#and like the second i learn that you're older or more experienced than me then it becomes very easy for me to kind of like

[freelancearsonist]

Won't You Suffer for the Angels to Fly?

➔ Joel Miller x fem!Reader - 2k

➔ Joel finds religion in the last place he expected to--a preacher's daughter.

➔ Rated MA for pure blasphemy. a lot of religious imagery and defiling of holy places--please read at your own risk. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink, HEFTY age gap (r is early 20s [unspecified], joel is 56), reader uses feminine pronouns and has female anatomy [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ this is for my mid to plus!sized readers :) you're beautiful and valid and i love you. this was written in basically one sitting after i binged mike flanagan's midnight mass in one night. thank you to my lovelies @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @shakespeareanwannabe for talking me through this <3 title is from "heaven only knows" by bob moses

The Bible teaches–at least according to what Joel was able to gleam from the Easter service–that everything happens for a reason. That every pelting raindrop in its descent from the sky, even before it lands heavy and dark in his hair or soaks the lush green landscape of Jackson, has a purpose.

He’s struggled a lot with purpose ever since hearing that existential crisis-inspiring sermon that Tommy had dragged him to. 

In the preacher’s defense, it went over well with everyone else. So many people are lost nowadays, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to have space for them. They need that hope, that reassurance that they’re here for a reason. That they’ve survived hell on earth not out of luck, but out of purpose. He pulled out the big gun that everyone needed to hear on one of the two days a year that everyone in Jackson has their ears open to him. It was tactful, and Joel has to acknowledge that. Your father is clever, if not cunning.

It’s a trait that you’ve learned directly from him, whether purposeful or not. But you sat right in the front row and nodded along to every word, accepting without thought or conflict that purpose is in every action, every reaction, every change of tide and every gust of wind.

And if everything has a purpose, your purpose must be to torture him.

You never have anything but a smile on your face for Joel. Joel, a man older than your own father, a man whose hands have broken every commandment that you hold so dear. A man that should know better than to let you get under his skin and infect his dreams.

He wonders what it would be like to hold someone so perfectly untainted in hands that have killed and destroyed and sinned. Hands that are strong, hands that are experienced, hands that are greedy. He’s certain he could teach you all about greed. He could make you beg, plead, sob for more and more and more until the only thought remaining in your pretty little head is how much you want to take from him. Until you become a glutton at the altar of his generosity.

And oh, how generous he could be once he had you begging. Minding your manners and asking nicely for what you need, of course, but he would never deny you anything you asked of him.

“Can I help you with that, Mr. Miller?” He hadn’t even noticed he was struggling–and he wouldn’t be, really, if he wasn’t so distracted. Putting new legs on a pew isn’t the issue after all; it’s the fact that you’re sitting there on the stairs that lead up to the altar and absentmindedly swinging your legs as if you’re taunting him. As if you understand that his resolve is slipping with every passing second he’s alone in this room with you. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm?” You shift your posture to lean closer, and that skirt that’s already way too short to be worn by the pastor’s daughter, in a house of God of all places, rides just a little further up your deliciously full thighs. 

How is he expected to work, to keep his mind on the job, when all he wants is to know what those thighs might feel like wrapped around his head?

He clears his throat and adjusts “You can call me Joel, sweetheart.”

He sees it, then. It’s so subtle, but it’s not imagined. You squirm at the pet name, at the raspy drawl of his voice, and it changes everything for him.

He sees in his mind the sweet girl, barely out of her teens, who sits in the front pew with a Bible in her lap. He sees the girl who sings so sweetly to the tune of every hymn. He sees the girl who’s so shy that she blushes every time she catches his gaze.

And then he sees everything underneath the act. He sees the girl who’s bold enough to wear a bright red dress to the Easter service. He sees the girl who makes eye contact with him across the dining hall every night to watch the way he reacts to her lips wrapped so tantalizingly smoothly around her spoon. He sees the girl who knew he would be alone in the chapel today–the girl who wore an easily accessible skirt just for the occasion.

You bookmark the page you’re on and set down the book you were reading, eyes fixated on him all the while. “Is there something I can help with, Joel?”

There certainly is, and it’s not the pew he’s supposed to be repairing.

He remembers, vaguely, hearing something about how God spares guilt from sinners when sin is necessary. It must be necessary to teach you a lesson, then–as you stride over and kneel beside him, your eyes heavy with anticipation and lashes fluttering, he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“Hasn’t your daddy taught you not to dress like this?” He takes the hem of your skirt idly in his hand, rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not touching you, not really, but his hand is so achingly close. An inch or two, and he’d feel your warmth–those plush thighs that God created to rule over Joel Miller’s mind, body, and soul; ‘til death does he finally know peace, amen.

You shake your head and even manage to seem smug as you say, “No. He just teaches everyone else to resist temptation.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” he murmurs.

He thinks that you know that. He thinks that you’re his crucible, his most important moral trial–that maybe, if he can turn you away now, he’s a good man.

Joel Miller is not a good man. His kiss is crushing. It’s hellfire, it’s brimstone, it’s everything you’ve been taught to fear your entire life. You melt into it so prettily, accepting your damnation with parted lips and eager eyes. A wanton moan gets caught in your throat when his hand slips further up your skirt. 

No panties–in a place of worship, no less. He should bend you over his knee for this transgression, make sure you understand how filthy you are. But there’s hardly time for that now, not when he’s even more desperate than you are. And you are desperate–dripping down his fingers into the palm of his hand as your teeth leave perfect little indents in the plush skin of your bottom lip.

His free hand grips your chin firmly, guiding your eyes to his. He wants to see your depravity, the flickering embers of lust in your eyes as you come on his fingers and cry out for salvation from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Oh my God–”

His hand tightens around your jaw just the slightest bit in warning. “No, baby. You moan my name when I’m touchin’ you.”

And you do–thighs trembling, eyes watering, you cry out his name like a prayer as your cunt pulses and squeezes around his willing fingers.

There’s an unpracticed tremble to your hand as you reach to work open his belt, and it makes his cock throb under the confining material of his jeans.

You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours, so desperate for it that you’re nearly in tears when he pulls your fingers away from the buttons on his shirt. He’s not foolish–no one steps foot into this place during the week, but he knows better than to tempt God’s sense of humor. This has to be quick and contained, and you know it too; you picked your little skirt for exactly that reason.

He catches a glimpse of your glistening need as you settle over his thighs, and once again he battles to resist temptation. He whispers in your ear as you settle your chest against his and grind that fluttering, sensitive cunt along his length–promises himself more than you, really, that he’ll bury his face in your folds and drink from you next time. Next time–the promise makes you clench impossibly hard around nothing.

His eyes have never been quite as heavy as they are when you start to sink that dripping heat down his cock. Head tipped back, throat exposed, completely at your mercy. He has to force himself to look up at you–to worship the goddess enshrined on his altar, all his for the taking.

You bite into your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood as your hips settle against his, completely overwhelmed by the burning stretch of his size. He’s a challenge, certainly, but one that you are determined to overcome. 

“Easy, baby girl,” he grumbles as you start to rock against him before you’re truly accommodated. His hands rest heavy on your hips–not anchoring, but encouraging. As wrong–as depraved–as this may be, he wants you to enjoy it without pain. “That’s right, nice and slow.”

It doesn’t stay that way, though; the desperation mounts to a boiling point until you’re bouncing fervently in his lap. It’s delicious, the way the thick head of him drags against something deep and sensitive within you. He guides you when your thighs start to burn, grip tightening enough to leave forbidden bruises in the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth presses to yours, breathing the oxygen straight from your lungs as he presses his hips up. There’s nothing you can do but take it, pliant in his hold, head rolling back to accommodate the wet drag of his mouth and the tickling scratch of his beard against your throat.

He feels it before you do–a subtle flutter as your cunt tries sucking him in even deeper. And maybe, if he was a good man, he’d lean away from it and have mercy on you. But he’s not a good man–he’s a greedy, wanton, desperate man. He angles his hips and thrusts as hard as he can, shoving you into your release with force.

You overflow with it; gushing over him like a flood, staining his hastily pushed down jeans and the floorboards beneath.

He pushes you onto your back like you’re weightless, adrenaline coursing as he starts to slam into you. It’s not polite or sweet or loving–he fucks into you and empties himself like an animal. He growls deep in his throat as his cock pulses within you, instructing you to “take it, baby girl” as if you’d consider anything less. 

You don’t know where your release ends and his begins. All you know is his weight on top of you, his mouth on your jaw, the collective breathless pants that fill the room as you both come down together.

You’re not sure how long it is before he pulls out of your warmth with an actual whine, breath heavy against your neck where his face is so comfortably nestled.

And you start to laugh, because you wish you’d worn panties after all–you don’t know how you’re going to get home with the mess of cum that’s dripping down the curve of your ass.

He even chuckles with you, until he tears his eyes away from your blissed face and sees the cross hanging heavy on the far wall.

“Th-that…” he gulps. “That can’t happen again.”

“It can,” you assure him, and he supposes you’re right.

You keep your head down and your eyes to yourself on Sunday, even as you spot the barely-noticeable stain on the hardwood floor next to the newly-repaired pew on the right side of the aisle. It’s so faint that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it, but it’s glaringly obvious to you. You should be ashamed; you should be begging for forgiveness. But then you meet Joel’s watchful eyes, and the shame washes away. How can you feel guilty over an act of worship?

THE END

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us one shot #joel tlou #cece writes

[spiteless-xo]

hiii for the nsfw prompts, can i request 274 + 72 with geto pleaseee? or gojo… whichever you like more bc i can’t decide 😫 it just sounds kinda funny and they’re both silly geese to me HELSODSK

eek, geto??? ok, i will try 🥺 i hope i do my baby justice. (also sorry but technically nobody says the second prompt, but geto thinks it 🙈)

my responses to these prompts keep getting longer and longer lmao sorry to everyone to requested early on and got little baby drabbles in response!!

list of prompts

╰┈➤ smut prompts - 72 & 274. “That is kinky even by my standards…” “I had no idea you were into this kind of thing”

ft. geto/fem!reader cw. unedited, explicit sexual content (restraints, oral, facesitting, ass eating, multiple orgasms), explicit language. 1,645 words.

being with geto is intimidating -- he's older than you, more experienced than you, and more confident than you.

and it doesn't help that gojo is always reminding you of these facts every time the two of you are alone together.

