#Defence over the fence

[unorchido]

How would you ppl feel like if I were to finish a book I'm writting and then post them here somewhere

It would be about this guy (my sona) and what happened and how far they've come and what they've been through! Silly, hm?

I already started writting it a while ago, I'm writting it on google drive and the title is;

'Defence Over The Fence'

Tell me what you think and if I should even finish the first chapter,,,

[applesandbannas747]

Here’s the thing. We can assume that Williams knew about the one-reserve rule from the start, and yet she took on two reserves, knowing one would be cut. It's clear from her interactions with Nick and the way she talks about him that she's betting on him, but she kept Eugene as a safety net just in case Nick couldn't improve fast enough. She's using her students as pawns to win against her old rival rather than seeing them as people she's supporting in achieving great things.

The way she approached cutting Eugene was so insensitive and shitty that it feels fucking malicious. She chose to publically cut him from the team, and to make it worse, she started it off by saying she needed the best on the team, then immediately gave the slot to Nick. That is simply an unnecessary prelude--there is no reason she needed to 'justify' her choice by outright telling Eugene he's not good enough.

Yes, Nick fenced better at camp, and yes, Williams is justified in her decision. What she's not justified in is stringing Eugene along when she knew from the start he was deadweight only to publically kick him off the team right before they actually start the season. Her treatment of him was callous and--hopefully unintentionally--cruel.

[classicwhatthefuckplotline]

watching nate in ted lasso is so surreal when you’ve originally known nick mohammed as the guy who did bits on 8 out of 10 cats does countdown. like what do you mean the same guy who’s on a redemption arc after betraying richmond fc is the same guy who made up lyrics to the jurassic park theme song????

[stasyalovem]

i think it's kinda outrageous that we see only Charles with a saber (that was a saber wasn't it? I don't know much about it tbh) in season 1, when Edwin is the one who canonically fencing. and how dare they know that George really can fence and don't give us a chance to see it on a screen. i mean this kind of fight would suit Edwin so well with his sassy nature, love to show off a bit and his elegant moves and posutre. so in season 2 i vitally need the scene opposite to boxing one, but now Edwin would teach Charles fencing (that might be a flashbacks, cause we see that Charles can use this saber a little). but more than that i just wanna see more protective Edwin who defence Charles with his rapier and skills and Charles swoon over how hot this is. but if we also could have the scene like this when they both fight together holding hands, then definetley i would be the one who swoon over this.

[kinsey3furry300]

A fanfiction experiment: does not knowing which fandom you are reading make a good twist?

I love fanfiction.

But I also love suddenly discovering new things when reading a book. I like being surprised by shifts in tone, genre or style when reading. And the tagging and filtering systems used on AO3 and fanfiction dot net are so very good at letting you know exactly what you’re getting before you start reading, that it’s almost imposable to get pleasantly surprised like that. It's a great system for avoinding stuff that mught be triggering or just not your jam, or for finding what you like, but I miss the suprise sometimes.

So, as an experiment, I’m going to post the following Poll, and a short fic underneath the “keep reading” with nothing in the tags to let you know which fictional world this is set in. This is fanfic, but you won’t know which fandom until you start reading.

Does working it out in real time what fandom you’re in make for a fun twist?

CW for swearing and one obloquie reference to what might be offscreen sex.

Tagging a bunch of my mutuals that I think are involved in fanworks from several different fandoms to see if they enjoy the twist or if this is dumb. Sorry. Feel free to share for a wider audience.

@rain-droplet @zarohk @myheartisbro-ken @thejakeformerlyknownasprince @moonlight-fox @jewishpangolin @sarifel-corrisafid-ilxhel @abigfuzzybear @sillycourtjester @nazguldivorce @natalieironside @eom-02 @flamingswordofdoom @ghost-avian @thisfuckingdork @nice-is-neat @gaykarstaagforever @noeudspapillons @kabukiaku @bunjywunjy Edit: Also than you to the user who pointed out the rather embarrassing spelling error that both me and my beta missed. Once again the dyslexia is gunning for me.

Unpaved road. Barbed wire fence. Montana cattle country, high summer. Car.

The man in the grey suit stood in the road looking at the open hood of the car, forlorn. He took out his phone for the third time and checked. No signal. His expression did not change at this.

Upon hearing hoofbeats, he stepped over and looked, shielding his eyes from the beating sun with both hands.

“Can I help you?” asked the woman on horseback from the other side of the fence. Early or Mid 20s, black, handsome. Blue jeans, Gillingham shirt, scuffed work boots, straw cowboy hat. Faint California accent.  Rifle slung over back, old military surplus canteen dangling from the pommel of the saddle.

“Umm, yeah.” Said the man. No accent. East coast, maybe. “My rental has died on me. Do you have a phone?”

“No signal.” Said the woman, sliding off the horse and resting one foot on the barbed wire, before vaulting over, one hand on her shoulder to stop the rife swinging. “I keep a satellite phone in my truck, but that’s over the far side of the ranch. Here.” She said, tying the reigns to the fence. “I’ll take a look. What seems to be the problem?”

The man looked nervously from the rifle to the car for a moment. “Honestly? Dammed if I know. Darn thing just died on me. You out hunting?” He asked. The woman snorted.

“No, I don’t approve of hunting for sport, and I don’t eat meat anymore. I carry this for defence. Coyotes, more than people. I’ve got foals in the far paddock, and that attracts predators.”

“So you shoot them?” the man asked, sounding surprised. The woman shook her head.”

“I don’t plan to.” She said, moving to the car and resting the gun against the front bumper. The man moved out of the way and down the road a speck, giving her some room to work. “Usually I go for organic controls, this is just for last ditch emergencies.”

“Organic controls?” said the man, confused. He patted down his pockets, then pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He then took off his suit jacket, a remarkably human gesture in that heat. “What’s that?”

“Oh, coyotes and wolves are territorial. You get a large wolf to mark the edges of your land, and the rest of them generally stay away. Doesn’t work on bears, but bears are more likely to spook a horse foraging than actually hunt one. They need to be run-off, but they generally move when a large stallion charges them. We don’t get many grizzlies here, and the black bears wont normally bother a full grown horse.”

The man snorted. “You have a tame wolf, like, a pet? Just to piss on the fenceposts?” the women laughed. “No, that would be ridiculous. You can order pellets online. Wool soaked in wolf urine, wolf or tiger dung pellets, scares off the Coyotes or Cougars. Fresher is better, but thankfully I know someone at a zoo, they sort me out.” She said, looking over the engine.

“Ah? So this is your land then, I take it?” he said, moving to stand in the road, directly behind her, five paces back. Where she couldn't see.

“Yep. Nearly a thousand hectares, half horse ranch, half re-wilding program, down by the national forest. I’m partnered with fish and game. We’re reintroducing bevers next spiring, and I’m very exited about it.” She said, frowning. It honestly didn’t look like there was anything wrong with the car at all.

“Ah. Nice place. Said the man, putting an unlit cigarette to his lips. “A little hard to find.” He added, lighting up with a smile.

The woman paused. She, and there was no other word for this, twisted. Not like she was moving, but like something had suddenly gone very wrong with her spine, just for a second. Then it was over, and she calmly put one hand on the gun.

The man smiled. “Organic controls, so I see. You know, for a moment I thought I had the wrong person, but when faced with a clear threat, you reached for the gun second.”

“There are snipers.” She said, calmly. “You should know I’m being watched by the government, so if you try any crazy fanboy bullcrap-”

“Private first class Macerson and Lance-corporal Evens, USMC scout snipers, seconded out a military unit that doesn’t officially exist, yes, we knew you’d spotted them. You took the time to wait until they were replaced with the night shift, Cooper and Mackie, and then drove into town and went straight to the same bar they always hit up when they’re off duty. I presume you’d been trailing them for some time? Honestly, just confronting them would have spooked them enough, did you really need to pretend you didn’t know who they were and hook up with Evens? The poor boy is quite stricken with guilt, so I’m told. You didn’t have to twist the knife. They watch you, and we watch them. Something in Latin, ect ect. ” Said the man. He offered the cigarette to the woman, who was now standing there facing him, fists balled by her side, looking furious.

“You’re government.” She said. It was not a question.

“Yes.” Said the man smiling sweetly thought the smoke. Menthol, she noticed.  “But not yours. Although I am here with their permission.” He took a long drag.  “You know, I’m not joking when I said you were hard to find. Honestly? I thought the bird would have been the hardest to contact, but Fish and Game have an entire team dedicated to tracking his movements. I was as close to him as I am to you, if you’re wondering. He was about there” he said, pointing to the road “Pecking at roadkill. Not chatty. Marco now, Marco has a fucking press-agent and to be honest, you can mostly find him by heading to the right nightclubs and aiming for the mirrors, and poor, poor Jake, well… if you have the right security clearance, you can not only find him but make him call you ‘sir’. This spot, this spot now… properly of the radar. I had to pull a lot of strings at the state department to even find out about this place.”

