#and a bitchin leather jacket

[wrinkled-sheets-and-sunlight]

Grusha doesn’t normally hang around establishments like— this. It’s not his style. Not his speed. And frankly, not substantial to anything he wants to accomplish… Except for today, anyway. A rare blossom of indulgence in Grusha’s meticulously-tended garden, this night holds a more private goal. The up-and-coming snowboarder, an infamously frigid man with a focused demeanor colder than the snow he shreds… is looking to get laid.

It feels like the most opportune time.

Popularity-wise, people are starting to take notice of him, so the options are there. He’s still young enough that inexperience isn’t shameful but mature enough to find someone who can engage in a hookup without messy repercussions. He has the free time and lack of inhibitions suitable for losing one’s virginity, and from glances he’s taken notice of so far— people are more than willing to assist. All he has to do is pick out the right guy. Feeling as though he’s browsing a catalogue, ice hues nonchalantly scan the area. Despite the range of choices, expression doesn’t change as he mulls it over.

Honestly, it’s a bit dull of a process… He hadn’t expected fireworks or any cliches of the sort, but Grusha had been hoping for a bit of a spark to help guide his decision. But that’s fine. So long as they get the job done, right? Brows furrow with a discreet sigh, arms crossing as Grusha leans against a nearby surface. ❝ I guess I just… walk over and ask? ❞ He mutters to himself, nose crinkling in a grimace as it occurs to him that he has no clue how one actually DOES this. It seems simple as that; albeit a little unceremonious. Maybe even kind of… below him, if he’s being honest. Sure, he’s only here to get fucked. But there’s a difference between intention and going up to a stranger just to say ‘do you want to fuck me?’

Obviously the answer would be yes… but— ❝ I shouldn’t have to ask. ❞ He huffs, knowing that he could wait for a potential suitor to approach him. Surely, one would. But what if he’s not interested in them? What if it takes a while before he gets a GOOD prospect… and he doesn’t want to just stand here wasting time. Shit, why is finding a meaningless hookup such a hassle. — (( *shoves Past!Grusha @ Larry because he can’t help but be a brat even when not Trying* ))

@canon-fcdder

These sorts of scenes were a dime a dozen to Larry, each one feeling exactly the same, only being disrupted by whichever drugs he'd taken or who he'd talked into bed with him. When he walked through the door, he hadn't any plan for how his evening would go, content enough to just see what life would throw at him.

Life, it seemed, wanted to throw him a gift in the form of blue hair and a frigid expression.

He'd abandoned his pool game near the very moment he'd spotted the...guy? Girl? It didn't matter, they were fucking beautiful all the same. He knew the looks of someone not typical of the scene, one who was looking for easy drugs, a bar that didn't ID, or a blow it and go lay. By how this guy's eyes roved over the crowd? He had a feeling he knew what his poison was. It was a few remarks from his 'buddies' that had him squeezing through the crowd all the faster, Larry always finding it vile that way they spoke of anyone that had caught their eye. He wasn't the best, but even he knew he was better than some of the assholes in this place.

"If you don't want some asshole trying to get in your pants, you'll let me buy you a drink." Said with an easy smirk as he neared the guy, he couldn't help but be a bit caught off guard because-

"Fuck, you're even prettier up close. Make that two drinks, just to be safe." With the way the curse sputtered free, that hadn't meant to come out of his mouth, the bit about the drinks being tacked onto the end to try and save face. It's been a while, since he'd met someone that made his tongue feel like sandpaper, maybe this night would end with him not in the fucking gutter somewhere....

[slut4evanpeters]

Undercover

Peter Maximoff x Fem!Reader

warnings: p i v, semi public sex, bar bathroom sex, fluffy, bad smut writing cause i rushed it😭, slight fingering

word count: 2.1k

note: OKAY PLS READ FOR SOME CONTEXT!! so in this lets pretend peter doesnt know that erik is his father.... I LITERALLY COULD NOT THINK OF ANYONE ELSE TO PUT AS THE TARGET😭😭

MDNI 18+

Peter Maximoff, in true form, leaned casually against the bar, the mischievous glint in his deep bronze eyes shining beneath his tousled hair. A smirk danced on his lips, his trademark look, while his leather jacket gleamed slightly in the dim light. He threw you a playful glance, the corner of his mouth curling upward. Your pulse quickened, excitement intertwining with the thrill of your mission, the energy palpable between you.