"suguru's last girlfriend was a gymnast," gojo had told you in a quiet, conspiratorial whisper. "you know what that means, don't you?"

no, you don't.

so you spent the night learning different ways to please him. you searched threads on reddit, found sex-positive blogs on google, and you even watched a few videos online. by the next day, you knew what you wanted to try with geto -- how to impress him.

"handcuffs?" geto asks, looking over at you from his seat on the couch. his lip twitches in amusement. "wow, that's kinky even by my standards," he says sarcastically.

you frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest as you childishly pout. "don't make fun of me."

"i'm not, princess," he purrs, leaning toward you to wrap his arms around your waist. he pulls you into his lap and smiles up at you as he relaxes back in his seat. "you know you don't have to do anything special to make me want you -- just being you is enough."

"but your last girlfriend was a gymnast."

"what? were you talking with satoru?"

geto sighs, cupping your face with one hand while he rubs at the crease between your brows with the thumb of his other, smoothing it down until your face relaxes from your frown. "we can try handcuffs," he says softly, "whatever you want."

"good, because i already bought them," you admit, feeling your face burn in embarrassment.

"my, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" he purrs, running his tongue along his lower lip as his eyes narrow.

you wrap your thighs around his waist and geto lifts you up from the couch, cradling your ass in his hands as he walks the two of you into your bedroom.

"in here?" he asks, standing in the doorway, and you nod excitedly.

"i put them in the nightstand."

he walks you toward your bed, crawling along it on his knees, before lowering you down onto your back with your head amongst the pillows. he presses a soft kiss to your lips before moving aside, pulling open your beside drawer and pulling out a pair of pink, fuzzy handcuffs.

geto send you a look.

"they were the only ones they had in stock," you admit, scrunching your nose in embarrassment as geto chuckles.

he returns to his place between your thighs, grabbing both of your wrists and dragging them up above your head. he pins them down to the pillows in one of his large hands, while the other fits them around the bars of your headboard.

"wait, no!" you say quickly and he freezes immediately.

he looks down at you, concerned, and loosens his grip on your wrists so you can squirm out of his grasp. "are we moving too fast?" he asks, worry evident in his tone.

"i want to use them on you, suguru."

his eyebrows jerk up in surprise and he blinks down at you, processing what you've just said to him until a sly smile grows across his face. "full of surprises," he purrs, biting back a grin as he lets you roll him over onto his back with your palm pressed on his chest.

you straddle his hips, grabbing both of his wrists with your hands, and lifting them up above his head -- just like he did with you. he watches you intently as you fiddle with the handcuffs, locking first his right hand, then his left, before sitting back to admire your handiwork.

geto looks up at his hands, tugging gently against the restraints to test their strength before looking back down at you. "i could break out of these pretty easily."

"yeah, but don't, ok?" you pout.

you climb off from geto's lap and onto the floor, standing off the side of the bed while he looks over at you curiously. he watches you hook your fingers into your pants, sliding them down off of your thighs along with your underwear, and geto's cock throbs against his leg at the sight.

he can't help himself from squirming on the bed as he watches you settle next to him, kneeling next to his chest as you look down at him curiously. before he can ask, you swing your leg over his head until your knee is pressed into the mattress next to his opposite arm.

pressing your palms against his chest, you shift your hips back until your pussy is hovering over his mouth and geto's eyes widen in delight.

"oh," he says, voice deep and husky. "this is what you want."

he tugs against the handcuffs, wanting to grab and a handful of your ass and pull you down against his face, but he's met with resistance. he makes a small grunt of displeasure, but he licks his lips and lifts his head slightly off the pillow, instead.

"come here -- take a seat," he demands.

"let me know if i'm hurting you," you say, and there's a small quiver to your voice that reveals your hesitance -- but it just makes geto's cock throb painfully against the confines of his pants.

"you won't hurt me, princess," he assures, breathing harder now that he can see the slick building on the lips of your cunt. "come down here, let me taste you."

with a shuddering breath, you lower your hips down onto geto's face, instantly feeling the warmth of his mouth engulfing you as his tongue flattens along your slit. you experimentally rock your hips against his face -- just like you saw in the video from last night-- and let out a stuttered cry when you feel his tongue against your clit.

pressing your palms against his chest, you let your eyes fall shut, grinding down on his mouth until each rock of your hips sends jolts of electricity shooting up your spine. this feels good -- better than you thought it would -- and you let your head hang back over your shoulders as you lose yourself from the feeling.

your slick is sweet and slippery against his tongue. he wants to wrap his arms around your thighs and pull you tighter against his face -- until he can't even fucking breathe -- he wants to be suffocated by you. his hips buck needily into the open air -- he can't help himself.

he groans into your pussy when you press down a little harder and his eyes roll back into his head. all he can taste is you, all he can see is you, all he's ever wanted is you -- and here you are, grinding your pretty little cunt against his face and gripping tight fists around the fabric of his shirt.

your legs start to tremble slightly on either side of his head and he knows you're close. you rock harder -- more desperately -- against his tongue until your moans fade into stuttered gasps of pleasure and geto feels your cunt pulsing around his tongue.

his mouth is flooded with the taste of you as you cum, and he fights against the restraints to reach down and just grab you, but the handcuffs are proving to be stronger than he had expected.

you lift your hands from his chest, reaching back behind you to grab your ass as you gently spread yourself open. geto's eyes widen in surprise as your hips shift just slightly forward until his tongue flicks against your small, puckered hole.

his cock leaks precum from the tip, leaving a sticky mess on his thigh as he gently kisses your asshole -- he had no idea you were into this!

from above him, he hears you whimpering from the feeling of his lips against you. he kisses you again and again, each time pressing his tongue a little harder against your hole until it finally slips past the tight ring.

"fuck -- suguru," you whimper, pressing harder against his face as geto licks into your ass.

god, he wants to grab you so hard right now. he tugs harder against the handcuffs, the metal digging into the skin on his wrists as he fights against him.

either you don't care or you don't realize geto's frustration as he groans into your skin, as you keep rocking against his face feverishly as he buries his tongue in your ass.

you slide a hand across your hips to rub quick, small circles into your clit and geto is fully fucking the air, now. he can't help himself -- he needs you to touch him -- why won't you touch him? his cock is thick and desperate against his thigh and he just needs something.

"sugu --" you whine, and he can feel your cunt twitching against his chin, coating him in slick. "i'm gonna cum -- please."

geto groans into your skin, fucking you with his tongue and burying his face between the globes of your ass as you touch yourself.

with a whimpering cry, you cum for the second time against his face. your thighs shake and you fall forward onto his body, hands bracing yourself on his chest as you keep rocking against his mouth. geto groans, feeling you squeeze around his tongue and he pulls so hard against the handcuffs that he can feel them pinching his skin.

his cock -- desperate and needy and untouched -- twitches in the confines of his pants. geto's body tenses, bucking one last time up into the air until he feels the white-hot pleasure of his orgasm shoot through his body.

he groans, fighting against his restraints as he spills his cum into his pants, making a wet, sticky mess on his thigh to match the one you're making on his face.

god, he is obsessed with you.

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #fem!reader #geto #jjk #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #tiff.ask #tiff.fic #geto.os

[meaningofaeons]

Your writing is so pretty !! I really love your characterization ngl. I feel like you're great at keeping them in character! I was wondering if you could do some hcs of Blade, Dan Heng and Gepard having a crush on a more experienced/older member? For an example, Dan Heng having a crush on an experienced Nameless who was on the Express before him and sort of was the one who was more hands on with helping him learn the ropes. The same implies with the other two for their respective occupations. Idk, I see a lot of character x new member person but never the reverse. I think it's a little cute lol.

Thank you for reading and thanks double if you write it!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ seniority

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, blade, dan heng ⊹ word count - 1.9k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluff, reader is a silvermane guard lieutenant (gepard)/a senior member of the stellaron hunters (blade)/a senior member of the Nameless (dan heng), reader pretty much implied to be older in these, at least in terms of like physical appearance/age

hi anon!!! ♡(ﾐ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﻌ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﾐ)ﾉ I was a big fan of this req ever since you first sent it in! I agree, there's so many "omg reader is an inexperienced baby and the character helps them and falls for them<3" but where's my characters getting swept off their feet by READER who's the senior member fr?!?!? no hate to anyone who writes the former, but I really like strong and capable readers !!!!! enjoy the req <3

⊹ Gepard Landau

Gepard pretty much knew you from the second he joined up with the Silvermane Guards.

As a Landau, it was always his duty, so he'd striven to do his best. However, just because it was his duty to stand at the top of the Supreme Guardian's defenses, doesn't mean he never looked up to anyone.

Despite being similar in age, you'd been a member of the guards far longer than he, enough to stand at the rank of Lieutenant before he had even joined.

At first, it really was just admiration. That, and a sense of seeking mentorship.

He'd follow you around like a lost puppy, the then-humble private Gepard trying to get any pointers he could from you

Would ask you to train with him now and then, or would ask how he can best show his dedication to the guards

Being so busy, however, you rarely had time to entertain these wishes.

Even as a Lieutenant and not a Captain, there were certain duties you had to uphold yourself. If you bowed to the whims of every Silvermane Guard, you'd be nothing more than an errand runner, or perhaps just a simple trainer.

You did notice him, though—how could you not?

He was the eldest son of the Landaus, of all families.

Not to mention, his achievements already far outweighed his ranking.

You only provided minimal guidance when he sought it, and yet here he was, smashing every expectation.

Gepard didn't of you as anything other than a superior, someone to strive after and look up to. Even as he took the ranking of Captain and rose above your station, he still deferred to you on many things.

He would seek your advice in handling situations, and the two of you began working closer every day.

Outside of normal duty, the two of you began talking as well—however, it was mostly about work.

Even with all of that, he still saw you as nothing more than someone to be respected. He still saw you as just a superior, surely. That's all it was.

Those fluttering feelings in his chest when you bested him in a spar? Pure awe at your superior strength and wit in battle.

The heating of his cheeks when you'd toss him your water flask, telling him to drink up and get back on his feet? Just a minor cold, he was sure of it.

Well, for a while, at least, he could justify it as such...

One day, he arrived to his greenhouse after work—a place for his lackluster hobby of keeping flowers—only to find you, the Lieutenant he admired, watering each bud and taking careful care of each petal.

"W-What are you doing here, Lieutenant Y/N?!"

"Ah, forgive me for intruding. Ms. Sergeyevna was unavailable, so Serval asked me to check on your flowers."