“Good for you. Fuck off. I’m not interested.” She said moving to the fence and untying her horse. “I’m over it, and even if I wasn’t I don’t take kindly to strangers coming over and-”

“We’ve met before.” He said, calmly. “Back in the war.”

She hesitated “I- I don’t recall.”

The man laughed. “Well, I did look quite different then. Hork-Bajir host. You ripped my throat out. Worst thing was, I was already in the Yeerk Peace Movement at the time, just had the bad luck to draw guard duty right before the famed ‘Andalite bandits’ raided. Got off lucky, all things considered: Rachel was crushing heads that day. We need you, Cassie, the peace movement.”

“And? We’re at peace, more or less.”

“More.” The man said, sighing, “Or less. The empire is collapsing, Cassie. You’re out of the loop but I imagine you still follow the news. Balkanizing, infighting, the remnants re-militarizing, and there are some very nasty rumours starting to appear form the far edges of the empire about gods-knows what. Members of the peace movement like myself who spent years working our way up the government to key positions now find there’s hardly a government left anymore, and those of us who made allies in the Andalite and human governments, and those of us who keep in touch with the Notlith community have started to disappear, right here on earth. It… it’s falling apart.”

The young woman sighed. “It always does. What’s it to do with me.”

The man looked upset. “You founded the peace movement, we had hoped-”

“You’re not going to find peace by pulling me, specifically, into another war. What do you want? Spit it out.”

The man narrowed his eyes, took a deep pull on the menthol, glaring at her through smoke, and then continued.

“Some of the Yeerk Nothlit community here on earth have, ah, some regrets about choosing to Nothlit themselves. Their dissatisfaction makes them prime recruiting material for yeerk nationalists who want to re-build the empire, some of them are working with organized crime in Brazil… and there is a rumour that Andalite medics have found a method to cure Nothlit syndrome. Worse, the rumours are true: having looked over their findings from my contacts in the Andalite military, it looks like they are either there, or very close to it. You see the implication?”

She sighed. “Thousands of angry Yeerks who want to re-build the empire running amok in the amazon? Yes I can see the problem. Why is it my problem though? What do you want me to do? Go and make a PR appearance advocating the merits of staying a snake? Wiggle a dead rat around for them so it still looks alive?”

“No. Our initial plan was to just assassinate the Andalite scientists that were working on the cure, oh, don’t give us that look. The Andalite military refused to look the other way, so the best we could manage was to get them to evoke Seerow’s Kindness and not share the cure with us Yeerks.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“But, someone sneaked a copy of the research notes out, via the Skrit Na, and they made their way to earth. The Yeerk Peace movement and the governments of the Unites States and Brazil agreed that on the balance of probability this was a bad thing, and we sent a team into to recover or destroy the data.”

“I’m not doing it. Not getting involved. If some yeerks want to un-Nothlit themselves, that’s their choice.”

"Oh, no… we’ve already destroyed the data, we believe, the mission was a success. That’s not the problem.”

“So what is?”

“The team didn’t make it out.  We need someone morph-capable to go into the amazon on a search and recue-”

“Fuck off.” she said, re-mounting the horse.

The man sighed. “I could have gone to Jake, I have the authority to just order him to do it. I could have tried to leverage Tobias, he has… personal stakes in this, but I think he’s too far gone for this. I could even just appeal to Marco’s ego, or request the Andalite military sends a war-prince and some special forces. This is time sensitive, so do you know why I’m wasting time with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.” She said.

“Jake, the Andalites, the US government, all told me the same thing: it’s not worth it. The probability of getting them out alive is too low. We’d lose more people trying to pull them out than we’d save, plus the collateral casualties… They all looked at the maths, and decided it wasn’t viable. I need someone who doesn’t look at the maths. Someone who cares about the lost lives… someone who will feel bad if this goes wrong, and hold back as a result. We have a Chee contact in place to run intel and support the op, we have a backup team, but what we don’t have is anyone I’d trust to do it right. Someone is killing our people, ma’am. The Nothlit yeerks that refuse to join the New Empire, and no doubt killing a lot of innocent anacondas in the process.  They’re dying. And I need some who is sane, functional, and cares if that stops or not. You’ll be compensated for your time: 2 million, donated to the wildlife charities of your choice, we already know your usual ones-”

“No.” said the woman, wrestling the horse around to leave.

The man pulled out a Dracon beam. The woman cussed and reached for her rifle.

He turned, and quite calmly used the weapon to burn a number onto the nearest fencepost.

“Modulated beam, the latest tech.” he said. “My phone number. I’d try my business card, but I imagine you’d rip it up dramatically. Call anytime.” He said, dropping the hood and climbing into the car. It started first time.

“Why in the hell would I call you?” she yelled.

“Because tonight, when you’re done running around on all fours marking fence-posts or seducing your minders or whatever you do on a weeknight, you’ll wonder just how many people will die if you don’t.” The man said, calmy, driving away. *****

Cassie lay in bed looking at the ceiling for a long time.

“Fuck.” She said, after some time.

There was a noise. Coyotes. You couldn’t blame them, for being killers. It was just what they did.

They didn’t choose to kill others.

She sighed, walked to the window of the ranch-house, and focused for a second, morphing her vocal cords. It took barely ten seconds.

She slid the screen off her open window, stuck her head out, and howled.  The Coyotes got the message, and left.

There. She didn’t have to shoot them, sometimes you could just scare them off, so long as they knew who the top-dog in this neighbourhood was.

Sometime the threat of force worked better than force itself. Sometimes you needed a nuanced touch to your violence, if you wanted to spare lives.

She sighed, and ran her fingers through her short buzzed hair. 

“Shit.” She said, eventually.

Cussing the whole way, she stomped downstairs to the house phone. She did not own a cell phone. No point. This was one of the last spots in the lower 48 with no cell signal of any kind. Every time they tried to build a tower here, an increasingly ludicrous succession of rare birds would be seen trying to nest on the exact spot they had picked. Never a pair, but always a single highly endagered bird trying it’s damnedest to build a nest. Eventually the government had got the fucking hint and intervened with AT&T on her behalf.

Hating herself, she picked up the phone.

He answered on the second ring.

“How many lives?” was all she asked.

“At least eighteen, more if it goes badly. Three morph-capable humans and one morph-capable Hork-Bajir, four yeerks, ten regular humans who just got caught up in this mess.  They’ve been gone 24 hours, so we’re looking at Kandrona starvation soon, if they’re not executed first.

“I… morph capable controllers?!” she said, surprised.

He laughed. “Not every Yeerk on earth took your offer to become a Nothlit, Cassie. The US government captured some portable Kandrona’s during the war. You’re smart, and attuned to social issues: if the US military wanted morphing special forces, did you not think the CIA would want the ability to finally puppet someone after years of Manchurian candidate MK Ultra bullshit? Sadly, some Yeerks just switched one empire for another. Plus, Jake’s toy-soldiers only have so many hours of training per day: if they spend all their time running around with guns and practicing morphing, that’s no time to learn languages or technical data. Four Operatives, each with a Yeerk co-pilot to round-out their skillset. All volunteers from the yeerk peace movement: went in to try and stop the killing of Nothlits and the un-Nothlit-ing the radicals. Captured. Human organized criminals aiding the Yeerk Ultra-nationalists. Voluntary controllers, Narco’s with Dracons and an axe to grind, and a bunch of very pissed-off snakes. Absolutely the worst-case scenario.”

“Fuck. Location?”

“Brazilian-Venezuelan boarder. We have a bug fighter on standby. We can get you to the approximate location to meet your team in…. seventeen minuets.”

She digested this information, drumming her fingers on the phone.

“Is this a trap?” she asked, finally.

“Certainly. But not one I’ve laid, or it would be better fucking organised. They are suspecting we’ll send someone in, they are not suspecting you, or a Chee. That gives us some hope.”

“Okay, and one more thing before I decide: You said you thought you could get Tobais involved, but he was too far gone. Personal stakes, you said. What did you mean by that?"

Pause. Crackling phone static.

“The Morph capable Hork-Bajir is Rak Hamee, Jara and Ket’s son. Younger brother of US congresswoman Toby Hamee, and they are being held hostage by Yeerk nationalists to try and leverage us into giving them the Nothlit cure.”

“Fuck.” Said Cassie. “Land the Bug in the south paddock. I don’t want you spooking the horses.”

[murphy-stamp]

What's happening in Palestine is not "complicated", and it's not some insane "2000 year war about religion".

1917 : The Balfour Declaration was passed by the British, signing over the Palestinian land that was not their's to begin with to the Jewish people. Jewish people are not native to Palestine, and “israel” did not exist until 1948. The Balfour Declaration was the most controversial and contested documented in all of modern history.

1936 : A partition came into play, where the British once again promised the Palestinian land to be allocated to the Jewish people to become a "Jewish state". A 3 year revolt takes place to contest the partition which brought an end the the British army having anymore control over Palestine, and over 5000 Palestinians were killed. During this time the first armed zionist group was formed (Irgun) and they launched a series of unprecedented attacks against the Palestinian people.

