#/ barfight barfight bar fight barfight--

[inun4ki]

Kaede glared down at her with unfeeling eyes, a frigid unkindness causing to bloom the once-flowers in his eyes. He did not press, squeeze, nor clench, black-painted fingernails digging half-moons into her skin. Maybe a different animal would've bore into her flesh and clawed away at webby thew, arteries, and airways, but it was never his intention to bring her harm - not when they met before, and certainly not now. But she didn't care about that. Too many obvious trust issues to sort out on her own fucking time.

He paid her nails no mind as she flayed his arm, icily frozen and calculating as he glared and glared. Something mean and foul tugged at the back of his mind, biting and gnawing on chewy grey matter, cannibalizing his stubborn desire to give well-wishes and support, to offer her a helping hand and make her live even just a smidge easier. Playfighting at the local bar was one thing, but it wasn't mere play for her, was it? He wanted to react with compassion and understanding, but he was far more bitter than even he could fathom.

"If I thought you worthy of putting out of your misery, I would've killed you when first we met," he hissed lowly, leaning closer over her until their breaths mingled and the skeletal curves of her mask had pressed into his cheek, his unbending glower burning holes into naught but blackness - where her eyes should be. A lack of fear, he knew - something he respected in her, but now found irritating beyond measure. He grit and bared his teeth, curved knife secure in free hand, tip hovering a hair's breadth between the ball of Jez's chin and the soft spot just past it. "I wouldn't have repeatedly gone out of my way to befriend you. Feed you."

On the contrary, he'd seen so much himself in her, he couldn't fathom not trying. There were only too few to none who'd given him the same courtesy, and while he was, underneath everything, a horribly bitter and weak man, he wasn't so feeble he couldn't try. She was just as stubborn as he was, too stubborn - maybe worse - and it pissed him off to be threatened, berated, and constantly, literally fought tooth and nail every step of the way when all he'd attempted to do was help someone who was just like him. Different, yet the same.

"No, no, I had to take pity on you, and all you've done is spit in my face as if I'm some twitchy jackass who thinks you belong in a cage! I never expected you to trust me. I didn't even expect you to like me - I'm just as fucked up and miserable as you are." Knifepoint grazes her chin to underscore his sentiments, but doesn't draw blood - too careful, merciful even, despite the burgeoning soreness of his balls. "I don't know what your fucking problem is and, frankly, at this point, I don't want to. But you're going to get used to having a proper ally on your side one way or another, or I will kill you myself."

@origami-assassin / continued from here !

[oatmilkandvellichor]

the work week is over baby and i am sore as a motherfucker. time to soak in some hot water n epsom salts for a full fucking hour.

[midniiights-garden]

A Porcelain Doll and a Blade - Mizu x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's cliché, really. A pretty little thing like you with a monster. A classic Beauty and the Beast scenario. But what if the Beauty is not all that fragile and what if the Beast isn't as cruel? Oh well, still cliché.

(A/N: This is probably gonna be multiple parts!! Idk how many parts but there will be more than one. Also the reader is implied to be South-east Asian!!)

TWs!!: Canon typical violence, Mentions of smoking and alcohol, Blood and gore, Canon and period typical misogyny.

It's cold outside, it always seems to be anyways.

The young woman looks around her, taking in her surroundings, checking for something. What that thing was no one knew but her. She was inconspicious in terms of appearance. Her skin was on the tan side, but not anything that would be odd for most of the rice farmers. She could be Japanese for all they knew.

She, you, heads into a nearby tavern seeking shelter. You're cold, unused to such weather. The concept of snow confused you. Crystals? Falling from the sky? What a strange notion. You enter the tavern, sighing happily as the heat from the fireplace within hits you like a wave. It's not nearly as warm as what you are used to, but it's much better than the bitter cold of the outside.

Your feet take you to the bar, seating yourself at one of the barstools. The men stare at you- whether it's because they desire you or because it's odd that a woman enter a tavern was unclear. You try to call over the bar keeper who raises an eyebrow at your age. You're young, early twenties. Couldn't be older than 26. You order a drink, one that gets the bar keeper to raise an eyebrow.

"...Where's your husband?" The man asks gruffly.

You huff. Now you're cold, irritated and without a drink. You reply that you have none. What you didn't say was that you weren't interested in having a male lover anyways.

The man grunts in disapproval. "No husband? Really? So what are you then, a whore?"

It was common for the courtesans of the Red Light to drink. Most drank, in fact. Other women tended to only drink in the company of family. The 'high class' women that was. The desireable little dolls most men wanted.

His words made you scowl, your features twisting in clear distaste. All you do is get up, leaving the tavern in an attempt to fuel your need to retaliate physically. Oh, how you itched for a barfight.

A young man enters the scene. Well, not truly a man. It's Mizu. Her haori and cloak are wrapped tightly around her form as she attempts to warm herself, keep herself stable in a bitter enviornment. You pass her as she heads towards the tavern, your expression still as dark and bitter as ever as you collide.

"...sorry," you mutter, bowing politely.

Mizu merely nods, bowing in return before returning her sights to the tavern. It was getting fucking cold out here.

Later that evening you are forced to return to that godforsaken tavern. The town was small, leaving you no other option. You didn't feel like having to play cutesy in order to get into someone's home. So, you head back, a scowl ever prominent on your face as you tread back into the establishment. The bar keep raises an eyebrow at you once more, the gesture earning him a pointed glare.

"I need a room for one," you mutter, trying your best to keep the flare of your temper under control.

"It's a shared dorm," the keeper explains with another grunt. "You willing to stay with a stranger?"

You sigh, irritated even more. "Yes," you hiss. "Please, just let me pay and let me get to rest."

The man rolls his eyes but obliges, allowing me to pay him. Once the transaction was done you turn, eager to just get to bed. Unfortunately the bar keeper just had to open his mouth one last time.

"You'd be a lot prettier if you kept quiet."

You are unable to reply. At least verbally. Any response to that comment would have ended in a fist fight which would end in a murder. And it certainly wouldn't be you that would die. So you trudge into the shared dorm, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles turned white and your nails dug into your palms.