You then chuckled a bit.

"Also, you're above me in ranking now, Captain Gepard. No need for the formalities."

And when you smiled, it sent a bolt of lightning straight through Gepard's chest—something he couldn't brush off or ignore any more.

You looked radiant.

He had to get out of there quickly.

"W-Well, thank you for your help! I best be off..."

Before he left, though, he couldn't help but pause, fidgeting at the door.

"Something the matter?"

"Erm..." Gepard was stammering, ready to smack himself over the head for his blunder. "I-If there's no need for formalities, then there's no need for you to refer to me as 'Captain' outside of work, Lieute—" He cut himself off. "Y/N... So..."

You only smiled.

"Okay, Gepard."

When Gepard ran (or rather, stiffly marched) back home after that little exchange, he was beating himself up mentally for such a foolish request.

And yet, the red of his cheeks and the pounding of his heart never did quite dissipate.

⊹ Blade

In Blade's mind, there wasn't much to say about you.

You were a fellow Stellaron Hunter—so?

He was mostly only assigned to Kafka thanks to her Spirit Whisper calming his mara.

Not to mention, the day he arrived to the Stellaron Hunters, you weren't even present. On a mission, as Elio had said.

However, the two of you would eventually cross paths when Kafka was assigned to a separate mission (after ensuring Blade would be stable during her absence, of course).

"This is Y/N. They have assisted the course of destiny for many years now. Be courteous to them."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Blade."

The first thing Blade noticed was how you were... warmer than he expected.

Kafka didn't have much to say on you other than non-answers (her usual go-to for any questions) and Silver Wolf had only mentioned you being scary.

Had she perhaps meant... in battle?

Surely the person before him wasn't scary in any capacity.

You were skilled, yes—once he went on jobs with you, he could easily tell why you were still a successful member of the Stellaron Hunters.

In any other situation, perhaps he would've said he admired your prowess.

However, you were still but an enigma, and for a long time, Blade didn't like that.

He chose to keep his distance where he could. While he would obey you in missions to assist Elio to his full capacity, he never actively hung around you if he didn't have to.

Despite this, you seemed to hang around him as much as you pleased, and against his obvious displeasure.

"Blade, would you like a snack? I brought plenty for this particular job, since it could get long."

"That coat can't be comfortable all the time. Why don't we go and get you a new one? It's not bad to have options."

"Is your hair getting in the way? I can braid it or tie it back."

He'd never answer you at first. Your kindness was uncomfortable.

However, one day, he did. And he still doesn't quite know why.

"Blade, your bandages are unraveling again. Should I rewrap them?"

"...If you must."

You had stopped at that. Blade actually answered you?

"Haha, I was beginning to wonder if you had a voice at all! C'mere, I'll do those right up for you."

The gentle feeling of your hands redoing the bandages across his battered body did not make Blade flush, nor did his heart rate accelerate.

But a fuzzy feeling had wormed its way into his chest, and he didn't want to think about what it could mean.

But even if he didn't think about its meaning, surely it wouldn't hurt to pursue it from time to time?

It certainly felt better than the agony of mara rife through his walking corpse of a body.

Blade began spending time with you, even outside of missions.

You were reading somewhere? He'd suddenly appear beside you, claiming to be at a loss for things to do, thus he decided to sit for a while.

You were in your room? He'd ask if he could sit in the corner and polish his sword—the lighting in your room was best for such care.

You were about to head out on a solo mission? He'd either ask Elio to accompany you and appear just as you were to head out, or if he was denied, he'd ask you to tie his hair back before he went in case he was called out—Kafka and Silver Wolf, he claimed, could never do it quite right.

It's honestly very endearing.

This big, scary beast of a man becomes a stubborn kitten in your presence, never willing to admit he desires your presence but seeking it out anyways.

And to Blade, that's fine.

He doesn't need words to tell you how he feels.

Hell, he'd probably be loathe to speak his feelings into existence himself. He's still in denial.

He'll continue to show you in just the way he always has—being as close by your side as he can.

⊹ Dan Heng

Unlike with Blade, Dan Heng has some level of interest in you from the start.

You're there when Himeko brings him aboard, introducing him to her fellow Nameless as the newest member.

To be fair, though, he does have some sort of interest in every member of the Nameless, but something about you is a tad different.

You appear younger than Himeko or Welt, likely closer to his own physical age.

That alone makes you somewhat more approachable.

Not that Dan Heng is really approaching anyone on the express right away, though...

It definitely takes you stepping up and approaching him first for him to open up.

It probably starts with you helping him out.

He's always diligent about obeying your advice and help.

As independent as Dan Heng can be, he's respectful to your authority as a more experienced Nameless.

(Not that there's much of a hierarchy or seniority in the Nameless, but he respects you anyhow.)

He's having trouble compiling all the information for a certain entry? You're pointing out things he missed, sort of like a beta reader.

When the two of you are exploring the latest planet you've stopped by, you keep him safe against dangerous monsters (not that he's incapable of fighting, but he appreciates the assistance)

If he's looking for the next volume of a book he's been reading, you're the first to find and get it for him.

And if it's not on the Express, you fetch it for him elsewhere.

You're very open, which he's not used to—Himeko and Mr. Yang tend to leave him to his own devices, after all—but it's not a bad feeling, per se.

He begins to take notice of the ways you stand by him, help him, watch his back.

Not to mention, the manner in which you try to ensure he's welcome at every turn, considering your senior status as one of the Nameless and his relative recent arrival.

As you spend time with him, it's only a matter of time before you can nonverbally understand the quiet Xianzhou native.

"..."

"..."

"Hmm, I see. I'll go get you the latest volume, Dan Heng. I'm sure they sell it on this planet, too—I've been to their bookstores before."

"Thanks."

Himeko and Welt don't really know quite what goes on when this happens.

Over time, you're always the first to communicate for Dan Heng if he isn't present, which he truly does appreciate.

"Dan Heng would like whatever, as usual. Can you prepare the breakfast I had last time, Pom-Pom? He seemed to enjoy it when he tried mine."

"Oh, Dan Heng won't be joining us. Said he needs to organize the archives."

To anyone else, it might just look like a senior Nameless taking the new guy under their wing, but Mr. Yang and Himeko both grew to know better.

They both saw the way that Dan Heng looked at you when he thought no one else was looking at him.

Or perhaps he just didn't care as long as you didn't see the way his eyes shone, an almost imperceptible affection shining behind them.

They both noticed how Dan Heng would go out of his way on planets you weren't exploring to buy you a souvenir, or get you a snack reminiscent of your favorites.

Even March—when you, along with the other Nameless, finally discovered her and rescued her from her ice-prison—as a relatively new member could catch on to how he felt in just a few short weeks.

"Hey, Y/N! Are you and Dan Heng dati—"

"Shh!"

The pink-haired girl eventually had her curiosity sated every time she got to take a photo of Dan Heng's ever-slight smile at the sight of you returning to the Express.

#gepard x reader #dan heng x reader #danheng x reader #blade x reader #gepard landau #gepard landau x reader #gepard #blade #dan heng #danheng #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #honkai #honkai star rail

[baeddel]

when i was a child i liked combat sports; i took martial arts classes (i forget which form) and i competed in fencing. i had to stop when i went to highschool because we didn't have time for it anymore. after leaving highschool i met a girl who did boxing and i planned to go and sign up at her gym to learn it with her, but i became too ill and it never happened. still, it had reignited my interest in combat sports and i would talk about it with people. i told one guy that i liked the look of Muay Thai; he expressed a common view, which was that martial arts like this sucked, because they were impractical in a real fight. he liked Krav Maga because it was real.

[long-ish post about fighting]

and i always objected to that kind of thinking! look here: it's true that much of the game which is played on the mat is produced by the restrictions placed on combatants. even in a very permissive sport like MMA, the great importance of ground fighting to that sport is produced by the restriction on fish-hooks and head kicks. thus, you can say that even these fights 'aren't real' in some sense. but how often are you ever going to be in a fight where you're willing to rip the other guy's cheek out, gouge out his eyes and so forth? Krav Maga was first developed for Jews to defend themselves from anti-semitic mobs in the 1930s. i know that some of you have certainly been in fights like that; but not all fights are that existentially serious. even in fights where there is such a high level of emnity there are often factors which restrain the fight from becoming an existential one. if you live somewhere that fascists are embedded and you blind one of theirs in a fight you might expect retribution; likewise you would be guilty of a felony and might get in real trouble. apprehensions like this might stay your hand—and already you are engaging in a kind of combat which is to some extent governed by extra-martial rules that produce a to some extent artificial situation.

of course, some martial arts will be more useful to know in the kind of combat games you are likely to play even so, and Muay Thai has not suddenly become more useful than Krav Maga on the basis of what i said. but i think that it is common to 1. underestimate the usefulness of even highly artifical combat sports, like fencing, and 2. overstate the utility of various 'self-defence' techniques, especially blinding, because the artificial, rules-governed nature of real fights is forgotten.

on point one, i would always credit my fencing experience with my success at fighting in highschool. i would sometimes even adopt the pose—one hand back, foot pointed forward—and people would (jokingly) say, 'it's [her] style! [she's] the fencer!' this part was not really useful; these fights were between friends and featured no emnity; we wanted to entertain the crowd, so there was a certain amount of kayfabe. but we were teenagers and behaved badly; once blows began we really hurt each other, and i even sent a few kids to the hospital (one with a concussion and the other with a wounded leg). plus, secret feelings of jealousy and resentment could be awakened during the course of the fight, so more emnity was felt as the fight grew more serious. what i thought really helped me from all the fencing matches was simply the sparring experience. when another living person attacks you without relenting, watches your movements for openings, and tries to stop whatever you do to them, it's difficult not to be overwhelmed and confused. being able to keep a level head, comprehend the situation and make decisions in the moment gave me an advantage over less experienced friends.

on the second point, i had older male friends who gave me a lot of advice that i can now recognize was plainly bad advice. for example, a girl i had a crush on had an older brother who always gave me and her other friends a hard time. i hated him so much i wanted to do something about him. so my friend told me that when fighting a larger and stronger opponent, i should do this... and this... a lot of techniques that had i really gone and done it would have left him permanently blind and disfigured. how do you think my crush would have felt if i went and did all that to her brother? these 'real' street fighting techniques were not useful in a real fight—a fight with stakes proportional to my real situation. when i did end up in situations with existential stakes (you know the stories) these techniques did nothing for me, since i would be alone against multiple attackers, or the other guy had frightening connections, or there was an asymmetry of power (who teaches 'defense against a guy in a car'?). in all cases the only wothwhile advice i ever got was this: you cannot run away in high heels.

similarly, when we had our low-stakes fights at school, the crowd would call out for me to punch the other guy in the face, or to kick him when he was down. afterwards they were disappointed that i didn't 'really go for him.' all this kind of talk really got to me; i would be standing there, facing my opponent and saying to myself, 'do it! do it!' in the end i never punched anyone in the face or tried any kind of dirty fighting at all. for this i hated myself so much. i was furious with myself; i would sit down and be angry at myself for a long time. i considered myself a coward and a weakling because i wouldn't go 'all in.' i didn't 'have the guts.' actually, what i felt was compassion for another person, and it was not a contemptable restraint at all. what was i trying to do—what was i trying to become? i think this is a way you can be misled by the discourse around 'real fighting.'