1946 : Irgun bombed the King David Hotel which killed another 91 Palestinians, then in May of 1948 "israel" was formed which resulted in 750,000 Palestinians being displaced and 530 Palestinian villages being destroyed - this is referred to as the 1st Nakba (which means "disaster" in Arabic) - the 2nd Nakba started on October 7th. The remaining 22% of Palestine that had yet to be occupied was then divided into the Gaza Strip and The West Bank. That same year the UN passed a legislation that allowed Palestinian refugees to return home, but they were treated as second class citizens. "israel" controls the Palestinian education, prohibits their involvement in politics & elections, they control how much food and water they get, and their medical supplies.

1956-1966 : "israel" massacred the Palestinian villages Qalqilya, Kufr, Qassem, Khan Younis, and As-Samu.

1967 : "israel" occupied the remainder of historic Palestine in Gaza & The West Bank (and by occupy I mean they forcibly removed Palestinians from their homes, demolished their homes, or lived in the upper parts of their houses, forcing Palestinians to live in the lower halves, and then they built wire fences over top of these houses on the outside to block their view of the sky and so they could also throw garbage, boiling water, & human waste at the Palestinians walking the streets below. During that time another 300,000 Palestinians were displaced. The UN called for "israel" to leave Palestine, but they did not do that.

1976 : 1000's of hectares of Palestinian land were forcibly confiscated & protests were brutally shut down.

1987 : The first Intifada starts (which means the Palestinian revolution) where "isreal" established 45 more settlements on Palestinian land. A massive peaceful protest broke out by the Palestinians to show that the occupation & brutalization of their land and people was no longer acceptable. The IOF defence minister at the time, Yitzhak Rabin, ordered the IOF to break the bones of all Palestinians who were protesting. This is when the Hamas resistance group was founded (it was actually created initially by "israel" in hopes that it would divide the Palestinian people and shut down the Muslim Brother Hood - another resistance group). During that time 1000+ Palestinians were killed by the IOF.

1993 : the 2nd Intifada begins. The Oslo Accord is signed which was meant to being "peace" and a "2 state solution", but that just turned into more brutality by the IOF and another 5000+ Palestinians were killed. The IOF instigated Palestinian protestors with 1.3 million rounds of ammunition. Diana Buttu (a Palestinian-Canadian lawyer) made a statement saying the bill for a "2 state solution" was no more than a distraction for "israel" to carry out their plan in silence from the rest of the world which was always for the extermination, ethnic cleansing, and occupation of Palestine.

2014 : The Gaza War happened. This is when "israel" introduced the apartheid wall, which further isolated the Palestinians. They also launched a large scale attack on Gaza with ariel & naval fire power, 2500+ Palestinians were killed in just 50 days. In Gaza the IOF destroyed 83 schools, 10 healthcare centres, and 12,600 housing units.

2008-2023 : 8000+ more Palestinians were killed by the IOF, and now since october 7th 23,000+ Palestinians have been killed, and 1.6 million have been displaced.

This is one of the largest ongoing examples of colonial violence in the world today.

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.6

A/n: It's here y'all! After this part we'll be getting into the show and I can't wait to start incorporating my own character into the episodes!

I need your input! I'm currently going through the show episode by episode to pull out what I want to use for this fic and I've reached ep5 when Travis first turns up and I am seriously undecided about his relationship with the reader. It is more than likely that they would have interacted on the circuit but I'm split between him having a flirty relationship or a older-brother-protective vibe. Let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

WC: 1649

Previous part - Next part

---

That summer was one of the hottest y/n could ever recall having in Montana.  Unfortunately hot weather didn’t negate the fact that there was always work to do on the ranch.  Yesterday one of the freshly backed colts had thrown a fit in the corral resulting in kicking the fence hard enough to break it.  So the job for the day was to put a new log into the fence so they could use the corral again.

Y/n had abandoned jeans in favour of shorts out in the sun, a tank top and she had opted to swap her cowboy hat for the cap Kayce had given her for her birthday despite having claimed she’d never wear it around the wranglers.  Lloyd was holding the log up whilst she worked to secure it to the post.

Around the corral the other hands were doing their own work and a small group of them were hiding from the sun in the shade of the barn.  They were mostly busy watching y/n do her own work, more specifically how she looked in her shorts.

“God damn that girl has an ass,” one of them commented.

Another one agreed, “you just know that she’d give you a good time.”

Colby and Ryan were a little way off cleaning tack getting more annoyed at every comment the men were making.  Ryan was getting more frustrated by what they were saying and how oblivious she was to how they were treating her.  His friend was less concerned about that and more occupied trying to stop the hand from doing something he would regret.

Rip emerged from the barn to say something to them when Ryan snapped at them, “will you shut the fuck up?  It’s disgusting to hear you talk about her like that.  She’s your boss’ daughter for fuck sake have some damn respect.  Someone’ll rip your tongues out for saying that next time.” 

Y/n overheard his shouting from across the corral and couldn’t help but smile to herself at his defence of her.  Ever since Rip had threatened him (and the rest of the bunkhouse but they clearly hadn’t taken those threats to heart) after finding her asleep in Ryan’s bunk years ago, he’d been very careful with his interactions with the younger woman.  They’d remained close friends, and he’d been instrumental in her integration with the wranglers, but it had never gone further than that despite what both of them not-so-secretly wanted to happen.

Lloyd looked at the smile on her face and rolled his eyes, “y’all have been pining after each other for years.  When will it end?”

“If I had a say in it it would’ve been over before anyone noticed but if he has it his way it seems like never,” y/n sighed, “I think Rip’s threat from forever ago ruined it.”

He watched Ryan whose eyes were on her, “might go insane if I have to watch y’all making eyes at each other for much longer.  You and I can both handle Rip if needs be.”

She laughed at the idea of someone ‘handling’ Rip.  The only people she believed were able to handle the foreman were her father and Beth, no matter how poorly her sister treated the man.  In reality, Rip had a soft spot for the youngest Dutton and Lloyd was the only wrangler on the ranch that would stand a chance arguing against Rip.  He left her to go and deal with something else, leaving Colby to help with the other side of the fence.

“Swear he woulda murdered them if it had gone on much longer,” her friend joked, “practically fire in his eyes when he saw how they were looking at you.”

Y/n shook her head, “I’ve been trying to get him to make a move since I was 18, Colby.  I don’t think he’s gonna start now.”

“I love both of you but I will help Lloyd lock you in the tack room if this goes on any longer.  Feel sorry for the poor bastard watching this for years.  I’m done with it after a few months,” Colby laughed, “just make a move for everyone’s benefit.”

-/-/-

That evening the temperature had cooled down from the scorcher of the afternoon but it was still uncomfortable, hot enough that y/n was still wearing shorts.  Most of the hands were sitting around the table playing cards but she had chosen to sit the game out in favour of reading the book she’d been waiting weeks for.  Every once in a while some of the conversation would break through her reading bubble and y/n would laugh at the insults that got thrown around half-heartedly.

After a little while the focus of their conversation moved away from their game of poker to their romance lives, or more accurately their struggles with romance being wranglers.  They were complaining about how difficult it was with their work schedules to meet girls.  Y/n shook her head slightly at their trivial problems.

“Reckon we’d all be better off if Dutton over there gave a piece of ass up,” a hand commented nonchalantly.  

As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Ryan was out of his chair as was Colby to stop his friend doing something.  Colby grabbed his shoulder and arm, keeping him firmly away from the other hand.

“Hit a nerve have I?  Thought she was supposed to be off limits to the bunkhouse?  Just you getting at or you sharing it with your friend?  Care to let us join in on-”

Before he was able to finish his sentence, Lloyd had punched him, “you don’t speak about her like that, ever.  Anyone thinks that’s okay and there’s more than just me to answer for.  Rip will know about this.”

The tension in the room was broken by the sound of the door slamming shut and they looked up to see that y/n was no longer sitting on the sofa.

Lloyd looked over at Ryan, “I think you best follow her.  Now or never, son.”

-/-/-

Ryan exited the bunkhouse and saw her sat on the corral fence in the fading light, cigarette smoke drifting into the sky.  He headed across the drive to join her and leant against the fence beside her, letting her finish the cigarette before starting the conversation.  When she was done, y/n threw the stub into the sand and watched silently as it smoked on the ground.  Her eyes remained fixed on the mountains as if she could pretend he wasn’t there if she didn’t look at him despite the fact his arm was practically touching her thigh.

“You gonna say anything?” She asked.

Ryan sighed, “was kinda waiting for you to start the conversation this time, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.  I really don’t need you jumping to protect me the moment one of them says something about me.  Can’t be a ranch hand and not expect someone to say something about it.  I’m a big girl.  Plus Rip has it handled, something you haven’t seemed to forget,” y/n added bitterly.

“You can’t seriously expect me to just sit there and let them say that shit about you y/n?  No one should say that,” he argued.

Y/n looked at him, “that’s exactly what I expect.  You got no right to be that overprotective with the people we fuckin’ work with when you’re just as bad as them sitting staring at me like that.”

“The fuck are you tryna say,” Ryan growled.