You slam open the door to the shared dorms not realising another person was in there.

"Hey, what the fuck-?!" A voice says, clearly annoyed.

You recognize the voice. It's Mizu, the stranger you bumped into earlier. You sigh, bowing once more.

"My apologies..." you murmur. "I didn't realise anyone else was in here. I should have been more considerate."

Mizu raises her eyebrow, instantly recognizing the oddly pissed of girl she had bumped into. Her eyes scanned your form. You were pretty, beautiful. Like a little doll that girls would play with. The fact that you were alone made her raise an eyebrow. Despite her thoughts she decided to remain silent.

"I see... just, don't do it again," she replies bluntly, turning to her side to get some rest.

You nod, taking her acceptance and getting ready for bed in turn. You just couldn't shake the anger that those words had caused me. Irritated, you pull out a cigar- stolen, not bought- and lit it. You take a few puffs before Mizu takes notice, raising her eyebrow.

"...you smoke?" She asks, skepticisim and wariness in her tone.

"Yes. Did any of it accidentally get to you?" You reply, exhaling the smoke outside the window. Mizu remains silent for a short while before reply.

"Why do you smoke that shit? It's bad for you. Addictive and ruins you," she mutters.

You roll her eyes at her comment. "I'm stressed," you reply.

Mizu scoffs, rolling her eyes in return. "I noticed that," she huffs. "Now are you going to keep having a stuck up attitude? I don't like dealing with brats."

Considering that you that she was a man this was not a great statement. You sneer, turning to face her.

"Oh, and you think you're so much better? What gives you the right to boss me around? Because you're a big strong man?" You ask bitterly, getting close to loosing your temper. "Well you can shove that strength right up your damn ass. I don't answer to you."

With that you go silent, glaring out into the night sky.

Mizu is taken aback by your hostility. Well, actually, it wasn't the hostility as much as your willingness to belittle a person you saw as a man. Most women would not take that chance. You, on the other hand, seemed to give zero shits. While it annoyed her it also made her respect you a little. No matter how rudely you had gone about it.

So, instead of reply Mizu simply turns over and goes to bed. She could already tell you'd be a hell of a lot to deal with and she was already tired. Perhaps the morning would uncover more things about the both of you.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Oscar: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Weiss: 'Prettiest Smile'

Ruby: 'Nicest Personality'

Jaune: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'

Penny: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Oscar: How and why would you start a barfight?

Jaune: I'd say the wrong thing and piss someone off on accident.

[imdoingsortagay]

OH YES HI MAY I PLEASE REQUEST YOU WRITE FOR COWGIRL!AGATHA

IT CAN BE X READER ORRRRRR

IT CAN BE X EVE WHO'S SUPER INNOCENT

Cowgirl!Agatha headcanons

Warnings: Smut, 18+, dirty things, cowboy talk

She runs Westview like the back of her hand

Rides her horse if she can because cars are too much to deal with most of the time

Refers to you by pet names exclusively.

" Well look what the cat dragged in, didn't think I'd see ya here darlin".

Yes, she knows your name but nothing beats making you blush like crazy.

Has a pretty farm with many animals, including a fantastic area for Señor Scratchy.

Tank tops during the summer which shows her muscles so mf well bark bark.

Once a week she gets in a barfight at the Local saloon

" I am not gonna let that man in the saloon bad mouth my pretty darlin"

Looks super great in chaps I'm telling you.

Very sassy and mouthy.

She meets you when you show up in town for a new job at the local newspaper and she takes a liking to you.

" Most of the time the city folks that come rolling in here with too much confidence but you're all right Darlin".

Horse riding with her because she doesn't want you wasting your money on classes with Dottie.

" that sage hen can barely drive a car darlin, trust good ole Agatha with the lessons".

Months of slow burn which involve many dances at the bar on Saturdays and her helping you out.

Agatha asks you out after Wanda tried to get you for herself.

She distracts her friend with another woman she can talk to at the saloon ( Natasha) as she takes you home.

Agatha is hot when she's super jealous.

" I can't let that Scamp of a woman get to you after all these months"

Agatha asks you out after a picnic date and you happily say yes.

Defender of people that she's close to.

Can fist-fight any man without even messing up her hair which shocks the hell out of you.

All she drinks is Beer and Jack Daniels and always makes fun of you for your mixed drinks but all in good fun.

Looks hot repairing her car

Now for the smutty part

Top of course

Depending on your mood she will praise or degrade the hell out of you.

Straps with cum reservoirs all the way.

Big ass breeding kink.

an ass woman for sure.

Loves to slap your ass all the time.

she is a fan of leaving hickeys all over your body to show ownership of you.

Possessive as fuck.

Loves when you give her head all the time.

" Making daddy real proud there licking her pussy real good there sugar".

Pulls your hair so much LIKE AHHHHHH BARKS.

[yanderes-galore]

Micah with a sheriff darling hcs

Thank you other anons for feeding me this idea to request

-🧨

He's going to be so sleazy. Compared to the other Micah requests, this is tame.

Yandere! Micah Bell with Sheriff! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Murder, Blood, Manipulation, Jealousy, Mature themes, Micah being down bad I guess, Harassment, Kidnapping, Forced "relationship".

Micah, unfortunately, is a man you see around often.

Due to Micah's infamy and your profession... He's definitely around.

Micah's often thrown in jail due to gunfights, bar fights, both....

You want nothing more than to have him hanged.

Micah, on the other hand, has taken a liking to you.

Imagine if you knew of him from his previous gangs?

The man is always broken out of jail and overall problematic to deal with.

You can't tell if you'd be better off hanging him, or just hoping he never comes back to your jail.

But he somehow manages to always come back to your jail.

At first it's due to a gun or barfight, that's when you first meet him.

He's always making some distasteful comment to you.

Yet as the days go on and he sits in his cell... Micah can't stop staring.

You come by to feed him or sit at your desk, going through wanted posters and speaking to bounty hunters.

The entire time Micah won't keep his eyes off you.