[deangirlsstuff67]

Modern Lady

Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: clit piercing, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), Unprotected sex, p in v, anal play,

Summary: Soldier Boy learns just how much women have changed...

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You're all tense and wound up from losing the fight with Homelander when the fucker showed his face at herogasm. Honestly, You're personally tense in more ways than one. Seeing what happens around herogasm has you simmering dangerously close to a full blown orgasm. A slight breeze could make you cum.

Soldier Boy was with you all today. You couldn't help the jealousy when he would talk about being the founder. Then when you and him were partnered together as a cover to get in the jealousy got worse. Soldier Boy's hungry eyes roamed over the hundreds of naked bodies as you searched the house together. At one point you made the mistake of looking down, he was deliciously hard under his suit.

If he noticed you eye fucking him, he never said anything. Now you were back in the horrible bunker Butcher has you in. Without a word you walk to the room you've claimed as a makeshift bedroom. You are hot, frustrated, and soaking your fucking underwear.

You need to get off.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two fingers deep in your sopping pussy as you try to get yourself over the edge. Somethings missing. You don't hear when he enters your room. Don't know that his hungry eyes are taking you in. Lost in the fog, you're so close yet so far away.

He makes his presence known when he can't stand it anymore. Walking up to where you lay, he pinches the jewelry you have nestled between your lower lips. Your y/e/c eyes snap open connecting with his lust blown ones. Your body shutters as he sends it into your first orgasm. Green eyes never leave yours, just watching as you come undone by his touch.

You're much younger than the women he usually fucks. Sure, older women are more experienced and adventurous. Sliding his fingers over your wet hole, he groans, feeling just how sloppy you are. Yes, older women are wonderful, but he could definitely get use to sliding his dick into your wet and wild ride.

No words are exchanged as he dips two thick fingers into your greedy little hole. One orgasm isn't enough for him. He wants to watch you come undone again and again until your nothing more than a limp rag doll.

What you don't know is behind the arrogant, sexist, rude supe is a man who truly likes you and doesn't want to hurt you. He only ever wants to be the reason for your pleasure.

His fingers are pumping into you hard and steady as he brings you to the brink again. You've barely noticed his gaze has moved to your soaking core. The piece of metal memorizing him.

Women in the 21st century keep blowing his mind, in many different ways. He reaches is thumb up again to flick your clit ring.

A pained moan escapes your lips. The sound making his hard cock twitch.

Yes he could use to this century.

"Soldier Boy... please."

A dark laugh leaves him, "oh baby doll, I'm about to be face first in this squelching pussy, I want to hear you scream Ben when I make you cum into my mouth."

Oh God, that shouldn't be as sexy as he's husky voice made it sound. But it's actually what you needed to start pulsating around his thick fingers.

"That's it baby girl, give it to me."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

True to his word, seconds after he made me explode on his fingers, he is face first in my dripping core, trying to suck and lick the soul out of my body.

Alternating between fucking me with his tongue and playing with my clit ring, the man is driving me insane.

He pulls two more orgasms from me before he lifts from between my thighs. Face and beard glistening with my arousal, dick hard and trying to escape the tight confines of his suit.

My body is moving before my mind can catch up. I lick his hard cock through his pants making him hiss in pleasure.

I don't like giving head. There's something about this man that makes me want to fall to my knees and please him.

I do just that.

Taking his monster cock out I lick up the underside of it. He's soft, salty, and growing harder the more I lick him up.

Moaning, he grips my hair as he begins to get impatient.

"Y/N, doll, you need to open those pretty lips of yours." He commands.

I listen. Taking him straight to the back of my throat, swallowing around him to get the rest inside. A grunt leaves his lips as his cock twitches in the warmth of my throat.

I grab ahold of his thighs and moan, encouraging him to take control and fuck your throat raw.

He takes the hint and lets you have it. You have to focus on your breathing so your gag reflex doesn't show up.

Only a few moments later he's pulling you off his rigid cock, grunting and breathing heavy.

"Damn woman that was fucking beautiful. Haven't had a good blow job in so long."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He's behind you thrusting deep into your core. Every thrust he hits your cervix, I swear hus going to bruise it.

Thick fingers are playing with you clit and ring as you tighten around his cock... again. At this point your just holes for him to fuck, you don't even know if you can cum anymore.

The supe stamina is no joke.

"Doll, this pussy is milking me so good." He flicks your clit ring again but this time he adds two wet, thick fingers deep into your tight asshole, making you scream his name as you coat his cock.

Four powerful thrust from both his cock and fingers has him falling over the edge. Hot cum pours into your well used cunt as he rides you softer than before. Emptying everything he has to give.

Falling beside you, he cradles you tight against his chest.

"You know I'm still getting use to this new world, but I think this," he lightly rubs your jewelry, while playing with the mess you both left between your thighs, "is something I could get use to."

Softly kissing your forehead, he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the bathroom to clean you up.

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Taglist:

@syrma-sensei @yvonneeeee

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #the boys tv #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys smut #the boys fanfic

[panicpixieplaygirl]

PRIVATE PORTFOLIO II (indiana jones)

PT I

um……. hi guys!

word count: 851 warnings: smut, age gap, teacher-student

MINORS DNI! 18+

But you were ripe and primed to learn, especially from the beautiful, brawny professor pressing you into his office door.

"You knew exactly what you were doing."

His hand leaves yours and pins your full hand to your hips, reaching to your side to lock the door…

You can feel Dr. Jones’ breath on your ear, much more controlled than yours, mocking you with his collectedness, sending you reeling even further at the reality of the situation you found yourself in: sandwiched between this composed, experienced, aroused older man, and his heavy office door.

You hear him give a slight laugh, and you know you’re dangerously unprepared for what’s coming.

"I've seen how you look at me." A hand comes to rest on your neck, gentle, but pressured, trapping your ear against his lips and forcing you to endure his soft baritone torture. "Eyes wide and glazed."

"I thought it was my expedition stories exciting you." His unoccupied hand falls to the inside of your thigh and begins to slide under your skirt. "But it's all just for me, isn't it?"

You're virtually paralyzed under his attention, unable to move an inch, the restriction only highlighting the rhythmic pulsing from your heart and your cunt. The closer he gets, the more intensely it aches.

"What are you thinkin’ about when you look at me like that?"

His lips feathering across your collarbone, down your stomach, up your thighs. His tongue rolling against your swollen folds, his hand reaching to cover your mouth while you convulse. His large frame, slick with sweat, engulfing you, gliding against you. Moans and gasps and groans harmonizing. His hips rocking harshly into you. A deep, loud, guttural groan as he fills you.

Indiana can feel your body flush and flutter in his hands. Again he snickers.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about since the moment I opened that folder.”

His lips press against your ear and kiss you, and you're dead weight, hands skittering for his biceps as he continues down your neck. Dr. Jones holds you steady, like he expected it, each word carefully calculated to have you submit to his will.

Bliss.

The heat in the room begins to shift as his fingertips near your panties- painful, palpable tension birthed from a forbidden lust transforming into a race for tangible, euphoric relief. There was a danger in opening that box, but you knew Dr. Jones was no stranger to it.

A moan rumbles from his throat as he grazes your clothed heat, his teeth gently scraping across your neck. He breathes deeply, grossly pressing himself against you, and bites down, sending your hips forward. You shudder against his ear, your yearning finally overpowers you.

“Dr. Jones,” Your hand falls to his and presses his fingers against you, hips rolling your cunt on his fingers, and you heave a sigh of relief. But it isn’t enough.

“Please-”

“Don’t you wanna know what I’ve been thinking about?”

God, it hurt. Several semesters worth of pent up tension, all this time and teasing and torture. How could he stand another second when it was right at his fingertips?

You shake your head violently and guide his hand into your panties, press one of his calloused fingers against your opening and let him feel how pathetically slick you are.

Another low laugh into your ear.

“You’re easy, dollface. I normally like to take my time...”

His finger presses deep inside you, lips immediately meeting yours to keep you quiet. His kiss was grounding; soft, slow, and careful. For a minute he just held himself inside of you, gently stroking every part of you with minimal movement. Every nerve in you, throughout your brain, down your spine and shoulders, lit on fire, sparking, sparkling, and sputtering, lingering in your fingertips, scorching in your cunt. You both heave as he pulls his lips from yours.

“Keep quiet.”

A second finger slips into you and then he’s plunging them deep and rhythmically, tearing a cry from your chest, earning a tight hand around your throat to quiet you.

“You really got a thing for getting caught, huh? Gonna have the whole hall knocking on my door if you can’t keep it down.” Dr. Jones grins down at you with an arrogance you didn’t know he was capable of. He’s remarkably different than the professional you’d come to know him as. He was devious, perverted, and he excelled at it. Your breathing is ragged and strained, your swollen mound leaks over his hand and twitches around his thick fingers as they disappear in and out of your sloppy, eager cunt. You couldn’t moan or move or breathe, forced just to endure it, pleasure building and building on itself with nowhere to go.

Indiana holds you still and silent against the door like a living doll, watching you closely. You’re clothed, but he can see your body clear as day beneath, your immodest images lingering in his mind.

“Mmm,” he groans as he feels you tremble around his fingers. “Gonna cum already, sweetheart?” His thumb reaches to your clit, his motions all slowing, stringing you steadily along.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this. Always so good for me, should’ve known you’d be a perfect whore. You like it, don’t you? I know you do. Swallowing my fingers right up, can’t even imagine how good you’d feel on my cock.”