She sighed and turned around, getting off the fence to move away from him.  Y/n turned away to take another cigarette from her pocket to avoid answering his question.  He watched her for a moment as she took a long inhale before turning back to look at him.

“It’s all good and well you tryna fight anyone who has something to say about me but we both know you ain’t gonna do anything about it except just sit there and stare because you’re fuckin afraid!  I’m so over it Ryan either make the move I’ve been waiting for you to make for 10 years or stop acting like you get a say in my life,” she ranted at him.

Ryan took her in in front of him, cigarette between her lips and frustration in her eyes before making his decision.  Within one step he was in front of her, taking a moment to see if she would stop him before taking the cigarette out of her mouth and putting it out under his boot.  Y/n inhaled sharply when he placed his hands gently on her hips, using them to walk her backwards until her back hit the barn wall.  

Ryan kept one hand on her hip and moved the other to her cheek, “last chance to change your mind, sweetheart.”

“Been waiting for you since I was 18 don’t make me wait any longer,” she whispered into the space between them.

With no more hesitation he kissed her.  Y/n responded by fisting her hands in the front of his shirt.  After a moment, he pulled away and rested his forehead against her.  Y/n allowed her eyes to fall shut as she reveled in the moment she’d been imagining for so long.

Ryan kissed her again, “do I live up to expectations sweetheart?”

“Better than I could have hoped,” y/n smiled, “we’re gonna have to be careful though.  I reckon I can handle Rip if I need to but if dad finds out he won’t hesitate to fire you and I won’t let you leave here.”

He nodded, “I’ll follow your lead.  Colby won’t say anything and Lloyd’ll just be happy that he no longer has to deal with me staring at you longingly.”

“Gonna be fun sneaking round.  Never got to do it in high school,” she teased.

Ryan laughed, “you’ll be worth it sweetheart.”

[mysteriousbloodstain]

all ideologies are identity groups now because we are committed to being stupid as fuck yay. they put up a barbed wire fence and sentry turrets and an orbital laser defence grid outside the territory but at least if I look really hard at the map I can pretend I’m there :3 draws stick figures and hearts all over it

[petermorwood]

More Sword Questions...

These are further questions prompted by a post already long enough that I’m not reblogging the whole thing.  It’s here.

@softness-and-shattering (who posted the original Ask) wrote:

Thank you so much! What Im getting is that there arent any exact rules, different people and places mixed and matched sword features as they liked. Is that more or less correct? The swords that are green, is that oxidization? Theyre very pretty. And if fullers are to reduce sword weight, what are ridges for? Thanks again :)

*****

(1) Yes, it's oxidation. The uncomplimentary word is "tarnish", the complimentary word is "patina". Bronze swords in museums can be various colours ranging from green (verdigris)...

...through golden...

...to shades of brown and almost black.

I don’t know why (archaeological metallurgy is a mystery to me) but at a guess it's related to the acidity of the ground in which they were found, the proportions of copper / tin / other metals in their bronze.

It may also be the point at which conservators decided they'd gone far enough with that particular artefact and further restoration / cleaning would cause damage.

*****

(2) Ridges on sword-blades add stiffness, is the remnant of the bar or rod of steel from which the sword was made, and are created as the blade's final form is hammered out on either side, leaving a sort of raised centre-parting.

(If this is over-simplified or just plain wrong and swordsmiths reading it are going "Nooo!", please correct me!) ;->

Here's one example with a very prominent ridge, from the Victoria & Albert Museum in London...

...and another with a more restrained centre-line from the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

*****

(3) Sword shapes and features changed depending on functional requirements. If a shape worked and its use didn’t change, it stayed the same. The Roman gladius and Japanese katana are two examples of not much change in shape over several centuries.

Demands of fashion also played a part in what kind of sword was worn when and with what.

While swords (not just Messers or falchions or other "fighting knives") do appear without armour in medieval art...

...swords only became a regular part of civilian dress in the mid-late 1400s.

In Germany this was called a Reitschwert - "riding sword" - for self-defence when out (riding) in ordinary clothes. In Italy it was a spada da lato - "side-sword" - for what's now called EDC (every-day-carry) not just in war. In Spain it was an espada ropera - "robe sword" - for wear with regular clothes rather than armour.

That last one, worn down, mispronounced or just plain pinched, became "rapier", and because it was worn every day, with stylish garments, it became yet another way in which to show off.

The most common Europe-wide rapier was a "swept hilt", comprising bars and loops, while Spain and Spanish-influenced places like Italy preferred the "cup-hilt", which had a different style of swordplay.

Cup-hilts are familiar from movies because it's easy to dress up a sport-fencing sword as something much older. Here's a stage-combat modern épée and two real rapiers.

Cup-hilts could be plain metal bowls like those, or beautiful examples of chiselled, pierced metalwork.

Swept-hilts could be equally impressive.

They were proof that their wearers were dedicated followers of fashion, men of wealth and taste - and, of course, always armed and just as always ready to use what they carried at the drop of whatever was just dropped.

Duelling became a craze, laws against it were ignored, any excuse would do, and Shakespeare summed it up nicely:

MERCUTIO:  Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling?

(That one about the doublet had echoes in 1922, with The Straw Hat Riot in New York, involving assaults on men who hadn't stopped wearing straw hats by the fashion-approved date of mid-September. At least nobody got run through...)

Oddly enough, portraits which include rapiers usually show swept-hilts, even in Spanish portraits where cup-hilts might be expected (I've seen a couple, but not many). Perhaps the artist didn’t have one to hand, or thought the swept-hilt style was more visually interesting.

The smallsword (shorter, lighter, less cumbersome to wear) replaced the rapier, and it too featured a lot in portraits. It was a piece of masculine jewellery, with a stiff narrow blade on an elegant hilt which might be metal...

...or some more exotic material like mother-of-pearl or porcelain.

Then fashion changed again, smallswords also went away, and once again the only people wearing swords on a regular basis were uniformed military types, whose swords could be all sorts of shapes and sizes depending on branch of service and function.

Even when that function is just to be part of regalia, and look good on parade.

[dollscircus]

Swing first, ask later. Chapter 2

(In my defence , I was trying to help a dog)

Chapter 1

Arkham Knight Jason Todd x vet!Reader

Words: 2.6k

Tags: Violence. Violence against reader. but they're fiiiiine.

Synopsis: You have little impulse control so when you slip through a fence to chase a stray dog, you get a lot more then you bargained for.

-

Maybe I should’ve thought more about those nights’ events going through the next few weeks but I kinda- pushed it to the back of my mind. Listen- being a vet can be stressful when half of the patients want to bite me in the face and sometimes even their bitchy owners want to do the same. It’s a struggle so yeah, I kinda forgot about it. Forgot isn’t the right word- pushed back? Sure. That works.

But back on topic, I was walking down the street during a usual rainy night in Gotham. I had gotten a call from a local that they had stopped a large stray dog wondering around near an old warehouse. They didn’t tell me much, but apparently the dog had been limping so I wanted to get there as soon as possible. The warehouse was old, so I didn’t pay it much mind which searching around for the dog.

Eventually I noticed a little white head poking from behind a dumpster, his fur was messy and dirty. He watched me curiously, I paused for a moment while looking at the dog.

“Oh hey handsome.” I smiled, kneeling down where I stood while pulling a small tub of wet dog food out of my bag. “I’ve got some food for you.”

I popped open the tub and set it on the ground slowly pushing it forward, the dog ever so slowly crept out from behind the dumpster. I couldn’t tell what breed the dog was, clearly a mix of many breeds. He sniffed the air while creeping closer, he was limping on his back left leg. I stayed as still as I could as the dog creeped closer, looking at me with big fearful sad eyes.

“It’s ok buddy, I’m not going to hurt you.” I said softly to him as he reached the tub, sniffing at the food for a few moments before he started to eat very quickly. I chuckled softly while watching him eat, a part of me wanted to reach out and pet him but decided against it.

I smiled softly while watching the dog, but a sudden sound caused both the dog and I to jump. The sound was probably as cat running around in the darkness. The dog scattered away from me with a little yelp, I cursed while watching the dog slip under a gap in the fence that surrounded the warehouse. This gave me a quick but decent look at his back leg. There was a wire tightly wrapped around his leg. The skin looked raw and infected.

“Fuck.” I cursed while gathering up the food tub and shoving it back into my bag. Logically, I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that crawling through a fence to a sketchy warehouse is a really terrible idea. Stupid. Reckless but hey, I grew up on the streets of Gotham. I’ve been in worst places.

The torn fence scratched at me a little while I crawled under the fence on my hands and knees, my hips got caught for a moment before I used all of my weight to pull myself forward. I huffed while standing up to look at my dirty hands, grumbling under my breath while wiping my hands on my pants.

Scanning around, I tried to spot the dog luckily I spotted the pup pretty quickly and he was standing by another dumpster watching me.