Occasionally you speak to him, only because he's there.

You'd much rather be speaking to your deputy, but he's not always around due to patrols.

You may even learn quite quickly that it's best to not give him a cellmate.

One day you came to check on him, only to see him trying to strangle his cellmate.

After that, trust me he lands himself in jail multiple times, you learned to keep him solo.

You have no idea why he did such a thing other than him being a violent outlaw.

Perhaps the guy belonged to some rival gang... which was part of it.

Although the other part of it was Micah heard comments being made about you... and Micah wants your attention only on him.

When Micah's first either bust out or released, you pray you never see him again.

Only for him to show up again later for some other crime.

Micah does a variety of crimes to regain your attention and be beside you in a cell.

Robbery, fights, murder...

By the time the law drags him in, you wish you could kill him yourself.

Micah purposefully does his crimes near your town.

When he's hogtied, he's grinning.

You glare at him, seeing how he's covered in blood and mud each time, only to hear him laugh.

"Hey there, Sweetheart... Miss me?"

You do not.

You often have to tell Micah to be quiet in his cell, he never is.

No, instead the outlaw presses himself against the cell, giving you sultry looks.

You grimace and jump back when he tries to grab you through the bars, desperate to feel some sort of warmth from you.

What's even worse is when he talks, all crude flirtation as he looks you up and down.

You thought he did all this in an attempt to seduce you into letting him go.

But no! Why would he even need that when he's busted out so often?

No, he presents himself to you like a harlot just because he wants to.

Your deputy has come into the jail so often to see you being harassed by Micah, leading to your deputy smacking Micah's cell

God the outlaw hates your deputy.

Micah just makes your job harder, for no one's benefit but himself.

You swear he's trying to make you uncomfortable when he presses against the bars, reaching out to grab you and hold you against them.

"A shame we keep meeting like this, behind cold bars... wouldn't you rather there be no... restrictions?"

It takes every ounce of restraint you have to not press your revolver to his forehead.

You hate nothing more than him... and he loves that.

It gets to the point when he's not in jail, he follows you.

He follows you on patrols, riding his horse a distance away until some passerby comes by on their own horse...

Then he shoots them, just to get your attention.

Aw, too bad, are you gonna hogtie him?

He'll promise to be good.

Only when you do it though, your deputy can go to hell.

Other times he just corners you to have you look at him.

He doesn't care if you attempt to kill him or take him in... He just enjoys your hands on him.

Micah seems like he'd purposely pick fights to have your attention.

Isn't he your favorite outlaw?

In a way you can consider this him being in "love" with you.

That or maybe this is just some game to him and he loves to toy with the hot sheriff in town.

"Come on, Sweetheart. I'm right here for you! Gonna kill me? You know you can't... So why don't you and I get a drink? Then maybe I can go back to that office of yours for... other reasons... yeah?"

Micah is a persistent man... unfortunately.

He is a man who is known for shooting up towns to get what he wants.

He's insane, erratic, violent... and he wants you.

He'll probably not stop until he's killed.

Something he isn't keen on letting happen.

For now, his obsession is kept under control in his cell, eying you up and down like a caged animal.

But soon, perhaps in a patrol with your deputy, Micah will come back.

He's always watching you when not in jail.

If his past says anything...

He thinks it's euphoric when he takes one of his prized revolvers...

and shoots your deputy off his horse.

Your horse immediately rears and bucks you off while your deputy's horse takes off with it, tossing you on the ground.

As you try to clear your head, noticing blood pool from your deputy, Micah steps over him and towers over you.

He's been no doubt waiting for months to do this.

"Seems you've got yourself in a little predicament, sheriff..."

Micah's voice is a mocking coo, blowing the steam off his revolver while he leans down.

You go to stand but he roughly shoves his boot on your chest, holstering his revolver before pulling out a lasso.

You go to pll out your own gun, but he kicks it out of your hand before tying your wrists.

"Been wondering when I'd get to do this... look how the tables turned."

Micah chuckles, kicking your side to roll you over as he hogties you.

You're forced to look at your dead deputy, your horses long gone.

"God... ain't you cute... and all mine...."

You grimace, squirming when Micah picks you up to place you on his horse.

"See how it feels? To be captured and carried off? I can't wait to take you back to camp... Everyone back in town's going to think you're dead."

"You'll hang for this!" You growl, only for Micah to chuckle.

"I haven't been hanged yet, bold of you to assume I will now...." Micah grins, tossing you on his horse.

Micah expects to get an earful from Dutch back at camp.

But he's sure he can convince him you're an asset.

In reality, he could care less.

He's tired of you teasing him in jail for months... Now he can have you all to himself...

No bars to keep him from what he wants.

[husband-steve-cortez]

Black eye nose bleeding a few other small cuts and bruises and he's just lighting a cigarette with a stupid grin on his face like "You should see the other guy."

In the mood to see Ezra covered in blood -_- damn me for not drawing

[callsign-bunnie]

Hi, will you still make abo soap x ghost?

Where a drunk someone starts to get close to soap and ghost had to intervene.

ABO has such a special place in my heart, because I just... it's so fascinating and I could talk about it for hours.

--

Their relationship was fairly new. Maybe that worried Soap. He'd picked up on Ghost's hesitancies in courting Soap, but... he was trying not to dwell on them. Despite the false confidence he projected to everyone else, he was fairly insecure.

He was afraid he wouldn't be exciting enough for the alpha, which was a silly thought, he knew. He didn't even mean sexually, either. Ghost had expressed that he'd gotten used to a violent, never slow lifestyle and that had immediately went to Soap's head, making him nervous he'd never be enough.

Why was he even thinking about this? Well, Soap was watching another omega make attempt after attempt to Ghost. Ghost was turning every single try down but... well, Soap was insecure, what could he say?

Soap tried to push the thoughts out of his head, instead turning to the bar and ordering another drink. He both heralded and cursed his high alcohol tolerance, since his mind couldn't quite decide if he wanted to get drunk or not that night.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Soap's eyes instinctively rolled. Before Ghost, the attention from a random alpha would have had him excited, immediately but... well, one person took up all of his thoughts, lately, it seemed. He didn't want anyone else's attention, he just wanted Ghost's.