#me when i realize i can end this shit whenever i want #writing orgasms is actually hard guys #don’t bother me about my absence i swear #enjoy #dr. jonesing #indiana jones x reader smut #indiana jones smut

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

GENUINE QUESTION, this is going to sound so silly, oh God........but was making Teagan a redhead on purpose (actually, I just thought of the possibility of them dyeing their...)? I mean, don't get me wrong, I like the color red but “full of red flags + DANGEROUS + IS a readhead = Teagan”. Their whole self and background is so interesting to me, it makes me wonder what inspired you to create them (apologies if something similar was asked and answered). There isn't much but man, I can't wait for the next updates! Thank you for your hard work <3

Please don't feel silly or apologize for asking your question! I really am so honored to hear that you're so invested in learning more about Teagan and have thought so deeply about them!

To get the easy part of your question out of your way, no Teagan isn't a natural redhead. They actually dye their hair all the time (Their hair was actually bright blue before they dying it red.)

As for the redhead = red flags + danger equation, I honestly can't deny that didn't cross my mind when I was creating them. Though you know what else is red? Herrings. ;)

As for the second part of your question, Teagan was honestly inspired by a lot of different sources.

One of the main sources of inspiration from Teagan are from a few toxic/manipulative friendships I had growing up. You see, I was a huge people pleaser/ pushover as a child and I would always give people the benefit of the doubt even when they didn't always deserve it.

Now that I'm older, I can look back on those toxic friendships and immediately spot those bright red flags that I missed as a kid. Of course, after seeing and learning of the home life that they had, I can understand why they developed those toxic traits in the first place.

Of course that doesn't excuse it, but it explains their actions and helped me realize that I wasn't the only reason why they acted the way that they did. It was their own slew of internal, and sometimes external, issues that caused them to act out.

Teagan also embodies the abandonment issues I developed after those toxic friendships inevitably failed. ( Not always by my own choice, even though in retrospect it was a net positive for me.) Granted, Teagan's issues dwarf my own, but they're rooted in the same fears and insecurities that I am still working on to this day. ( Unlike Teagan, I actively work on my issues and try my best NOT to project them onto others)

Of course, they were also loosely inspired by a lot of other yandere visual novels I've played. If you look at fanart I've made on my main accounts you'll probably get a hint of which specific games I drew some inspiration from haha.

I will say that even though Teagan is a manifestation of a variety of issues I've dealt with over the years, they are obviously 100x more toxic than anything I've experienced in IRL.

I've also found some sick enjoyment in coming up with creative and increasingly more messed up scenarios on how to make Teagan as toxic as humanly possible.

It's almost cathartic in a way, being able to control these fictional scenarios instead of being forced into them by outside sources.

That being said, I also believe in everyone's innate ability to heal, change for the better, and grow as a person. Of course I don't want to give too much away, but just know that my belief extends to Crimson Hydrangea as well. <3

#yanderes #yandere #yandere visual novel #yandere vn #male yandere #ask #original character #visual novel #crimson hydrangea #crimson hydrangea vn #teagan conners

[feverdreamjohnny]

Hi, I’m a newer game dev (at least I’m tryin to be one lol) and I’ve realized that I have a really hard time finishing projects, because I just get burnt out and lose any passion I had for it. Do you have any advice?

Here's how I've (sort of) navigated these issues:

- Make small games. This was originally my "starting out" advice for people, but as time has gone on I genuinely think this is the only practical method for indie development. When I say small, I mean SMALL. I don't mean "oh, make an 8 hour game with hidden levels and side quests," I mean "your game is, at most, a single hour long, preferably 30 minutes." I've seen enough indies overscope their work and get stuck for nearly a decade without a finished product because they wanted to replicate the scope of a game made by several people with millions of dollars. You can definitely attempt larger projects down the line, but for the most part smaller games are what give you consistent growth as a creative, a reliable audience, and if you monetize them on steam or itch.io - an income. It's also a great opportunity to explore experimental design/art without risks, which is always valuable.

- Regardless of the game's scope, you need to take multi-day-long breaks if you're experiencing burnout. Game development is a cerebral discipline and it will tire you out fast. Forcing yourself through burnout might squeeze out more results, but you're just amplifying burnout down the line. Recognize that the breaks are a natural extension of the process and don't wreck yourself trying to be "more" than that. Hell, even painters sometimes need a bit of space from their work before they can continue, why would it be any different here?

[MORE BELOW THE BREAK]

- Don't get hung up on the game not coming out like you thought it would. If you become frustrated because the game doesn't reflect your ambitions, it's easy to lose interest and want to move on from it. Games will almost never resemble the initial vision. Sometimes you have to avoid being a perfectionist and accept your game for what it is.

- Find community (if you can). Surrounding yourself with other developers can be a great motivator for your own work, and being able to tap into a larger pool for second opinions and assistance can help you break barriers that otherwise would've stopped your work.

- Take your time. Game development is slow, and learning the various disciplines inside of it is a lengthy process. It took me 8 years to do the stuff I do today. Granted you might have an easier time if you're older than I was when I started, but in general it will take years to get to a point where you feel confident.

- Try a different engine from time to time. Most modern engines are fairly well suited for independent game development, but the available resources surrounding the engine (such as documentation and community support) can vary wildly. I strongly recommend window shopping across several engines. There's a small chance that you're having a hard time because the engine you're currently using isn't well suited to you and your goals. Some recommendations based on the ones I've personally tried:

* Game Maker Studio 2 - Great general purpose engine for 2D game development. Has a great community and plenty of learning resources. It's also fairly user friendly. It does have a license cost if you want to monetize your games, so keep that in mind. Scripting is done with GML, which is very human-readable.

* Godot - One of the best open source 2D/3D game engines. Doesn't have all the features of its competitors, but it's rapidly evolving and what's already there is more than enough to make most games. It's also compatible with various programming languages! Also, being open source means that it's completely free of licensing costs.

* Unreal Engine - Freakishly powerful 3D game engine at the cutting edge for modern game development. The C++ scripting might be fairly tough to work with as a newcomer (especially since it's built around a special wrapper for the engine that changes some of the rules), but it does have a well supported visual scripting backend that could do you some good. 2D games are certainly possible in Unreal, but it's clear that's not what the engine is intended for. Also Unreal has a neat licensing policy where you don't have to pay them unless you make more than +$1M, so that's cool.

* Unity - This is the one I use. It's great for 2D and 3D, and has a rapidly evolving feature set. It's one of the few engines with a swappable rendering pipeline system, which lets you pick the fidelity to work with relative to your game: With HDRP you can work on high-end games, and URP is great for doing everything else. Like Unreal you can initially monetize your games for free, but you have to pay a monthly subscription once you cross +$100k. Also you have to pay a monthly subscription to get rid of the splash screen which kind of sucks. Other than that, it's a very robust engine with possibly the largest community of the engines listed here.

[luvliewriting]

❦❦❦

Arthur Morgan As A Dad

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F.Reader

Warnings: slight angst, pregnancy

Note: I'm sorry I've disappeared for so long with no answer I'm most likely gonna do a full fic of this but let me know if you'd be interesting in reading something like that

❦❦❦

❦❦❦

Was your daughter planned? Yes and no. Both you and Arthur had talked to each other a bunch about kids but didn't exactly plan anything, it was more "if it happens it happens." Not that he was ever expecting anything to happen, he wasn't sure what he would even do if you were pregnant one day with his kid. Of course, he couldn't really spend his time wavering on the options, but he still did. Honestly, you really worried when Arthur disappeared for a day after he learned the news. But he came around and was probably the best man you could've asked for to share an experience like this with. He already is experienced in taking care of women (More ways than one..) and you being pregnant is no different, he's careful with you, like a porcelain doll or fine china.

When your daughter finally comes into the world though, he's absolutely in awe. She looks almost completely identical to him and not only talking looks wise, she had the same cocky attitude he too possessed as she aged. It was one of the most terrifying and beautiful experiences that Arthur had a chance to witness inside of his tent. He feared losing you or the child but you both were healthy.

Although I guess having a child wasn't all positive, Arthur stayed sure but he struggled to be at camp more often. One he was sent on more jobs due to the extra mouth to feed as well as, he was just scared of disappointing you both. He believes you're both more safe in the care of Charles and Abigail who had both refused to leave your side since learning of the pregnancy and the same went for when your daughter was born.

Of course, Charles didn't let this slide and talked to Arthur too many times to even count, trying to knock some sense into the gunslinger. Saying how he was only disappointing you more with the constant leaving and barely caring for your baby. That was what knocked the air out of Arthur's head and he rushed back to your side almost immediately. Since then, he seemed to have smartened up and was there for your daughter more.

Arthur barely leaves you and the your daughter after that day, if he does it's only because he had Dutch barking more orders and jobs at him. But his first priority the second he's done any kind of job is coming back to camp to hold you both in his arms again. He says that he must protect his family, that it’s a bigger priority than doing anything else. But you’re not sure if that’s just a big fat excuse for him to hold her for hours. Laying in his lap, as he swipes a hand over her little head and feeling the thin, small fuzz of hair on it. With you at his side, singing to her as you stroke her cheek with a soft thumb.

He waits till she's older to finally take her on horse rides with him. Sure she's been on the horse before but that was with you and her wrapped tightly to your chest so she couldn't get shaken around. When she's five, Arthur had gotten her a donkey that she could ride around camp on; more a practice till she can get her own horse.

Hosea takes her on fishing trips and Charles teaches her how to braid, even Kieran lets her help out with the horses once she gets older. With age you soon saw how much she was truly Arthur's daughter, it wasn't just her looks but with age, she grew his wit and smart mouth. A couple of times you've had to remind her of some words she wasn't allowed to say. Of course you were always met with "but dad gets to say them?"

Of course it's not all sunshine and rainbows. Arthur soon learns he's contracted tuberculosis a few days after your daughter's seventh birthday. He doesn't tell either of you at first, he more avoids you two all together; one he's scared of giving it to either of you and two, he's scared of the reaction. He knew it was gonna hurt you both and there was little chance he was gonna live.

He lives you both in the care of Tilly when the gang starts to fall apart, you argued against this wanting to be with Arthur till his final breath but he wouldn't allow it. No, he wanted you both to remember him nice and well (as well as he could have been at least), he wanted you both to remember the good times, not the bad where he chokes on his own blood while his eyes roll back.