“Hey puppy.” I smiled while slowly walking over to the dog who was watching me with big curious eyes, I knelt down and offered my hand out with some dog treats. He sniffed my hand, clearly thinking for a moment before he started to eat. I chuckled softly when seeing his tail start to wag.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. That’s our fancy treats.” I smiled while my other hand reached for the slip on leash I carried in my bag, I made sure to move very slowly while slipping it over his head. He didn’t seem to mind, licking my hand as his tail wagging weakly.

“See? I’m not so scary.” I chuckled softly before another sound startled me, one of the metal doors of the warehouse slamming open. Oh fuck. I snapped my head to look over my shoulder, only to come face to face with a heavily armoured guy, he had a cigarette between his teeth about to light it before he slowly turned his head over to me. I tensed up.

God fucking dammit. The one time my body picked freeze. Thanks.

The next few moments were filled with cursing, barking and snarling. It was mostly all a blur, I think- I bit him? I tasted blood between my teeth, and felt blood dripping down my head when he slammed my head into the dumpster then the scream he let out when the dog sunk his teeth into his arm and wrenched it side to side ripping flesh.

The next clear memory I had was scrambling up to my feet, the leash still in hand (woah 10 outta 10 priorities there) and trying to run away with the dogs whose muzzle was still dripping with blood. My head was spinning with pain as I tried to run away but a sudden white hot pain shot through my calf sending my tumbling to the ground. I looked back at my leg, it seeped with blood. Looking further back I saw the man I just struggled with still holding the gun he shot my leg with.

He shot me. He fucked shot me!? Oh- that mother fucker-

I let go of the leash so the dog wasn’t tied to me and the dog ran away whimpering. I winced in pain while looking at my leg then flickering my eye up to the man while he spoke into a radio attached to his chest. Soon he stood over me, the swirling head pain stopped me from making out what he was really saying. I could see the blood splatter across his face- ooo I bit off some of his ear.

He said something but my head was killing me. All sounds seemed so distant and my head felt heavy. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. Please. I begged myself while looking up at the figure. Fear and anger swirled in my chest while I tried to keep myself awake but I was quickly fading.

As everything seemed so distant and painful, another figure was approaching quickly. It was vaguely familiar but I couldn’t make out much. My vision was hazy when the figure swung for the first man, fist slamming into his temple.

Huh. That reminded me of someone?

—

I don’t know what I expected to wake up to when I passed out, I remembered the sound of bones cracking from the figure striking the man who attacked me. I woke up to warmth, warmth surrounding me as I woke up. My body was sore, aching with a dull pain while my heavy eyes tried to open. I didn’t know where I was, blinking in the dull light while I started to sit up in the cot bed I was laying in. I blinked a few times when seeing the dog, I was trying to catch curled up at the bottom of the bed. Back leg wrapped in a bandage.

Confusion clouded a lot of my judgment while looking around, welded metal walls. A desk in the corner of the room covered in papers. I couldn’t make out what else was written on the papers from this distance. I tried to move when pain shot through my leg, I hissed in pain before looking down at my bandaged leg. Where was I?

I glanced over the room again but jumped when seeing him on a chair in the corner of the room, sitting on a chair with his arms crossed over his check. The Arkham Knight. I stared at him, thinking back to the last thing I remembered before passing out. The figure. It was him and that punch. He swung with his whole body. I remembered Jason swinging his punches like that.

“You shouldn’t try to move to much yet.” He said after a moment of staring at each other. That almost made me laugh. I frowned a little at him.

“You patched me up.” I said, looking down at the bandage. The criss cross pattern caught my attention. Huh. Memories from my childhood flashed through my mind. Kneeling behind a dumpster while Jason wrapped up my arm after a stray cat I was trapping clawed up my arm painfully.

“I’m not as skilled with my hands as you.” He said, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Why?” I asked, eyes flicking down when the dog raised his head and yawned. Wagging his tail at me. The knight tilted his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Repaying the favour.” He said, like it was a very simple fact but I didn’t believe that completely. I moved to swing my legs off the bed, he tensed a little at my movement but I barely noticed it.

“There’s gotta be more to it. You could’ve just dumped me as the hospital or something.” I said, looking down to the dog who started to shuffle down the bed to sniff at my arm. I smiled softly at the dog while reaching down to pet the top of his head. The knight huffed, the sound coming out distorted by the helmet.

“That would be rude to the person you didn’t call the cops of me, when they really should’ve.” He said, voice a mix with amusement and irritation. I suddenly remembered comparing him to a stray dog, embarrassment crept up my neck.

“Then what about the dog? You didn’t owe him anything.” I raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t respond staring at me, I couldn’t read him behind the helmet. Another question lingered in the back of my mind that I pushed away.

“What happened to the guy that shot me?” I asked another question furrowing my brow a little, he didn’t respond at first. I thought he wouldn't answer me at all until he did so.

“He’s dead.” He said, a few moments passed between us. “Does that scare you?”

I thought for a moment, did it? Maybe it was a little morbid. The guy shot me but I didn’t like someone dying.

“Scare me? No, I don’t- like it.” I said, fingers brushing through the fur of the dog. “If you were going to hurt me, you’d have done it already.”

He seemed to bristle a little, adjusting his position on the uncomfortable chair he was perched on. I looked back on my leg before I started to try and pull myself up. “I appreciate the help but I need to go-”

Pain seared through my leg as I started to fall forward, losing balance due to the sudden shock of pain. I cursed feeling myself about to fall but I felt arms bracing against my shoulders. I flicked my eyes up to the knight as he was suddenly leaning over my body as his hands kept me steady.

He said my name, “You can't be moving around on that leg yet.” He warned. I didn't realise how much bigger than me, he was until he was leaning over me and looking down at me. I can't pin point why the way he said my name really clued me in. I can’t describe it. It had a softness to it that Jason even as rough as he could be sometimes always said my name with.

“Well, I’ve never really been the careful type. You remember that, don’t you?” I said, looking up at his helmet. I could see his whole body tense a little. A long moment of silence stretched on. He knew what I was implying.

I know who you are.

“You’re right, you weren’t ever the careful type.” Jason said, his body language tense. Like a spring about to snap. A small smile crossed my face, tilting my head to the side. A few feelings rushed through me. How the hell did Jason become- this? I mean- the whole get up is kinda hot. Woah woah. Let’s not go that direction.

Didn’t know masks did something for me. Let’s not unpack that.

“Jason.” I said, voice slightly hushed while he set me back in the cot. Winced slightly at my leg. He leaned back, not moving away from the cot and just standing over me. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has been. Not how I thought this would go.” He said, taking a little step back after a moment. Jason tilted his head to the side a little, he still seemed tense.

“You thought about this?” I asked, a little smile crossing my face. Jason huffed indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. I could exactly what expression he was making in that moment, the memory of a slightly more baby faced Jason making that exact sound.

“Don’t get all cheeky with me.” Jason scoffed, but he had zero heat behind it. “Even now you’re a trouble maker.”

I huffed, reaching over pet the dog beside me. “That guy attacked me first, I was happy to just walk away.”

He huffed behind that helmet, body language tightening. He turned his face away while he foot tapped the ground in irritation, “You know better to creep around warehouses like that.”

He was right, I sighed while rolling my shoulder uncomfortably. “I know, I was just worried about the dog.”

“You should worry about yourself more.” Jason said. I shrugged while rubbing my arm and scratching at my jaw. I flicked my eyes down to the dog who was now resting his muzzle on my thigh, I looked over the bandages around his back leg.

“Says the man who bandaged up the dog.” I raised a brow at him.

“You’d have been angry if I let the dog run away before anyone could help him.” He huffed, irritation in his voice but it didn't have much real anger behind it.

I let out a very light amused chuckle, looking up at the helment and trying to imagine what his face could look like now. “What happened?” I asked before I could stop myself, wincing at little at my own words. Jason turned his head back to me, even with the helmet I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.

“Nothing you should be involved with.” He said, that lightness in his voice replaced by some coldness that wounded my heart. I frowned, a look I knew made me look all sad and pathetic. But I knew it would always work on Jason.

“Don’t give me that look.” He said after a moment, I let out a indugnet sound while flicking my eyes away. Jason let out a little sigh before he started to talk again, “Rest your leg, I’ll take you home later?”

I looked up at him as he started to turn on his heal to walk away, I blinked a few times before I hoped my mouth to speak but the words died in my throat. It had been so long since we saw each other, god knows has driven Jason to that point. Nothing good. I watched him leave the little room I was in.

I sighed while sitting in the quiet for a few moments, the dog whined a little to get my attention. Looking down at the scruffy dog, I smiled weakly. “Yeah. He’s always been like that.”

I laid back on the cot. God my body fucking hurt.

[unorchido]

Nothing much, just Tco trying to convice some character to sell their soul to them

[kaciebello]

Few bucks and some ducks.