Soap did try to be polite. "Sorry, I'm not interested." He told the alpha, glancing to them. They weren't even his type. Smaller, but looked like they tried too hard to be big and scary. No, he didn't have a thing for try-hards.

"Are you sure? I could make you interested." The alpha leaned against the bar, drinking from his own glass.

Soap made a face and again looked at the alpha, able to tell, immediately, that they were drunk. The alpha's scent made him uncomfortable, smelling like honeydew melon, which was actually scent he liked... but this smelled sour. Rotten. He could almost taste the slime of fermentation dripping from it. "I don't think you could." He chuckled.

The alpha paused and then he looked irritated. "You could just give me a chance, you know." He huffed. "God, you omegas are all the same."

Soap took everything in himself not to just strangle the alpha right there. He was on thin ice with Price, as it was, and he doubted getting in a random barfight would lend anything good to his case. He took a breath, deciding to settle on just telling him off. "Listen-"

A presence grew at his back, and he watched the alpha's eyes travel up above Soap's head. "Fuck off." It was a simple order, but the sound of it made Soap's whole body shiver. An arm went around his middle and he smugly grinned at the alpha.

The alpha didn't even try to fight it, just quickly nodded. "Yes sir." Then, he was leaving.

Soap turned to look at Ghost, about to thank him, when he was suddenly being half dragged across the bar. Ghost dropped cash on it, grumbling that he wanted their IDs back.

Soap blinked. "Why?" He asked as the bartender quickly handed them back. It appeared no one wanted to mess with Ghost.

"Because we're going home." Ghost barely glanced at him, shoving their IDs in the pockets of his jeans, black which Soap would admit to thinking fit his ass just a little too well.

"Why?" Soap was slightly disappointed.

Ghost looked at him, his eyes dark. Oh. Soap shivered and then he was grinning when Ghost grabbed his wrist and practically yanked him out of the bar, having no problem following.

[rueririn]

Pirating OPLA, thoughts

Episode 1

Garp being at Roger's execution is a nice touch

Really like how full Luffy's dinghy is-- crates of fruit, a barrel of fish instead of just one barrel of apples--- all makes sense. All the tiny details removed from manga that are just added onto opla for realism-- like the way the execution stand works, too, with the people cranking the manual lift to get roger up there. It's all very cool and makes the setting feel more piraty than mangapiece.

Our beloved Zoro tried to go to Sixis on a cruise ship. This is a good way to casually mention Zoro earlier (plus that's Ace's first island so it actually lines up on the One Piece map to be around Dawn Island--)

"it's worth more than the rest of our loot put together" a nika mention that can be interpreted as just a devil fruit mention

"You should never let anyone tell you what you can't do. If I did that, I never would have left my village to go find the One Piece." Luffy referencing Garp like this is so funny to me

Unlike mangapiece, Luffy invites Coby along before knowing his dream to become a marine. This makes me sad because now I wish la coby joined the crew

opla Shanks is weirdly more serious than mangapiece Shanks. Not necessarily in a bad way, just different. That's the attitude I'm takign for most of opla anyways.

Adding the Mr 7 and Zoro fight here is actually really cool

Beta Nami outfit aaaaa they moved the pre-orange town ship-stealing scene to serve as her introduction scene and that works so well for her.

I love that they all naturally congregated in Ririka's bar. Everyone congregates and chaos occurs. Really like how they switched things up while never really taking things off course.

"PIRATES SPREAD DISEASE" poster on the wall

Coby sliding under the table once a fight breaks outajslkdjalsijdsakj i love him pls

ADORE the barfight. It's Zoro vs Baroque Works but bite-sized and with everything we love about the most consistently badass member of the crew. Thank you.

Zoro really pulled a reverse on Helmeppo lmao. "Three swords? I only need one" proceeds to get curbed by zero swords

oh! Zoro introduced himself as pirate hunter. that makes him different from mangapiece where he explicitly says at some point that he never called himself that. But it fits the opla characterisation so fair enough.

Luffy popping out of the manhole to yell 'thanks' at Zoro just sends me. Makino taught him well.

Nami being the most independent and capable girlboss up until the second Luffy literally crashes into her life and ruins her plan is actually 100% compliant with the basis of their relationship.

Oh is this the ass naked Helmeppo scene everyone's been yelling abo--- oh it is. ok.

I've never realized how badly I wanted a Nami and Luffy fighting together scene until now. I just realized how little of those we get in Mangapiece. Holy shit.

Romance Dawn trio just has this really satisfying trio cohesion that I can't describe. They're forever my favourite trio in the strawhats and opla does a magnificent job of bringing justice to what the manga couldn't give them with its chapter and page limits, since their only trio time together without being dragged around by handicaps was in the gaimon arc.

Makes me a little sad that Coby's involvement in Shells gets cut down a little, but that's fine I guess, he got plenty of touchup in his introduction scene.

Luffy holding back laughter when he sees Helmeppo's hair. Zoro chuckling because "yeah I might've done that" and Nami just being speechless. They're so stupid i love them

Garp going silent when he hears a straw-hat pirate stole the map to the grand line. I like to think this could imply Roger also stole his map once upon a time, but for now I'm just laughing at Garp internally screeching "that STUPID GRANDSON it's been ONE DAY"

[lenreli]

Day 4 - “This is why we can’t have nice things” | Day 1 - Barfight

[AO3] Also Day 1 [Barfight] for Dreamling Week!

Dream materialises near The New Inn, walking inside the door and ― dodging a glass that gets thrown his way? Blinking as the glass thuds on the floor, he looks up to see two fighting men, and there’s a vague sound of this is why we can’t have nice things from another patron, and then―

“ENOUGH!” A loud voice, Hob’s voice, he realises as Hob appears to take one of the men by the scruff of his neck, and Hob sighs, “sorry for the commotion everyone, a round of drinks on me,” he offers to the sudden silence, and there’s a round of cheering and hollering. 