I know John is the one who ends up getting Arthur's hat but I believe if he had a daughter that she would get his hat. And trust me, she barely takes it off after she says a final tearful goodbye to her dad. She was at her most stubborn when Arthur had to let you both go, she clung onto him so tightly that she had to be torn off of him. It broke you to see how hurt your daughter was at the thought of leaving her dad. It reminded you that he wasn't gonna come back. This wasn't gonna be like any other mission that he's gone for a couple days and comes back, no he won't come back.

You swore you knew the second he had passed. You were tucked away in a hotel with Tilly and your daughter. Tilly was sleeping on the couch in the room while your daughter was curled up at your back while you slept in the bed. Her rosey cheeks still stained from her tears at leaving her father behind. You were unable to sleep as you snuck out of the bed and to the balcony of the hotel room to look out to the sunrise; Arthur's favourite thing besides you two.

It was as if he was right there with you. Holding you close and warm to his chest as a sense of warmth entered your body looking out to the same sunrise you were sure his spirit was looking at the same time.

After he passes, you find the little things that remind you so painfully of him. First your daughter, her striking resemblence to him. Plus with his hat upon her head, still slightly to big and needing to be tipped back to reveal her beautiful green eyes; his eyes.

You bring your daughter to Arthur's grave as much as possible, you don't allow any memories to fade from her mind of her father.

❦❦❦

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog as it really does help me out. Once again, I'm sorry for the lack of work. Feedback is greatly appreciated

Taglist: @margofiore , @cowboydisaster , @kieropal , @littlesatanicassholebitch

❦❦❦

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead #red dead x reader #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2

[faggotadeux]

i wish people put in more '60s accurate details in their fanfictions so i present some things from the '60s the characters in the outsiders would have seen/used/experienced.

school lunches

this is what the gang most likely would have had at school lunch. people don't really talk about school lunch in their fanfics but i really think they should. could you imagine the romance of eating "weiner wraps" with ponyboy?

these honestly sound disgusting no wonder dallas dropped out.

rip johnny cade you would have loved high school cheezy breadsticks.

EDIT: it said in the book that the greasers didn't go to the cafeteria for lunch!

halloween costumes

this one required two pictures because i wanted to show the true demon from hell itself that is the beatles mask halloween costumes. i wanna see someone write a fanfic about bob sheldon jumping johnny cade but dressed up as paul mccartney. now that would haunt my dreams.

'60s halloween costumes were honestly so scary even when they weren't trying to be.

could you imagine like a little baby four year old ponyboy going trick or treating and seeing those eyeball things? no wonder the kid has anxiety and ptsd.

60s fashion

i could make a whole post about clothing (dresses, housewear, school clothes, bathing suits, fuck even underwear) but for now i just wanted to highlight some of this stuff. if you're going for 1965, these looks are a bit more socy but cute! i wanna see cherry pop off in that orange dress.

if you're writing a few years after the main plots of the book (after 1966) that fashion could probably be seen with a lot of the characters! i could see ponyboy popping off with that sweater on the bottom left.

EDIT: fashion also depends on region! what people were wearing in Tulsa was different from what people were wearing in Miami, and vice versa.

semi-unrelated but we should acknowledge that mrs. curtis was a housewife in the 50s and for sure would have worn those pretty housewife dresses. she's so cool. we should talk about her more. EDIT: it's unlikely that she would have because of their financial status.

toys

i know that the characters are a bit old to be playing with toys- but they might still mention them in conversation. and these toys are perfect for any baby fanfics!

i know cherry would have SO played with those barbies. i would read a whole fic about cherry's barbie dreamhouse. could you imagine marcia and cherry playing barbies together? so cute. i could die.

if you're looking for toys the gang would have played with, i would look at toys from the 50s, especially for older characters like tim shepard and darry curtis.

EDIT: they most likely wouldn't have had that many toys! maybe only one or two.

christmas decorations

christmas in the '60s was so cute! i could so see cherry with one of those aluminum christmas trees in her house.

the second picture does a good job of showing what some kids might have gotten for christmas, along with what their tvs and other items looked like.

again, this is pretty soc-centered, but it can give y'all some good ideas for a nice '60s christmas fanfic with the gang.

conclusion

to start, a lot of the things here are revolve around the socs, and that's because they're rich. people idealize and remember the things that the rich had over the poor. even if the gang wouldn't have had these things, they still would have seen them around!

if you really want to go deep: look at boomer meme accounts. i know it sounds stupid, but trust me. you'll see tons of things like "no kids these days know what this means" and they think they're better than younger generations because technology has advanced. it's a great way to learn about some of the small things people had to do everyday that won't get talked about.

there were some parts of the '60s that were really cute. obviously, other parts of the decade weren't so i advise you all to be careful with how you write decade-accurate pieces. racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and many other issues were rampant at this time. (general psa: you can write gay characters in 60s fanfictions! gay people did exist in the 60s.)

i do this thing in my fanfiction i like to call "vintage touches" where in would incorporate things from the original text/60s like drive in theaters, music, record players, fashion, etc. but, i would still have the fanfiction take place in the modern day.

this was a very fun post to make and i hope y'all like it! if anybody wants anything they want to see, please shoot me an ask! this is just scratching the surface.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #cherry valance #bob sheldon #60s #1960s

[jattazo]

hello tumblr i'm going to ramble about an OC now

my brain is being Shitty and Mean and A Bit Rude to me today, so i'm gonna make myself feel better by talking about some worldbuilding and lore stuff surrounding one of my favorite d&d OCs: Froyin!

featuring this beautiful art made by the wonderful @majixium

froyin is a kobold i made for a friend's campaign and she's very near and dear to my heart if only because i think she is very sweet and cute and sometimes that's the vibe ya wanna project yourself onto y'know?

in the world froyin hails from, there are a multitude of different kobold clans, each with their own societal norms and such. hers is the Clan of The Endscale: a group of kobolds who took up refuge long ago under the watchful eyes and wings of an ancient black dragon.

as time went on, the dragon became more and more hostile towards them, viewing them as leeches more than worshipers. this led the dragon to begin acting much more antagonistically towards the clan, and eventually outright fighting the clan as a whole.

through a stroke of what was probably pure luck, the clan managed to triumph over the dragon, and now bares its legacy in their name: Endscale. the clan that took down a dragon on its own.

their modern day society is somewhat matriarchal, extremely organized, and very strongly tied to tradition. i made a little flowchart showing the hierarchy of the clan actually, here it is:

so anyways, the way things work is basically like... until you reach maturity, you're not really expected to do anything besides learn from others in the clan about whatever. you aren't locked into a Sib or anything just because that's where your family might be.

once a kobold reaches maturity, their right horn is shaved down in a mix of celebration and as a way to tell where their position is in the clan. once you have your horn shaved, you're expected to start seriously considering where you truly want to be in the clan in regards to Sibs or other roles.

after a while, and after a kobold has trained and learned enough to earn a title and place in the clan, whether that's something as simple as being a Gatherer or as high ranking as being a Scribe, that's when they get their other horn shaved down.

the shaving of the second horn is celebrated even more than that of the first. it gets brought down to match wherever the first had grown back out to, so they can grow out together normally from there, but that's not the important part. the important part is that once that happens, it solidifies that kobold's place in the clan for pretty much the rest of their lifespan.

with this in mind, it's extremely rare to see older kobolds that have asymmetrical horns unless they had some intense battle wound or something. it's less uncommon for younger 'bolds though, since they're still sorta finding their place.

anyways, back to Froyin. Froyin is still a very young kobold overall, having only had her first horn shaved down maybe a couple months prior to the start of the campaign she's from. it's fairly common for kobolds to venture outside the clan's territory while in this phase of their life, but Froyin's story is a little different.

Froyin had been a natural spellcaster from a very young age. wow no way a sorcerer who's a natural spellcaster, who's ever seen that before? she planned on going into the role of a guard since she knew she'd be able to use her magic more openly there, as well as help protect the clan with it.

while she was out shadowing a guard patrol one day however, she stumbled upon something strange. a discarded black dragon's scale, seemingly ripe with a strange magical energy she'd not experienced before. pocketing it and bringing it back with her, she didn't really mention it for the rest of the patrol.

when she was back in the village though, the guards took her through the routine patrol process of reporting findings and such to the higher ups. this was when she mentioned the scale. it was no secret that she was a spellcaster, so when she mentioned that she could tell it had magical energy of some kind, it was submitted for review by a more practiced spellcaster.

eventually, this made its way all the way up to the priestess of the clan, which is where things went south real fast. the priestess called a public meeting of the clan, wherein she publicly announced that Froyin had "knowingly" brought the will of the ancient black dragon back to them.

Froyin, just as confused as everybody else, had no fucking idea what was going on. unlike everybody else though, she wasn't frightened by this announcement since she didn't really see the scale as evil. it wasn't controlling her or anything, this isn't some One Ring situation.

one thing led to another, and she was effectively exiled from the clan entirely and forced to take the scale with her. she was instructed not have her second horn shaved down as a mark of shame for what calamity she'd nearly brought about, and off she went.

her parents protested, given she was so young she must not have understood what was going on, but the decision was final. she was given anything her family could give her on the way out, including her staff, and just like that she was alone.

Froyin ended up wandering for a long time, using what little scavenging skills she had to keep herself fed, but eventually found a small village to take shelter in. she attempted to offer simple services to earn coin, like being a farmhand or cleaning people's clothes for them, but ran into a pretty big roadblock:

Froyin did not speak Common.

her clan was somewhat isolationist, and spoke in their native tongue above anything else. she was never taught any other language. thankfully, perhaps due to her age and attitude, the people of the village were kind enough to understand she needed help.

slowly but surely, over the course of a month or two, she began learning very basic common while helping around the village with various odd-jobs. by the time the actual campaign starts, she'd have a fairly strong understanding of most common, though she still couldn't speak it perfectly.

something she has yet to understand however is just how right the village was about that dragon's scale. that's something she'll get to learn about much much later in the story.

i'm not really sure what else to say besides i love Froyin so much, she is a precious little creature who deserves nothing but good. :)

WAIT NO I DIDN'T GET TO TALK ABOUT THE MAGIC SHE USES okay okay okay so here's the thing-

Froyin is able to tap into a very special type of magic called Negentropy. if chaos and evil and entropy and all that were put into a single type of magic, this would be its polar opposite. it is the Right to the universes Wrong, the Up to its Down.

negentropy can be used to heal the sick, to mend the broken, to bring life to the withered, to spring plants, shine armor, all sorts of different stuff that would be categorized under "good :)" for lack of a better term

she doesn't have some crazy godlike capability or anything like that, but this magic is incredibly versatile and incredibly important because it's like the one single thing that can combat an ancient evil magic successfully.

that magic is something that thankfully has been mostly eradicated from the world, but with that in mind, so was Negentropy 👀 if one of those is back in somebody's hands, then...

all the lore behind where those magics came from, and the things tied to THAT are for a whole different post that i wouldn't even be the one to write. that'd be up to @uprising-trolls to handle ;3c

#dnd oc #kobold #lore dump #oc lore #worldbuilding #fantasy writing #oops this post ended up longer than i expected it to be #enjoy the read LOL

[paperboy-pb]

Now that the prologue is done, I can't thank the fans of this series enough.