Masterlist Money mail ☼ Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff!reader (fem) Summary: Posh kids on a farm  Warnings: no use of y/n Authors note: Haiya! Can't say I like this one. Oh well. word count: 1k Song: Greek God - Conan Gray

Farms are unknown territory for teens. Well, at least for our group. When you grow up in rich wizarding families, nobody expects you to know how to feed the bigs or that cows have best friends. None of them have ever been on a farm, much less work on it. However, when a post-it was hung in the corner store where Lorenzo works at, saying help on a farm needed willing to pay 10 pounds a day, the teens jumped on to the opportunity like no other. Their goal is always more reachable when actually working. They all showed up at the farmer's door. 7 in the morning sharp. Now, the farmer didn't really know what to do with them first. While he was grateful for the help, how much work can six posh kids really work? He swears one of the kids is wearing an Armani suit.

He made sure to give them easy work. The kind he could do, but was too lazy too. The girl and Lorenzo were sent to paint the fence, from brown colour to, well, different shades of brown. Draco and Blaise were sent to get chicken eggs and the two Theo's were to wash the cows. Have any of the kids done any of these jobs? Absolutely not, but they are wizards, how hard can it be?

It turns out to be very hard when the only job you've ever done was run errands for your papá. Each of them looked like a tornado had passed twice over. The kids sat exhausted around a picnic table. Mrs. Farmer prepared sandwiches and homemade lemonade for them. They were eating in silence, not a peep from them.  Draco looked around all of them. He knew someone needed to bring the mood up. Sacrificing his friend was the best way.

“so, Blaise was courted by a chicken,” Draco says not even looking up from his food, almost perfecting the thousand-mile stare. Blaise slams his hand onto the table and turns to his friend.

“I was not!” he argues back, but with the very visible chicken feather in his hair, it was very hard to believe him. Draco just continuously nods.

“Chickens don't even do that!” Blaise tries again but his friends just laugh at him. The girl reaches over to plug the feather. Upon seeing it Blaise franticly brushes over his head.  Glaring at Mattheo he decided on his target.

“Why are you laughing, huh? care to tell us why is your shirt all chewed up.” Matteo just glares back, making it into a little staring consent between the two boys. You can hear Theodore's laugh bubble up from his chest and ring all over the patio. 

“ A cow chewed on it!” He laughed even more launder living the memory in his own little head. 

“Like you aren't all wet because one of the cows grabbed the hose from you!” Mattheo fought back, embarrassing his friend in return. Theo stopped laughing a second later.  Looking at all of them, they did not look like they had a great time. The girl and Lorenzo were probably doing the best out of all of them. Although the boys have yet to see Lorenos back and the huge brow print on his white shirt.

The girl giggles as silently as she can, very much amused at her friends' failure. They all turn to look at her studying her without her knowing. Draco glares at her before speaking,

“Is that a brown handprint on your ass?” He asks, efficiently shutting her up. and glare back at him.

“Like that's my fault.” He says in a quiet voice, slightly pointing at Lorenzo whore raises his hands in defence. One of his palms was indeed covered in dried brown paint. being author redheaded, or rather brow-headed, the two stayed quiet. 

Silence falls upon the group again. A sigh left the girl. Seems like working on a farm was not something for the 6 of them. The farmer had walked up to the kids, ready to give them new tasks. However seeing them all very much in a ruined state, he decides against it. Instead, he tells them there is a pond at the back of his property and if the kids wish to do so, they can go and take a dip.

Without any word, the teens leaned up their plates and went on their way to the pond. The farmer's wife gave them some stale bread to feed the ducks. The way to the pond is not long, and when they get there they all visibly relax. The boys undress to their underwear and leap for the water. The girl, the only one not totally ruined by the world sits down by the shore and feeds the ducks.

The sun slowly sets, painting the sky nice shades of pink and yellow. The girl kept feeding the little ducks, wishing to bring them home. A thud next to her brings her gaze to her boyfriend. He relaxed his head on her shoulder. water from the hair dripping on her t-shirt. Reaching for her hand and the feed in it, he takes some and offers it to the ducks that have nested around her and throws some to the geese that rested a few meters away from them.

 Resting for a while, the kids dried off, dressed themself and packed their stuff. Walking back to the farmhouse, they were given 10 pounds each and sent off with a handful of eggs to go home. Lorenzo and Matteo were asked to come back in two days. The farmer claimed that he did an amazing job with the cows and would like them to help him again. Even offering trippel the reward. They didn't hesitate and agreed.

On their way home, they all agreed to have omelettes for dinner tonight. And maybe the next three nights too.

Previous Chapter ☼ Next Chapter

Taglist @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys . @mxryxmfooty , @hoeforvinniehackerrr

[phoenixtakaramono]

Butchlander M, N, P if you please. :)

(This Ask is regarding this.) Always happy to provide some HCs!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Butcher’s accent turns Homelander on like no other.

Homelander is like a tomcat in heat; there has not been a season, barring S4, where we don’t see him getting his rocks off either with a sexual partner or by himself. The sight of Billy wearing an apron and expertly kneading dough with his flour-dusted fingers and the muscles of his forearms bunching beneath the skin could enter Homelander’s periphery during an important conference call with Vought’s board of directors—and Homelander would be distracted throughout the meeting with insignificant boring mudpeople with his brain in the gutter thinking about sucking on Billy’s fingers and fantasizing about having his 6’1” British man bend him over the kitchen counter or vice versa. I think once they’re in a relationship or once he has locked in on Billy as the perfect male specimen to copulate with, there are four things about William J. Butcher that’d primarily make him pop a boner:

1) Billy being uncharacteristically sweet and coming to Homelander’s defence in public, sticking up for him and cuttingly disparaging anyone who talks shite about the hero whilst simultaneously propping Homelander up to soothe his ego (bonus points if it’s directed toward someone Homelander can’t talk back to; extra bonus points if Homelander heard that Billy had made the person cry; extra extra bonus points if Billy’s coming across as possessive y’know, “the only person who gets to talk to you that way is me; your life belongs to me” typical villain-obsessed-with-the-hero rhetoric); it’s just the unexpectedness of it, coming from Butcher, that’d make the biggest impact on Homelander;

2) experiencing moments of unexpected domestic bliss that fits Homelander’s ideal “white picket fence” American Dream he’s been conditioned to crave (of owning a home, a loving wife husband, children a loving son, a loving family, a dog, and a happily ever after);

3) Billy thinking Homelander’s finally cool and trustworthy enough to start involving him in The Boys operations, being forthcoming about his sinister plans regarding how he’s going to blackmail or assassinate someone or systematically dismantle their reputation and empire piece-by-piece (bonus points if Billy’s target is someone whom Homelander recognises who’s either one of his loud hecklers/ antifans, his competition in the superhero business that he’s complained to Billy about, or is just someone in general whom Homelander has been bellyaching about; extra bonus points if Homelander senses an opportunity to be helpful—because he’s “just the perfect generous dream lover and William would now be indebted to him for coming to his rescue solving their little problem that he and his lover’s useless friends obviously couldn’t handle by themselves”);

4) Billy literally murdering someone in cold blood “to protect their family” or to “protect him.” Oh, imagine the bloody kisses, bloodstained hands cradling each other’s faces, and Homelander whispering breathlessly, touched beyond measure, “You did this for me?”

As long as Homelander does not perceive his authority being challenged in front of others, he’d even be willing to tolerate kinks he’d never explored before—whether it be degradation (not his favourite, mind you; he’s more of a praise-kink type of guy, but he’d come around to Billy’s rapid-fire dirty talk that’s more on the meaner side) or forced feminisation. He’s not effeminate (that’s a whole another Pandora’s box) and will always have this complex of wanting to be perceived as this masculine alpha male kinda guy whom everyone listens to, but behind closed doors he thinks it’s so hot that William is physiologically affected seeing him wear women’s lingerie for him and “looking handsome and pretty” for him. It’s the taboo nature of anything that’d turn Homelander on. For someone who’s been ordered around his entire life, doing something considered to be “sinful and shameless” is like a good strait-laced kid going through his rebellious phase—and nothing’s more taboo than being led astray and being bedded by a “bad boy.” For once he doesn’t have to be a superhero; he can just turn his brain off, enjoy the ride, and be bossed around by someone he finds hot and obviously knows what they’re doing. His body is virtually indestructible, so no matter what “new fun experiments” Billy wants to test on him to “spice up their sex life,” he’s always down to try everything at least once. He’s the hero who’s straightened the villainous William J. Butcher out plus the sex is incredible—and that is probably the biggest turn-on for him.