Dream watches as Hob gestures to the bartender, who takes the other men, and Dream moves to the side as they’re thrown out of the Inn, Hob giving him a bright smile as he passes. 

“My friend,” Hob grins, touching his arm and Dream looks down at it, “sorry about the housekeeping. Let’s go upstairs, more quiet up there, I think,” Hob nods to himself, the hand moving to grab his wrist, and Dream only follows along behind Hob, thinking of the callused fingers he can feel, how warm and searing they feel to his skin. 

“Does that happen often?” He asks as they walk upstairs, and Hob laughs. 

“It happens often for as long as bars have existed. Had my own countless barfights through the centuries,” Hob says wistfully, and Dream shivers as the back of his hand is pulled to Hob’s chest, a thumb pressing into the muscles and veins there, coming into existence at Hob’s touch. 

“Do you miss it?” Hob hums, and Dream’s mouth dries as Hob’s other hand comes up to his cheek. 

“Well, the trick is, old stranger,” Hob whispers, the searing heat of Hob’s body pressing against him, and the apartment door clicks shut, cold behind him compared to the man in front of him, to the way a leg slots in between his, pressure against his suddenly hard cock.

“The trick?” He repeats, voice low, and Hob’s eyes darken, their lips brushing.

“To find other things to burn off anger ― an illegal fight club, as an example,” Hob’s eyebrows raise as he smiles, eyes glittering, “really good sex, for another,” Dream swallows and lets out a whimper as his hand, still trapped between them, is brought up to Hob’s mouth, mind fizzling as his pointer finger is taken into the heat of Hob’s mouth, tongue and teeth brushing against it. “The kind of sex that that would make even you scream, for example.”

Dream heaves for breath, head thunking against the door, Hob’s expression wicked, “f―fascinating.”

[enmufanclubandco]

When Lost Soldiers Come Home... Levi x Reader PART ONE -For some context, I imagine the reader as a more southern-sounding young lady...but I think I wrote the story gender-neutral but if there is she/her that's why. :)-

Every time the somber soldier turned up at your door much didn't need to be said. You had wondered why he came across you. That first day outside the pub, late at night, when you thought it might've been your last day on this earth. You were a fighter, and if it had been one guy you might have been able to handle it. But because it was three men, probably a whole head above you each, you would just need to be ready to accept your fate. You do all the work for people every day. The drunkards you help walk home, the free cup of tea or two for the older women who had nowhere else to go. All to say, you guessed none of that mattered anyway. Words are being thrown at you that you can barely remember now, you're back to the wall, and you threw a single punch. It wasn't long before the other two were to jump into action and the next distinct moment was feeling your head meet the strong concrete bricks behind you. Slumped and crumpled to the ground you felt one hand aggressively wrap around your upper arm, pulling you up again. They were shouting again, grabbing your face to ensure you would listen. Then, like a storm, a stranger tore through the three men.

Of course, you don't remember the specifics of how it happened or what happened afterward. You lay on the ground and listened faintly to the thudding of bodies meeting the ground. As soon as one would yell something the next would scream. It went like this for what felt like an eternity to someone whose head was pounding but it was only a minute or so. And when the fighting was over the older man, who didn't seem much taller than yourself, stood over you. He scooped you up into his arms and as you were nodding off muttered something like "I've gotcha..." You hadn't been able to close up the pub before the incident- so Levi, which you now know is his name, carried you back inside. He shuffled around looking for the proper tools to clean you up. With a little of your guidance, he was able to return with water, a bucket, a rag, and some medical wrap. You made a joke about how you might start charging for medical supplies if barfights keep happening amongst other jokes. You didn't get many chuckles or conversation in general from him. When you asked, "What's your name, sir?" He responded with, "Where do you live? I'll get you home." Monotone and short. You were starting to think were you not a damsel in distress, he wouldn't have spoken to you at all.

"Would you have helped me if you knew I was such a chatterbox?" You dryly chuckled as he slid an arm around your waist to lift you out of the chair. You slid the key out of the front pocket of your dress, ready to lock up this time when he mumbled, "The name's Levi." In your walk to the front door, you stopped and looked at him for a moment, which he ignored. "M'names Y/N!" You saw his small nod forward so you continued on the way out.

You hoped that wouldn't be the last of him you would see. Although he had no reason to come back again he did. Not very soon but two weeks or so after the encounter he started to go in. The first time you were so shocked to turn around and see him at the bar that your eyes almost popped out of your head. He was quick to say, "Mind picking your jaw up off the floor and getting me a drink?" You rushed around frantically taking care of people who got there first before bringing him a small glass of whiskey. It became common that he would take a glass or two before he realized you serve tea. Then it started alternating between the two. Such as his appearances became common so did his staying until you closed. He would stop coming some weeks and return the next. But after a while of visits, your time at the pub was up, and you told him on the last day to swing by your home sometime. The job wasn't fit for you anymore and you had quite a bit saved up to start up living on your own. You wouldn't be able to serve him the same pricey whiskey but you could always make him a cup of tea. Even at this point, his conversation was brief, mostly composed of short questions with a hum after your response but when you said this he just looked into your eyes a long while. His silver steely gaze did not give way to any emotion but you could tell there was something he was trying to think to say.

All he muttered was, "See ya then," he got up and left then and there. It was a couple of days before he would visit you for the first time and it was a long time after that before you two got close. You realized it was a lot easier to talk to him in the intimate environment of your home over a cup of tea. This was what led you to the current day and moment. It was raining and despite that Levi made the effort to show up outside your door, sopping wet. You pursed your lips as you said, "There's no way you're walking around my home all soaked." You stepped aside pointing to the carpet on the doorstep and he followed the silent directions you gave. He stood there, head hung slightly, as he pulled down the hood water slowly soaked the ground. You slipped the garment from his shoulders hooking it onto the wall before running to another room for a towel and maybe some spare clothes. When you came back Levi had slipped off his shoes and neatly placed them beside the doorframe. You held up the towel and men's clothing to him with one hand and pointed to his shirt with the other signaling for a trade-off. Quickly pulling the shirt over his head he held it out to you with two fingers and took your supplies in return. He uttered a simple, "Thank you." You quickly nodded in the direction of the bathroom and he nodded back. Before closing the front door you stepped right in front of it squeezing out the water in the shirt he gave you. You turned to hang that up as well and didn't even wait for the soft thud of the closing door before heading to the kitchen to put on some tea.