No, we haven't hit any particular follower milestone. The story has just begun. And most of you haven't given me any sort of financial support to help me out, either. (And that's alright! I haven't asked, lol.)

I'm thanking you for just being apart of the audience.

I started PB in a little blue notebook during the summer of 2015. It was originally meant for my eyes only. And a big part of the reason why was that, when I googled things like "Special Ed makes me feel bad," there wouldn't be much of anything coming up. There were Quora forums! A couple of YouTube videos. Articles here and there.

But it wasn't a lot. Not enough to help me out for long. And it only hammered the idea further into my head that I was alone in what I endured. As I got older, grew up, and away from the program and people who took my disabled youth, I constantly felt this urge to talk about it. What SpEd had put me through. What I'd lost. What I'd seen & heard. The things I did and didn't learn. Even though I was never a very open kid, let alone teenager.

I hated that no one was talking about it. And how nobody knew what happened to kids like me behind closed doors. At 13 and 14, almost none of the new friends I made had ever heard a life story like mine. And I've always found that wild: I had a LOT of friends! (Still do!)

So I kept drawing it out. Kept working on the story in notebooks, sketchbooks, my friends' DMs, and anywhere else words could go. Sometimes, my family would catch glimpses of the concept art. Sad sketches of Matthew crying, freaky drafts of Monster, or tense moments between what would become Class 7-C.

And one of my parents would be like, "Why is your art so depressing?" They'd roll their eyes. And they'd add on, "People's parents aren't gonna like it!"

No, I never told them what the story was about. I never even told them it was a children's media (because it kinda isn't! I'd personally put PB as 13+?) These were judgments made with just one glance at computer papers covered in pencil strokes; sketchy and shapey little kids who didn't look like they were having fun.

I knew they were wrong. But the audacity still pissed me off. There aren't many times where it's appropriate to boss somebody else around in how to tell their story, you know? Not only that, but I also worried about not having an audience back then. Sure, all my friends loved my work. But at the time, I was the only one who'd really experienced anything "Special Education" in life. Thus, these were General Ed kids watching it unfold. Able-bodied eyes and (as far as I knew back then) neurotypical minds, watching and learning from whatever I made.

And I liked that. But that wasn't the only group I wanted to be seen by. I wanted disabled people, especially youth in their teens and twenties, to see it. That's my primary audience. And shit like that made me wonder if I'd ever find it. Had me second-guessing myself a little, you know?

But I shook it off. It's like that thing teachers always say in class. "If you're confused or have a question, ask: whatever it is, you probably aren't the only one thinking it!"

And I searched for stuff like PAPERBOY, hadn't I? Yeah. I had. So by that logic, other people definitely would be, too.

So I stuck to my guns, and... check it! Y'all showed up!

One thing I've noticed ever since publishing part 1 is that the PB Nation is pretty damn devoted. You guys have been patient, passionate, silly, and unapologetically yourselves since the get-go. And the response to every old promotional comic or post I've made has been OVERWHELMINGLY positive and curious. I've gotten fucking fanart, man! More than once! I've had the honor of meeting a few of you in person already! And for the ones who haven't caught me out with my friends in New York, believe me, I REMEMBER who comments what.

By the way, you guys should spam my comments more. Fuckin' love that shit. SPEAK TO ME, lmao. Even if it's like, the most irrelevant PB question ever. Keyboard smash in my comment sections. Send me disability reels you like. Tell me what you wanna see from the story. Whatever, as long as it doesn't bleed into parasocial territory!

I've gotta have one of the best audiences out there. So thank you! For just... being around. Here's to hoping y'all enjoy the journey we're aboutta go on.

#paperboy pb #paperboy #author's note #disability #disabled artist #disabled writer #webtoon canvas creator

[dowagersqueen]

Hello there! I’m the anon who couldn’t  understand why and how the brothel situation could foreshadow al*smond. Thank you very much for answering my question. Hope you wouldn’t mind me sending yet another ask. BTW I’m really happy I finally found an ANTI-a*smond friendly space.

Frankly speaking, I will be disappointed if in se2, Aemond’s “relationship” with A*ys is pictured as an overly romantic love story. From what we know from the books, she was literally his s*x slave, watched him butcher her entire family and had every right to, well, not reciprocate Aemond’s feelings even if he actually developed some kind of twisted fondness for her. As you mention, power imbalance between them was at least disturbing. Personally, I hope their relationship in the show would be much like the Melisandre and Stannis situation.

As for A*ys’ age… Well, from the books we learn she looked much younger than 40. The actress cast for this role is in her early 30s. I wonder if Aemond was generally attracted to women twice his age, which is why he spared her, or when he took A*lys as his POW, he thought she was like 7-10 years older than him?  Much as I believe it’s totally fine if you have the “Aemond was a milf hunter” headcanon and enjoy creating such content. However, I don’t understand why and how the “Aemond was into much older women HEADCANON” should debunk the helaemond theory. Personally, I really like helaemond, although I doubt this relationship will be confirmed as show canon. But on the other hand, why should Aemond’s (for want of a better word) romantic interests’ age be the only thing that attract him to them? Maybe those are just my headcanons, but I think Aemond and Helaena have something in common. For example, they both have a streak (Aemond is interested in history and philosophy and Helaena is into biology/entomology) and experienced se*ual abuse. In addition, it seems pretty in-character for !show Aemond to become fascinated with his sister simply because she’s a dragon dreamer. Also, why wouldn’t he want to gently make out with someone who’s an ethereal, melancholic girl approximately his age and not a curvy, dark-haired s*x worker, much older than him. And, most importantly, no one forces him to sleep with her Or maybe teenage Aemond simply needs someone who’d stand by his side and stroke his arm when he’s stressed 😊?

Those are just my thoughts. Thank you for sharing your rants ant theories on this amazing blog. Hope this time I made myself more clear. English is not my first language.

hey there 😇 no problem

i think you're right in that it's very plausible to assume he would find comfort in helaena who has a similar experience to him when it comes to SA and considering that we're shown aegon being annoying to aemond when they're young, and aemond standing up for helaena, we can easily guess he relates to her better than he does aegon. and vice versa.

and when they're older, when aemond walks in the room in episode 9, helaena literally lights up at the sight of him. throughout the second part of the show you can see they're closer to each other than they are to aegon.

in general, i think anyone writing off helaemond completely as being this insanely impossible ship is doing so out of spite and i think the reason alysm*nds portray him as an exclusively milf hunter is because of they relate more to the idea of al*s that they have (not a noble, witch trope, so special that she catches the eye of a prince). and they're weirdly posessive with aemond's character... which is just a character.

#asks #anti alysmond #ig

[eorzeashan]

Mirage

“We've been watching you. Learning your techniques. In Mos Ila, at the wind farm, in Exchange territory... syncing our motions with yours.” 

The Old Man paced amidst the gravel sand of his tent, all confidence and experienced swagger. His lackeys hovered in a loose circle around their Cipher mark. Antsy with anticipation– hyenas around the carcass, waiting for their partaking of the meat. He’d trained them well, but they were overeager, drunk on stims, closed to possibility. Vector hovered behind him, nervous. 

“You're fantastically talented. You'll show us everything... and then we'll replace you inside your own organization.”

Eight’s dark eyes watched them dispassionately. He was no such prey. 

He felt the group hesitate. A visible thrum, a shuttering, the tightened reflexive amateur grip of vibroknives. He’d thrown them off their game. It would not last long; if they were as good as they claimed to be, he’d need to change his moves faster than they could adapt.

He felt the group hesitate. A visible thrum, a shuttering, the tightened reflexive amateur grip of vibroknives. He’d thrown them off their game. It would not last long; if they were as good as they claimed to be, he’d need to change his moves faster than they could adapt.

Fortunately for him, he was all but the compiled memory of a thousand and one deaths. This body was made for violence. It held naught else within.

“Cleverness won’t save you now, Cipher.” The Old Man shrugged off his initial hesitation, displaying his trump card in the open as his form took on that of the Cipher’s: leonine, graceful, not a step out of place. Two could play the copycat game. The young blood came with unpredictability, but his years of experience gave him the edge. He would enjoy taking the specimen before him apart. “You’ve been led into my trap.” The spy tracked his motions with those voidpool eyes of his, almost as empty as his companion’s. 

He was unsettling in a beautiful way, and the Old Man could see how it appealed to the base nature of the Sith. “Of course, we'd rather have captured you before you killed so many, but all in all, I'd call the plan a success.”

“Counting your gizka eggs before they hatch? Arrogant.”

His gaze was hypnotic with the hunger of the fight, yet soft with a terrible fondness that spoke of love where there was none to be found. When he spoke next, his voice was smooth and cutting like the tip of a cold knife trailing up a bare spine- and with the same effect. 

Eight beckoned with one free hand to him. 

They unsheathed their weapons simultaneously. 23 and counting blades glinted beneath the harsh spearing rays of the desert sun. Two exact faces, locked on one another. Orradiz inhaled the dust-choked air as if it were sweeter than perfume. He’d always wanted to give himself a second burial.

“Come, Old Man.” He pointed the knife at his own throat. “Let us see who replaces who.”

—----

Eight straddled the Old Man’s bucking body as he pinned all four of his limbs. He hummed a lullaby in Cheunh, one that mothers sang to their sons as they dreamt on her warm bosom. 

“Orradiz. Did you know I have a son around your age?” Nosta asked him, a flush on the blue of her skin as they camped out in the sniper’s nest together. He stared at her, not comprehending, then shook his head. 

“I do. His name is Veldekk. He looks so much like his father…I wonder if he’ll complain about that when he gets older. You know how boys are.” She laughed merrily, more cheery than Orradiz had ever seen her. She blew on her calloused knuckles and rubbed her hands; the chill of Hoth was difficult to bear even for a Chiss hailing from Csilla. 