For Billy, it’s Homelander submitting to him. It’s seeing the hero act differently from the monstrous image Billy’s built of him inside his head that does it for him, whether it be indulging Homelander’s lactation oral fixation, fucking the brattiness out of him (it does something for Billy when he sees that infuriating, haughty look of superiority in those blue eyes be wiped away into sweetness whenever Billy pounds into that slightly hard, spongy sweet spot inside Homelander), or Homelander behaving very affectionately with him in the afterglow. Billy will never admit it—and he will always make fun of Homelander for acting clingy, as if he regards Billy as the linchpin to his existence—but he secretly likes it when Homelander seems to have made it his mission to make physical contact with Billy, whether it be scrabbling at his shoulders, his arms, hooking his legs around him or hanging his legs off Billy’s shoulders whenever they do the deed. Topping Homelander is the biggest turn-on for Billy, because he still gets to “bully” him (even though it’s different). He gets to experiment with things he’d been curious about but would never try with Becca—or any ordinary human being for that matter. It’s like pairing a person with sadistic tendencies with someone with submissive, masochistic tendencies—who happens to be indestructible and has an attitude problem that needs correcting for the good of humanity. Bonus points if it’s because of him that Homelander becomes a moaning, incoherent mess, with his pretty blue eyes slightly wet at the lashes from the “bullying” and overstimulation, but clearly still wanting more. He’s made Homelander into this—and that turns him on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

This is less of a HC and more tied to canon, but the moment Homelander hears “squirt” or “squirter” or any variation of that from Billy’s lips, that instantly kills his mood because it triggers a traumatic embarrassing memory in his childhood of being caught with his pants down wanking off and Marty seeing that and giving him that nickname. And, no, he will never get past this. This grown adult man in his 40s will roll himself off Billy’s d!ck, burrito himself in the blankets, and be a big sulky inconsolable baby for the rest of the night. Homelander won’t say it but he expects to be coddled and his face or his shoulder planted with tiny, soft, intimate kisses and be asked what’s wrong and how can he make him feel better—even if Homelander won’t give him an answer (it’s a bit of a Catch-22 situation since he obviously won’t be getting an apology from Billy who’s uninformed about all this but neither is Homelander willing to fess up about what’s gotten him into a sudden b!tchy fit)—or else he’s going to feel unsatisfied and continue giving Billy the cold shoulder, or be petty, well into the next day.

Other turn-offs would be any mention of past sexual partners during sex, i.e. Madelyn (HL), Stormfront (HL), Maeve (HL & Billy), and especially any accidental slip of the tongue that conjures a memory of Becca Saunders for Billy (Billy & HL). It doesn’t even have to be a Freudian slip of the tongue by Homelander. It’s anything innocuous that Billy’s brain associates with his late wife (whether it’s something random like seeing her favourite cereal brand, or a Spice Girls song suddenly coming on the radio whilst the two men are being hot and heavy, or a joke Homelander makes about them being like husband and wife) that’d kill Billy’s raging hard-on, make Billy go flaccid, and he will instantly freeze all bedroom activities. Nothing Homelander can say or do, once Billy gets like this, will fix it. If it’s a particularly bad triggering episode, Billy will leave and not without some unkind parting words. The topic of Becca is the figurative wife-sized giant elephant in the room that will forever loom over their relationship. The Cold War that Billy’s launched will last until he’s able to extricate himself out of his depressed, self-loathing funk—perhaps needing a trip to Becca’s grave and having a long heart-to-heart talk sitting down with her tombstone—and he’s finally calmed himself down to be able to return to Homelander’s side without feeling that same vengeful, self-destructive violent impulse burning inside him calling for Homelander’s blood which’d consumed Billy’s life for more than a decade.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the occasion, the mood, the time, the place and the setting.

I imagine they’re usually more fast and rough if it’s a quickie or either one wanting to give the other a bj or a quick handjob, particularly with Homelander’s superhero schedule and whatever Billy’s gotten himself involved into this time. Time is a luxury. And they’re both pressed for time. Not to mention if there’s a bit of the hatefuck dynamic happening; no lube, just spit will do. Their breaths mingling, bodies pressed up tightly together in a broom closet, in a dirty back alley, at The Seven’s boardroom, etcétera.

If it’s slow and sensual, either Billy is deliberately trying to seduce Homelander—or they’ve already reached the level of being in a established relationship where Billy’s harsh edges had been worn down to be softer and a semblance of trust has been forged between them. Anytime Billy sees Homelander acting a little more human, a little more like John and less like Homelander, those tiny reminders gentles him out into being a sweeter and considerate, sentimental lover. I imagine it’s a big deal whenever it happens. It’s rare, very intimate, requires some vulnerability, and represents how far they’d come. Homelander has always adored the act of making love to someone he loves, so he’s equally as smitten with being made love to by someone whom he believes he’s single-handedly managed to change their mind about him and orchestrated into falling in love with him. It strokes his ego knowing he’s converted his biggest hater into his biggest fan (this is not really the case, but Billy just accepts it and lets Homelander enjoy his delulu fantasy because it’s what makes him happy).

[blubushie]

any advice?

Uhh. This is very unspecific so I'm just gonna rattle off.

Always carry a knife on you. A simple pocket knife is good enough as long as it's sharp. Worst case scenario, you have a means of self-defence. But you're more likely to use it for other emergencies, like car accidents.

Always cut away from you. Always.

Don't drink downriver from the mob.

If you have cramps, soak the cramping part of your body in hot water. Cramping muscles? Hot bath. Menstrual cramps? Just lie in the hot bath for a few hours. Drain and refill with hot water as needed. This also helps if your hips hurt from endometriosis.

Don't squat with your spurs on.

If you drive a manual, buy a winch. If you drive an automatic, buy jumper cables and enough liquor to make friends.

Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or an idiot from any direction.

Speak softly, but carry a big stick.

"Live fast, die young" doesn't work if you don't die young. Take care of yourself and your body. You get back what you put into it tenfold.

Speed's never killed anyone. It's suddenly becoming stationary what gets you. Drive carefully.

Closed mouths gather no boots.

Don't name anything you don't plan to eat. (You don't have to take that one literally. Think about what it means.)

Don't corner something meaner than you.

It doesn't take a very big person to carry a grudge, but forgiveness isn't owed.

On that note: forgive, but never forget.

Better to be a has-been than a never-was. Don't die wondering.

There's never lived a horse that couldn't be rode and there's never lived a cowboy that couldn't be throwed. Stay humble and be ready to hit the ground.

Never hire the people you drink with.

Don't loan to family or friends.

People say not to bite off more than you can chew but the truth of the matter is that your mouth is a whole lot bigger than you think, and willpower does a lot to help you swallow.

Any time you think you're a person of some influence, try ordering someone else's dog around.

Go after life like it's something you've gotta catch before it gets away.

Pain is just the other side of feeling good. Can't have the ups without the downs. But some aspirin goes a long way.

Solve problems like you throw cattle—dig your heels in on the big ones, and grab the little ones by the neck.

Don't always follow leaders—take your own path every now and then or you'll find yourself stepping in their shit.

The man that straddles the fence usually has a sore crotch at the end of the day, so don't spend all day on it. An hour or two of spectating the neighour's kid trying to troubleshoot his truck, though? Painless.

Drink your whisky with your gunhand to show good intentions.

Apologies go better with drinks, and even better with a meal.

Don't aim at nothing you don't intend to destroy. This doesn't just apply to firearms—words are weapons too.

It's better to be judged by six than carried by twelve. Invest in self-defence.

Superheroes aren't real, but everyday heroes are. The littlest things can make a difference. Golden rule.

If you're helping someone pulled over on a road, approach them from their passenger side. You're less likely to get hit, and you won't look as threatening.

Don't walk in roads at night, and always use the pedestrian crossing. As least if you get hit they have to pay your medical bills, and you can sue.

Dig before you shit.

Horses have bad days too.

Love your enemies, but keep your pistol loaded and oiled.

The best way to get a man to do something is to suggest he's too old for it. I'm serious—it doesn't attack his masculinity and he's less likely to get legitimately angry with you.

If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.

Die with your boots on (and, if you're my grandad, balls intact).

If you're gonna get a tattoo, wait a year. If it's your partner's name, wait three.

Trust your dog. He's got better instincts than you.

Always trust a mule over a horse. He'll find the best way around.

If it's winter and your engine bay is making weird noises, you can probably ignore them until spring.

Bravery without the presence of fear is just stupidity. You can't be brave if you're not afraid first. Fear is a reaction but courage is a decision.

Everyone thinks they're hot shit until they trip on their spurs.

Your actions speak louder than your words, and people often won't believe what they haven't seen. Make peace with that.

Your handshake is worth more than your signature. That said, get shit in writing.

Don't be afraid of fucking up. Good judgement comes from experience, and most of experience comes from bad judgement.

Sometimes doing something wrong is better than not doing anything at all.

The most important project you'll ever work on is yourself.

I don't believe in "once a cheater, always a cheater", because people do change in time and learn, but I will say this much: If they'll cheat with you, they'll cheat on you.

There's no point wasting time in hoping for a better past.

Your boss shits too.

Adults are just grown-up children. Not one of us knows what the fuck we're actually doing.

You don't have to attend every argument you're invited to.

Don't turn your back on the bull until you're out of the ring.

[fortytworedvines]

No. 19 please!

Send me a prompt

19. The first aid kit is empty

Audrey Hall did not swear, except on occasions that really, really deserved it. “Bloody hell,” she muttered now. Very literal blood poured from the deep cut on the palm of her hand, and the first aid kit was empty.

She should have known better. She castigated her past self for not having checked it before she left. She knew that the boys dug into it on occasion, though ransacked would be a better term for what they’d done to it this time. There was nothing left aside from one solitary safety pin.

