellow eyes over her head widen. She can’t stop staring at them. 

“Barbara... could you... please?” Walter bows his head to bestow upon her a disapproving wrinkle of his green brow. “Slow and steady.” 

She braces herself, weight redistributing between her wrists and the curiouser shapes beneath her hips, to trace her tongue along one of the carvings of his face. 

“We are on the idiomatic expressions already?” It’s prevalent now that she has to know what it’s like to feel her whole flesh body pressed against his stone one, and she arches it up to find out just that. “And here I though that I was just starting to get between the rock and the hard place.” 

“Despicable,” pink - why pink - tongue slips over protruding fangs, baring the rest. Stone nose nudges her cheekbone. 

“Wait till I get my hands of those horns,” Barbara grins. 

When she does get her hands on them - horns, two, surprisingly sturdy - the words he produces wish to be as cohesive as that. 

Walter Stricklander sleeps on his stomach. His back rises and falls slowly, green hills of his shoulder blades jutting in tall dark ridges, over which rise two horns, tall and slender like branchless trees, or a pair of petrified tendrils. 

 Barbara watches him sleep, fingers flowing up and down his smoothed side, the murmur of texture against her skin. They trail into his hair, almost human-like, salt and pepper, and scratch, tenderly, at the base of one of the protruding limbs. 

Walter hums, and one dim yellow eye half-opens. His arm, claws and stone, wrap around her waist and pulls her down, against him, and the sound into her ear and hair are low and cooing. 

They sleep. Whichever way works.

[lerdrawsthenaughty]

Due to the recent tendencies in our trash pit, have some *cough* rock climbing. Honestly, the biggest question I’ve been asking myself during the whole process (not counting how you draw feet... hands... anatomy...) was “do trolls actually have muscles? Or are those purely esthetic? Do trolls chizzel their own muscles????”