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of their heartbeats and the frigid howling of the arctic wind overhead.

Nosta broke the ice, again. 

“Someday I’ll introduce you. To both of them. Saganu would love you; I know he’s always been fascinated by outsiders, but you’re as Chiss as any of us. You’ve been with me long enough.” She fidgeted with the scope of the planted sniper rifle, readjusting, peering through it to the white expanse and no signs of life. She sat back with a sigh. “I almost wish you were older, so you could have seen Veldekk when he was born. He was so small, Orre. I’ve never seen anything so fragile.”

Orradiz peered at her owlishly above his scarf. He had no idea what she was rambling about, but he could tell the importance it held for the Chiss woman was far more than she could put into his words. Every fiber of her being that she kept locked down for espionage, carefully controlled by years of training was now beaming with affection, and not for him.

She looked at him, not understanding, and smiled. “There’s a song I used to sing him to sleep with. Every night, he’d tug on my hair and look at me with his big eyes and wait for me to sing, or he refused to settle down. Shall I sing it for you?”

Quiet as he was, he could only nod.

“Alright then. Don’t fall asleep, or I’ll make you run laps in your underclothes…”

Eight wrapped his hands around the neck of his carbon-copy, and squeezed. He was reaching the end of the song. The Old Man- or his eyes bulged out of their sockets. Hands clawing, slapping at air. He watched himself die. 

The body went limp, and he let go. 

Funny. He thought he’d feel something, but it was just another corpse in the end.

Guess there really is no killing yourself after the first time, he mused dryly, kicking the dead body with his boot. He cut out the disguise implant from the base of the neck, shook off the fresh blood and bits of flesh. He held up the hunk of metal to the sun. The Old Man had an impressive display of face-changing. 

He could do better.

Mia Hawkins watched him finish his work with dual-parts resignation and wariness; she was always one to accept her own fate, and it drew Eight to her like the stink of lingering rot. But when she forced herself to look at him, there was naught but mercy in his bloodstained hand, and she took it. 

They embraced for a little while. She marveled at how someone so cold could feel so warm.

He put his lips to her ear and whispered, his tongue laden with someone else’s words. “Run. It’ll be hard. Your feet will bleed for all the miles you’ll need to walk. Make it a worthwhile chase, and you might just live to see the end of this war.”

He let her go. She swallowed thickly, then turned and ran. When she had put enough distance between them, she looked over her shoulder. He was still there: an immovable figure standing amidst a ghost village full of nameless bodies. A bead of sweat rolled into her eyes. She blinked.

When she looked again, he was gone– the desert wind rolled over where he had been in a closing curtain of sand, and with its passing, the haunting was over.

#cipher eight au #oc: orradiz #oc: nosta #swtor fanfiction #swtor #this was a weird one that didn't really turn out the way I expected but I need to get better at writing more often #imperial agent #jumpscared by orre's fat ass again #admin writes

[xnotyourdarlingx]

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

Hello ! It's Aries again ! Currently, I'm searching for somebody to write for The Last of Us with. I would love to write my OC against Joel Miller ! While I have not touched the second game yet, I've played the first one and have started watching the show (because, come on, Pedro Pascal). So I am willing to write Ellie when she's older because I will never write for / against a minor. Willing to write Joel Miller, too, as long as he's written for me in return.

All of it will be done over Discord and anybody I write with must ( considering I'm 21 ) be 20+ ! My writing style is semi literate to literate with the flexibility to mirror whoever I'm writing with. We will discuss any triggers beforehand so nobody is uncomfortable ! It can be the normal storyline or an alternate universe where the outbreak never happened—and I am more than okay with side roleplays that are AU based if we stick with the main storyline.

Please reach out to me if you're interested or message me on Discord (tag: starri.eyed) ! Just make sure to include your name, age and that it's for this roleplay.

Writing sample under the cut !

"Understandable. Your body running on adrenaline until it's close to giving out on you but your mind refusing to shut off," a chuckle accompanied Yue's sympathetic statement—bitter and despondent. Learning to acknowledge the way your mind shifting through a million dark thoughts is normal and accepting it are two entirely seperate concepts. Yue's struggling with the former, even though they've seen no progress in developing a cure for the virus, and this has become commonplace.

Regardless, getting to a normal life after experiencing too much brain-altering trauma sounded impossible. How do you go from witnessing the fall of humanity to asking somebody if they passed that important exam they had last week? Yue no longer believed herself capable of forming a bond with anybody. At least not in the capacity that was so normal when she was in high school. Now it was all 'did you come across anymore infected' and intolerable silence. One that conveyed what everybody probably wondered. Why did this happen? Has God abandoned us? Did clinging to religion help sanity recede slower or did people recklessly abandon it all after realizing no loving God could allow their children to be subjected to this much torture?

It's pleasantly shocking to hear the stranger's acceptance. Although they're residing in Jackson City where everything's relatively more relaxed—shaking off the survival instincts that you've had hardwired into your brain is arduous. Yue's stifling laughter at the comment. "I've got a funny way of talking? Mind you, I've been pressured to excel in my studies from a young age so accomodating my vocabulary to - " The woman pauses with measured caution. "Let's just say I wanted to be a nurse. This conversation could be a whole lot worse. Besides, you're the one who's got that Southern accent. Mind you, I love Southern accents so it's not a slight against you but..." A semblance of a smile is playing on Yue's lips. "Do you also have strange sayings and wear those hats that have a bunch of etiquette? And go to rodeos?"

A downfall to interacting with Yue is the incessant talking—except it's mainly when she's working through nerves. Meeting a new person who's related to Tommy's for sure going to enhance the initial anxiety. Of course she won't treat him extra special for it but it might destroy her to be kicked out of this community. Especially once you factor in the conditions of surviving outside Jackson City. It is Heaven for a world like theirs. Yue nodded, however, playing it off all casual. "The night skies can make it easier for people and infected to sneak up on you but we work it to our advantage, as well. Not that I blame you for taking a disliking to something so beautiful that can be weaponized against us... It's a shame. Astronomy is wonderful. There are many stories attributed to the constellations."

Yue pondered at Joel's introduction and with hesitance, outstretched a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Joel Miller. I'm Yue. Ming Yue. I heard you came in with a girl. Does she happen to be your daughter?" Subtly observing Joel's physical appearance—Yue mentally notes the glaring age gap as seen in his graying hair. "Always better to have more helping hands. My guess is you're experienced on the field, right? Sounds like you're stuck in permanent survival mode. Which is not a bad thing and - no, wait, I'm not meaning to call you old. Sorry. You don't look that old." Now would be a good time for her to shut up, actually, before she insults him any more.

"Let's... Focus on walking now, before I say something that's.. Unintentionally rude."

#tlou roleplay #tlou rp #the last of us #the last of us roleplay #the last of us rp #discord roleplay #roleplay finder #roleplay

[copperbora]

Today I hiked for the first time in months again; I only did about 7 km but I did them very swiftly over the space of an hour on the Okanagan Rail Trail. Bizarrely to me, this was an active rail line back when I was a kid and I still feel slightly torn over them not turning it into a light passenger transit line - and what they did, making it a trail. I love walking on this trail now - with its flat grade and soft pea gravel it is gentle on the legs, if often very icy in winter - but I believe that its real value is in being a safe corridor for local wildlife to utilize at night when humans are not present. Since it stretches from the north Okanagan to the central Okanagan it's pretty long, meaning that its impact as a wildlife corridor isn't insignificant. Cougars, black bears, mule deer, coyotes, mallard ducks, Canada geese, amphibians, snakes, raccoons and songbirds all now have this lengthy, quiet band of protected space in the very populated Okanagan Valley to utilize. I like that; it helps me feel good about it, and I love imagining cougars lounging on the cliffs above, watching as mule deer come down to Kalamalka Lake for a midnight drink. With the daytime humans and their bikes and dogs at home the wildlife now have a safe serenity in the darkness.

It was weird how trepiditious I felt setting out, like a nervous horse playing with its bit and prancing. I'm an experienced thruhiker, yet after months of not hiking due to my mom's condition and being glued to her side I took a long time to settle back into my favourite sport. It was cool - -1 Celsius with a windchill of about -5C - but this late into the winter I'm acclimated to freezing temperatures. Still, I was a bit sweaty from work earlier in the day and feeling hesitant to embark, but I made myself go anyway. Eventually, after ten minutes or so I settled back into my usual stride - albeit slower than personal speed records - and I felt okay in my habitat by myself again. (Honestly, the worst thing about growing older is having parents who can no longer keep up with me on the trail. Last year in Jasper National Park it depressed me to the point of flopping in the middle of the trail mid-climb of a pass and staring miserably up at the sky for a good twenty minutes.)

I hiked until civilization fell out of sight, with Rattlesnake/Turtlehead Point adjacent and stopped to admire the pure lack of humanity. I pray that everyone gets to have moments like this of even just perceived wilderness, with not a single building in sight, with just you and the wild for company. After a moment or two (because I never pause long,) I turned back for the trailhead where I had left my car and then wandered a mall for an hour to kill some more time before going to my second doctor's appointment about my newly diagnosed ADHD. There I learned that my ferratin/iron is too low, so I won't be allowed to donate blood as planned this spring. In fact, there's talk of an intravenous iron infusion happening. (On the bright side this gives me a fine excuse to move forwards with my self-tattoo plans since I am not allowed to get tattooed while actively donating.) My thyroid is well though, and I got prescribed a stimulant for my ADHD, which the government will supposedly be helping with financially.

I came home to my mom having a Bad Day. Just in case you don't know, being a caretaker to a beloved family member with cancer is really f***ing awful - you're stressed to the nines almost constantly, terrified, uncomfortably familiar with the Emergancy Room at your local hospital (the staff know you,) plus horribly familiar with hearing your loved one whimper all night in agony. This has been my dad and I's absolute hell for years now and I can firmly tell you: cancer is not a battle, it is a WAR.

So now I lay down to sleep, in my day clothes, because I know there's a very real terrible chance that we'll have to take Mom to the ER again tonight. F*** cancer.

Here's my tattoo design which insisted on coming to life though - a cougar, a cat sacred to my family, especially my mom but also me. For years I kept dreaming of this big benevolent kitty coming to visit me, to the point where I became fond of her and named her Mud.

#cougarcat #puma concolor #puma #mountain lion #catamount #hiking #cancer #ADHD #ADHD LIFE #caretaking #mountains #Canada