How stupid she’d been to cut her hand on the barbed fence, though, in her defence, it was so dark and her torch so ineffectual that she could barely see anything.

The adrenaline was wearing off now and her hand was starting to hurt, a lot. Thinking quickly, she shrugged off her jacket and fumbled, one-handed, at her shirt buttons. She was getting blood everywhere, and tried to ignore it. Finally, her shirt was off and she was standing in bra and skirt by the side of the road. Nobody was likely to come past at this time and spot her, at least.

Between teeth and her one working hand, she managed to tear the seams of the shirt open. With her previously smart shirt torn into pieces, she wrapped one around her cut hand carefully, then layered another over the top. She tied a knot and used her teeth to tug it tight. The relief was immediate and she sagged gratefully. Carefully, she put on her jacket, managed to button it up, and tucked the remnants of her shirt into her pocket.

She climbed onto her bicycle and when she held the handlebars, pain bit into her injured hand. She gritted her teeth. She’d never cycled one-handed before, but she’d have to manage it now. She set off, wobbling, but managed to get her balance and pressed on for home.

She made it to Skeldale without having seen anyone, for which she was extremely thankful, given her state of undress.

She’d had to stop on the way back to wrap another length of shirt around her hand. It was still bleeding and increasingly painful. She couldn’t wait to get in, find her proper bandages, give the wound a good clean and then take herself to bed and sleep.

Mr Farnon was sitting at the kitchen table, pipe in mouth, paper held in front of him. He dropped both as she came through the door.

“Mrs Hall!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “Whatever has happened?”

Audrey stared at him for a moment, and then slumped thankfully into a chair. “Hurt my hand,” she murmured. He glanced at the hand that she held out, took in the state of her in one quick look.

“I’ll get my kit,” he said, and hurried out.

She sat quietly waiting for him. She hadn’t known quite how much she’d needed to be looked after until she’d walked into the kitchen and seen him there.

He was back in a moment, clutching his own first aid kit, and sat down next to her.

“May I?”

She nodded, and he took her hand tentatively. Unwound the bloody bandages carefully.

The wound came into sight and he winced. “Very nasty.” He poured out some cleaning solution onto a cloth and she hissed at the sting. “I’m sorry my dear,” he said. “It needs cleaning.”

“I know.”

“What – um – why did you use your shirt?” he asked as he worked carefully.

“My first aid kit was empty,” she said. “Forgot to check it before I left.”

“Ah.”

His hands were so gentle and she could almost relax into the touch. Finally, the wound was cleaned to his satisfaction and he wound a clean, proper bandage around her hand, knotted it tightly.

“There,” he said, cradling her hand in his. “All better. Well. Somewhat better.” His thumb stroked over hers. “How did you manage it?”

“Barbed wire on a fence,” she admitted ruefully. He was still stroking her thumb and she didn’t want him to stop.

“You’re going to have to be careful with it for a few days. Don’t get it wet.”

“My chores…”

“I’m sure Tristan and Carmody can manage the washing up,” he said cheerfully.

“And the laundry?” She looked at him sceptically.

He rubbed his chin. “We’ll find a way,” he said eventually.

He studied her for a moment and she blushed. “What is it?”

“You’re getting some colour back. You gave me a fright, staggering through the door with bloody bandages around your hand.”

“I’m feeling better now.” Because of him. “It’s nice to be looked after,” she admitted, and was rewarded with a glowing smile.

“You look after me – all of us – so well. It’s about time I returned the favour. Now,” he put her hand down carefully, “it’s well past our bedtimes and you need a good sleep. I’ll check your hand tomorrow, but in the mean time, Mrs Hall…” He met her eyes for a moment and her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. Then in a sudden motion, he leant forward and pressed his lips to her forehead in an unexpected, soft, lovely kiss. He drew back, pink staining his cheeks. “Goodnight, my dear.”

The pain in her hand was almost forgotten as she watched him hurry away. “Goodnight, Mr Farnon,” she called quietly after him.

[livin4woso]

Breaking the media

Chapter 8- debut

Training over the next few days flew by as all you could think of the idea of your Barcelona debut the head coaches has been hinting at it due to playing a team that we were sure to beat with flying colours. Realistically you knew you would only average 10 to 15 minutes max game time but even still to play for barca was an honour to you considering you grew up in a concil estate in a small town in North east England where the local street garage was the goal and the fences created the lines for the pitch.

Alexia had drove you to the stadium where you were greeted by the staff "bon dia ms putellas" they said acknowledging the queen of Barcelona, if a city could be pictured as a person Barcelona was alexia everywhere you went it was alexia, from her shirt to even murals of her it was like the city was encapsulated by her presence and yet she was encapsulated by your presence and no matter how much she cared about football you managed to be above it. "Bon dia" she replied waving and ushering you into the stadium guiding you to the changing rooms. She swung the door open and as usual due to her being captain you two had been the first ones there and as you looked around the room you had seen your shirt your last name printed on in white and underneath the number 28 it was almost like a fever dream you couldn't believe it. "Come on pequeña stop staring and get changed" she said as she took her coat and bag off and put them on to her area of the changing room.

After 20 minutes the changing room was full and all the girls had arrived. You had been informed of being on the 6 there was still a chance of you being subbed on to play, but it just depended on the score line and how the team was playing. The match had begun, and Caroline had made light work of the defence to swing one into the top corner just 10 minutes into the game. Next, it was aitana to dribble through the centre halfs and volley the ball into the bottom corner as it skimmed the keepers fingers at 30 minutes. The half-time whistle came quicker than expected as you chatted to vicky and pina on the bench. The first half had finished at 3-0 with caro scoring another goal in stoppage time. While the majority of the girls went into the tunnel, you had been instructed to warm up on the pitch, which had got your hopes up more than it should have. You watched as the girls made there way back on the pitch so you returned to your seat on the bench it was in the back corner as although you liked to see what was happening you weren't gonna get on the pitch so might aswell not inconvenience the other girls who would have to scramble over your lap.

It was the 75th minute when the refs whistle had blew you had looked over your seat to see lucy down on the floor. 'Y/n go warm up just in case, " jona instructed you as you made your way to warm up on the side line of the pitch, keeping your eye on lucy. Thats when the medics came on the pitch and you were called back up to jona "y/n your going on take your bib off and get ready" jona said as soon as the words you were practically throwing the bib off and over your head. Lucy was up again, so luckily, it wasn't that serious, but she hobbled her way off the pitch and sent a small smile to you as the official held up the sign for you to be subbed on. As you ran on the pitch the crowd erupted in applause you clapped as you made your way to the position but before zoning into focus on the game you soaked up the fans reaction the way the club had welcomed you. It felt like home the pitch became quiet and all you could hear was your teamates and the sound of the ball it was like no one else was there it was just you and the ball and it was perfect.

As the winger came sprinting with the ball down your side of the pitch doing step overs trying to throw you off the ball you used all the energy in your legs and launched your foot at the ball in front of her feet and watch as you succeed in winning the ball as it goes rolling out of play hitting the advertising boards. As you stand up, mapi pats you on the back. "Good one, now come one 5 minutes left, keep the pace," she said to you, marking up the levante striker in the box. They didnt make it near the keeper as it came rolling out of the goal line and cata was awarded a goal kick however she rolled the ball out to you to cross it over to frido who was on the far side of the pitch. As the ball left your feet you watched as it flew over the players and landed at fridos feet but as she was making her way to the box the final whistle blew and there it was your debut was over. You shook hands with the opposition, then here came the hugs and celebrations from your teamates as they congratulated you. Then it was alexia who walked over to you and wrapped you into a hug "im so proud of you pequeña i really am" she said to you a smile on her face "thank you ale i really appreciate everything you have done for me" you respond as never had you been told that someone was proud of you so you tried to blink away the tears that formed in your eyes.

You made your way back to the changing rooms and jona did a speech congratulating the team and you for your debut and to know that lucy is okay and would miss 2 games due to a minor muscle injury. As you changed back into your tracksuit you wanted to keep your debut shirt but didn't know how to ask so you glanced either side to see if anyone was paying attention to you and you stuffed the shirt into your bag hoping no one saw you. "You ready to go?" alexia asked you "yes definitely im ready for sleep and some food," you said, putting the bag on your back. And that's exactly what happened. You ate dinner with alexia and then clambered into bed after showering because the showers at the ground aren't the best, so you just waited till getting back to the apartment. Then, right as you were drifting off alexia opened the door to your room holding the shirt you had stuffed into your bag "y/n why did i find your shirt in your bag?" She questioned holding the shirt infront of her "oh ermm i must have accidentally put it in there" you responded lying out of your teeth "y/n i know you're lying" she said "ugh sorry i wanted to keep my debut shirt but i didn't know how to ask or who to ask so i just shoved it into my bag im sorry alexia" you responded upset at the fact you probably have disappointed alexia "ohh pequeña its okay but next time ask please but sleep well" she responded and placed the shirt on your nightstand and walked out closing the door and 5 minutes later you drifted off to sleep enjoying a very good day and one to remember.