Not too long before the pot started whistling Levi patterned out of the bathroom with a fresh pair of tan worker's pants and white socks, the towel wrapped around his shoulders. You hadn't noticed him until he spoke in his usually monotone voice, "Where'd these clothes come from? They aren't your style." Although it didn't sound much like it, that was a joke he made and so you chuckled. The tea pot's screams didn't last long before you took it off the heat shaking your head.

"They were my brother's. I never really got rid of any of his stuff. Not since..." You shook your head again, this time more sincerely. "Well, my whole life's story isn't important. It's just my brother's clothes- he left 'em with me. So, now they're mine!" Your laugh was a bit soulless this time and as you poured the tea you heard the scrape of the chair against the ground.

.... Uploading part two soon.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

Babai: What did you get in the yearbook?

Sita: Best smile

Jenny: Nicest personality

Ram: Most likely to start a barfight

Bheem: Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: A Need for Place

Stories are about people. No doubt of that. And adventure stories, especially, are about people moving. Exploring new frontiers, sneaking across enemy lines, scrambling under tables in a no-holds-barred barfight, charging the forces of the Evil Overlord in one last push. Heroes move.

And yet knowing that, we often miss the corollary, just as a fish misses water. In order to have an adventure where people move, you must have a place for them to move through.

Buildings. Landscapes. What kinds of plants and animals are nearby, in hearing range, in sight if you look the right direction? What kind of people live and work there - and if no people do, why? Is there not enough food, water, fuel? Is it forbidden?

If you’re setting a story in a familiar place, you know what it looks and feels like. Be sure to get those specific details in! No matter how normal and mundane it is to you, trust me, there are readers who will find it entirely new and absorb every word.

If you’re setting a story in an unfamiliar place? Or one you’re making up? Maps. Get maps. Make maps, if you have to. They don’t have to be pretty. You should see - actually, no, you shouldn’t, too embarrassing - some of the horrible rough sketches I’ve made of Where Things Are so I could keep oriented to where the characters moved in a hectic fight scene. I am not an artist. But I struggle and get some kind of representation down where I can look at it, so that when my heroes charge I know whether or not they’re charging into the sun (idiots) or have it setting behind them and are trying to race the twilight before the Darkness empowers their enemies. (Oh boy.)

...I am not averse to stealing- er, repurposing a real-world map to a fantasy setting. Just change a few details, and make note of how it differs from Real Life.

(This also holds for Real Life places tweaked as the plot demands. Just make sure it doesn’t demand too much. Readers who have been there will notice. And some of them will want to correct your “honest mistake”.)

And then, often, I have to come at it in stages. First the rough sketch to get down events, dialogue, who punches who. Once that’s set, and the story mostly fleshed out? Then I go back through in a separate edit, and think through, one scene at a time: if I were standing where my character is, what would I see? Hear? Smell?

...It’s worth devoting an entire edit run to that, for me. I want the world to feel real. As if you could jump into that barfight and know just where to roll under the table to get out of the fray.

Mind, in some barfights, that table’s going to buy it next....

Give your characters places to discover. Your stories will be better for it!

[opuspace]

My headcanon for Karlach is that after a long, exhausting fight to get her a functional replacement for her engine, she and Wyll finally return from Avernus, taking a long, long moment to just. Breathe. Fresh air at last, but this time for good. A huge burst of laughter as she picks Wyll up and whirls in a loop with him, tossing him in the air before catching him and giving him the most affectionate (painful) hug she's ever given.

Years later, she's settled into a life where she's running a tavern funded by Wyll, called the Battleaxe where the plates, bowls and cutlery are reinforced to handle the barfights that break out and there's an extra fee charged for every participant (or you clean the mess up yourself). The street kids come by to hang out with her and call her Mama K. They have dubbed themselves the "Kar-lackeys", aspiring to grow up as strong and fearless as her as she fixes troublesome patrons with a steely eye and a crooked grin before launching them into a pile of outside hay she has replaced every other day due to the vomit.

Her teammates visit her often, Astarion frequently trying to get her to spot him just this once, Gale always bringing homemade cooking that he knows she missed, Halsin bringing her carvings that she keeps on a shelf behind the bar, Shadowheart hiding out there with her on occasion for relief from Sharrans and to share a drink or 5, Lae'zel comparing fighting techniques with her regarding patrons and of course, Wyll, who is always there for her because after all they've been through, how could they part ways just like that? Jaheira's kids are also frequent visitors, with Jaheira there to congratulate her on getting back and Minsc of course to tell her more of what Boo told him.

And once a year, they all gather in her tavern after last call, to share a round together as they sing rounds of the worst ballads they've ever heard. She smiles as she says silently to herself, "Mom. Dad. I made it back."

[clemkruckinnie]

Well, but corey defending you and you thanking him properly...

your night wasn’t supposed to go like this.

it was something simple—a few drinks in a bar outside haddonfield, catching up with some old coworkers. you had invited corey with no room for any answer other than “yes”, pleading with him to just try and have a little fun out with you. he had relented pretty quickly—you had that effect on him.

everything was going okay. your friends seemed to like him, corey seemed more inclined to talk on his own (especially when asked how the two of you met—he does love that story), and you were all having a good time.

that is, until some prick had decided to try and grab your ass within corey’s line of vision.

you two only made it out of the bar without the cops being called because your friends corroborated the story, and had made it home without much of an incident, but the fact of the matter was that—

“i got my ass handed to me.” corey sighs, holding the frozen bag of peas you had gotten him to his side, from where he had been shoved into the sharp corner of the bar.

“in your defense,” you counter, “that guy was enourmous, and you put up a good fight.”

corey stays quiet, avoiding eye contact with you.

“i’m sorry.” he apologizes, right as you’re preparing to ask what’s wrong.

“you’re the one who got your ass kicked, why are you apologizing?”

corey attempts to glare at you but cracks, smiling softly at your joke.

“there he is.” you give him a soft smile of your own. it fades, though, and he gets quiet again. you hate it.

you move forward, standing between his legs as he stays on the counter. “talk to me.” you urge him.

“‘m sorry.” he glances up at you once, briefly, before his eyes go to the floor again. “i embarrassed you back there, i know it.”

“corey-“you attempt to cut him off, corey beating you to it.

“no, you don’t have to try and make me feel better.” he counters, “because i made a fool of you. i had to go and try and be the macho protective boyfriend and now we’re home early, when we were supposed to be out having fun, and i just feel like this big burden to you already and i feel like i made it worse, and-“

overwhelmed with emotion, you lurch forward, kissing him and putting an abrupt end to his rant. he leans into you once he gets his bearings, holding his free hand up to cup your jaw. you only pull away when you need air, feeling the wind knocked out of you when you see those big brown eyes looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky.

“listen to me.” you tell him, holding onto his shoulders, “you are not a burden. i love you so, so much, and if love means hauling you into my piece of shit car and giving you subpar first aid in my kitchen, then so be it.”

corey laughs again, happy and bright, resting his forehead against yours. “not subpar at all. there’s no one else i trust to take care of me.”

the comment is sweet, but your mind drifts elsewhere—the close proximity makes you think of your first reaction to the fight, before it had gotten ugly and you had to throw a beer bottle at corey’s assailant to get him away from him.

the way corey, your sweetheart of a boyfriend who had one of the kindest souls you’d ever known, had flashed something darker at the idea of this man making you uncomfortable, gotten so angry he had started a barfight, had an effect on you.

“you’re thinking.” corey observes, leaning his head back away from you to get a better look at you. “please don’t tell me you wanna go and try and kick this guy’s ass yourself, i know we both have dog shit insurance-“

“no, it’s just-“ you pause, searching for the best way to say what you were thinking,”watching you get all worked up and defend me, it was hot.”

corey’s speechless, pupils dilating at your confession. the way he’s looking at you all but confirms not only that he’s not going to laugh at you, but that your words have had an effect on him.

you start to slide your hands upwards from their places on his knees, dragging them slowly, feeling the fabric of corey’s jeans under your hands.

“i was watching you.”you admit, voice less bashful and more sultry, “your eyes got so dark they looked black. i didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because it got crazy, but..” you trail off, sliding your hands downwards so the palms rest on either one of corey’s inner thighs, “now that i know you’re okay, i can’t stop thinking about how i wanted to drag you into that bar bathroom and reward you for being so brave.”

corey bites down on his lower lip, hard enough to where it looks as if he might draw blood. you move your hands up, using both of them to palm him through his jeans.

before you can even ask if he’ll let you, he bucks his hips up, pressing your hands against his crotch harder.

“is that a yes?”

you know it is, but you need to hear him say—

“please.” he moans out breathily.

with a satisfied smile, you sink to your knees, corey standing from the counter and helping you by unbuttoning his jeans himself, hands shaking with anticipation. it’s so bad that he can barely get the zipper down, a mix of lingering adrenaline and an eagerness he always had when it came to sex with you.

you intervene on his behalf, replacing his hands with your own, getting the zipper down fully. not wanting to waste any more time, you hook your fingers into the elastic of his boxers, tugging them and his jeans down in one go.

you’ve barely done anything, yet his head is almost red, shining with precum, a damp mark on the front of his boxers.

sensing your thoughts, corey starts talking again. “i just- the proximity to—and you taking care of—oh.”

you make eye contact with him as you take him into your hand, swiping some of the precum across his tip, using it to get your hand slick enough to comfortably get him off.

“fuck.” corey shudders, gripping onto the counter like he’s expecting his knees to give out.

you smile softly at his reaction to your touch, giving him a few gentle pumps, wanting to tease him a little.

“please, angel.” corey pants, “need you.”

“you have me.” you blink up at him with faux innocence, continuing your slow, teasing pace.

“i need your mouth.” corey corrects himself, “need your mouth on my cock.”

you smile, satisfied, and lick a stripe along the side of him, continuing your motions with your hand. once you put his tip in your mouth and suck, he almost sobs out loud at the relief. his voice trails off as you take him further into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks out, keeping your hand around him at the same time.

corey whimpers at the feeling of your mouth on him, taking him in deeper, moving one of his hands to your head. he’s not pushing you down, though-he’s holding onto you like he’s caressing you. only corey could make you feel so loved with his dick down your throat.

“i’m not-“ corey gasps as you suck just a little harder, “i’m not gonna last.”

you nod up at him, not wanting to pull off until you absolutely have to, speeding up your motions as corey falls apart above you.

he cums with a cry of your name. just as he thinks he’s coming down, he realizes that you didn’t pull off, and that he had just cum in your mouth.

you look up at him playfully, wiping the corners of your mouth. “feeling better?”

instead of pulling you back up with him like you thought he would, corey drops to his knees next to you on your kitchen floor. before you can ask him what he’s doing, he’s nudging you onto your back, wedging himself between your thighs.

he raises his eyebrows when you give him a confused look. “what?” corey asks. “you kicked ass, you know. you think watching you throw a beer bottle at someone in my honor didn’t turn me on, too?”

as he makes himself at home between your legs, taking off your skirt, you decide that if every fight corey gets into ends with you two cumming in each other’s mouths on the kitchen floor, then maybe you won’t be as upset the next time some creep comes onto you in public.

[tigertofu]

Heyyy! I’m very glad you’re doing requests cos your writing is AMMMAAZZZZINNNNGGGG

I’d love to see some headcanons of North Yankton Trevor with a fem!reader who does boxing🫣🫣 No worries if not! :)

TY GIRLIE <3333 and u got it! as i worked on this i discovered its difficult for me to just list off headcanons w/out some sorta story attached so i hope this like,, mini-story with headcanons interlaced throughout is ok !! ^^ ;;

pairing: fem reader/Trevor

summary: a barfight involving a stranger in a little north yankton tavern turns out to be the start of something much more.

cw's: mild, non-explicit smut

wordcount: 1,335

you'll meet him in a bar one night.

the place is a seedy little affair with concrete floors and weak lights that fill the smokey air with a buttery glow. it's the only tavern in the little podunk town you live in, and tonight, just like every night, it's filled with the usual slew of patrons. cattle farmers sleepily nurse at sweating beer bottles at the bar. railway workers sit slumped in chairs at the round tables taking up the rest of the cramped room. a lazy country song spills out of the jukebox in one corner of the room. johnny cash? bob dylan? something like that. you aren't really paying attention to the music. you're only interested in downing your beer and letting the booze warm you up a bit before you venture back out into the snowstorm and trudge the rest of your way home.

suddenly, the music stops. you look up from your seat in the corner of the bar. a man you've never seen before is fiddling with the jukebox, a cigarette drooping from his scowling mouth. you watch him, curious, because you could swear you've never seen him in town before. his dark brown hair is slicked back into a long, scraggly mullet; strands of it fall around his face. he's wearing a roadworn bomber jacket, dirty jeans, black rubber boots caked in mud. definitely not a local.

as you stare, you realize that the atmosphere of the entire bar has shifted. Mr. Mullet finally figures out how to work the jukebox. a punkish rock song begins to blare from its speakers, causing the other patrons' heads to swivel in his direction. he plants his hands on his hips and looks at it triumphantly.

a particularly burly farmer heaves himself out of his seat at the bar and trundles over to the stranger. he taps him on the shoulder. says something that you can't hear, but can tell isn't nice. Mr. Mullet snaps back at him loud enough for you to hear: something about how the previous music was about to put him to fucking sleep and that this is a "free country." the farmer doesn't back down from the stranger's posturing and, in the blink of an eye, their altercation turns physical.

for reasons you can't parse, you immediately jump to the stranger's aid. muscle memory pounded into you by years of boxing makes quick work of the drunk farmer, but not before he's able to get a few good hits in on the stranger, who fights with blind, wild passion. while the both of you reel back from him to catch your breaths, the bartender yells at you two to get the hell out of his bar. you both do, but not before the stranger calls everyone in the establishment "a bunch of braindead stick-in-the-mud yokels."

outside, you both share a cigarette, shivering in the snowfall. he tells you his name is Trevor. he asks where you learned to fight like that, and you tell him in the ring. he smiles, and despite the bruise blooming around his busted lip, you can tell it's a handsome smile. he says he likes a girl who knows how to scrap. you smile back and tell him you like his music taste. he asks what you're up to that night, and you tell him that you just want to get back to the warmth of your home at this point. he offers to walk with you, and you accept.

once you reach your place, he tries to invite himself in so he can show his "appreciation" for helping him beat the shit out of the farmer at the bar. you laugh and tell him maybe some other time. he huffs, but relents, so long as you give him your phone number. you do.

"some other time" comes around quick, because in the few days following your night in the bar you realize that you can't stop thinking about him for some reason. you invite him over; he shows up with a six pack and a grin plastered over his face. you spend an evening talking and listening to music on your old cassette player. you're delighted to find out that he likes all the same bands you do. the six pack is quickly emptied, and the both of you get a bit tipsy. at some point, he brings up the barfight again. he asks to wrestle so he can see what you're "really capable of," slurring his words, giving you a sly look. you laugh and try to tell him that wrestling is hugely different from boxing, but he insists, and you give in.

he lets you win almost immediately. the way he lets you playfully sock him in the arms without fighting back tells you that maybe he has no intention of fighting back. afterwards, as you both lay on the floor of your bedroom, catching your breaths from the little tussle as he's pinned beneath your muscular form, you notice a hungry sort of glow in his dark brown eyes. before you can ask why he's looking at you like that, he leans up and smashes his mouth against yours.

you fuck him there on the floor and it feels almost like a fight; the most satisfying fight ever, that ends with the both of you winning.

one hookup turns into two, then three, then four. soon enough, you're meeting up with Trevor regularly. he never spends the night, always slinking off sometime after you've fallen asleep. you try to learn more about him, and he freely unloads his personal history on you. he's from the "Canadian border region of America." he likes flying planes; used to be in the air force before getting discharged. when you one day ask him what he does for work, he suddenly gets cagey. tells you not to ask questions you don't want the answers to. you guess he doesn't make his money in entirely legal ways, and don't bring it up again.

a few weeks after meeting him, you invite him to the local boxing club to watch a match you've been training for. he shows up, of course, and cheers you on from the sidelines with embarrassing yet oddly adorable enthusiasm the entire time. it's a hard fight that winds on and on. by the end of it you feel like you've been thrown into a box and rolled down a hill, but still, you pull a win out of thin air. and as the ref announces you the winner, you see Trevor standing in the crowd, yelling triumphantly while others awkwardly stare at him: "That's my girl!"

you rush home with him afterwards. the entire short car ride, he can't keep his hands off of you, almost crashing the car into a snowbank on the way. the second you reach your home, he pounces on you. he rips the boxing garb off of you; passes hungry kisses over your figure before your sweat has even had a chance to dry. in bed, he worships you as you straddle him, his hands unable to stay still as they grab and rub over your muscles. he whines that he loves you, that you're amazing, that he's so lucky, over and over, and at the peak of your climax, you pant out that you love him, too.

as you both lay in a sticky heap afterwards, he kisses all the sore spots on your body: the places your opponent had gotten hits in on you. the kisses turn into unskilled but eager massages. you fall asleep, soothed by his jittery hands.

the next morning, you wake to find him still with you. in the morning glow seeping in through your bedroom window, you pass a hand over his forehead, brushing back his hair so you can see his sleeping face.

and in that moment, you decide that throwing yourself into that now-long-ago barfight was one of the best decisions you've ever made.