The mission was straightforward in theory: infiltrate the bar, gather intelligence on a rumored underground operation, and remain unnoticed.

Peter raised a brow, his voice dripping with sarcastic charm. “So, you ready for this adventure? ’Cause I’m thinking we’re about to make one gnarly couple, don’t you?” His tone was light, but his eyes sparkled with that undeniable Maximoff mischief.

You gave him a skeptical look, keeping your voice low as you leaned closer. “Let’s just stick to the plan, okay? We need to blend in. Not make a scene.”

Peter, undeterred, shot you a mock pout. “Come on, don’t be such a square. We’re undercover, babe! Gotta add some spice. A little flirt-fest between us could totally sell this whole gig, don’tcha think?”

You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the edges of your lips. “Flirting isn’t part of the mission briefing. We’re supposed to act like a couple, not a couple of airheads having fun.”

He winked, leaning in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Relax, babe. It’s called method acting. Just roll with it. I mean, you’re lucky you get to hang with a guy as rad as me.” He leaned back, his grin widening. “Besides, a little hand-holding never killed anyone.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Hand-holding, huh? What’s next, kisses? I think you’re getting a little carried away, Maximoff.”

Peter shot you a playful smirk, waggling his eyebrows. “Who, me? Carried away? Pfft, nah. But hey, we gotta make it look real, right? And if that means we gotta smooch to sell the story, well… I’m just sayin’ im a pretty bitchin' kisser.” He slid his hand into yours, his fingers lacing through yours with ease. The sudden warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity up your arm, and despite your earlier words, you felt your pulse quicken.

You gave him a stern look, though the playful heat between you was undeniable. “Let’s just focus. We’ve got a job to do.”

Peter shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Sure thing, boss. But if this turns into a John Hughes flick, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He flashed you a grin, squeezing your hand gently before turning his attention to the room.

As the night stretched on, you and Peter navigated the bar seamlessly, weaving in and out of conversations and making casual small talk with patrons. Peter’s natural charm was disarming, and he wielded it with practiced ease, drawing people in with laughter and lighthearted banter. Meanwhile, you played the part of the attentive partner, throwing in affectionate glances and the occasional touch, all while keeping your senses sharp for any signs of your true objective.

“We’re looking for a dude named Erik,” you reminded him softly, leaning in to speak over the music. “Supposedly, he’s around here somewhere.”

Peter quirked a brow, tapping his chin theatrically. “Erik, huh? Sounds like a dude straight out of an action flick. Got it. Objective one: No making out with the fake boyfriend while looking for the bad guy. Objective two: Don’t get totally wrecked by said bad guy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a grin. “Very funny. Let’s just stay focused.”

Peter’s energy never wavered, and he flitted effortlessly from group to group, flashing his trademark grin and making fast friends with everyone from the bartender to the bouncer. He threw himself into the role with abandon, though the playful tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface, always threatening to boil over.

“Man, this place is so bogus,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you.”

Peter gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Bogus? Babe, this place is a gold mine club! The tunes are totally righteous, the vibe is chill, and the drinks? On Charles! What more could you ask for?”

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible? Nah. Impossibly cool, maybe. Besides, you get to hang out with me. That’s primo, babe.”

As the banter continued, the underlying tension between you both crackled with intensity. Every glance, every brush of his hand against yours felt charged, like a live wire running beneath the surface of your mission.

After what felt like hours of mingling, you caught Peter’s eye and gave a subtle nod. It was time to move. Together, you made your way toward the back of the bar, slipping into a quieter, dimly lit corridor that led toward the restrooms. The pounding music faded into the background, leaving the space eerily quiet compared to the chaos just beyond.

“Erik's gotta be lurking back here somewhere.” you whispered, scanning the hallway.

Peter’s hand slipped from yours as he gestured down the hallway with a flick of his head. “I’ll take the right, you grab the left. Keep it cool, babe, don’t want things to go totally off the rails.”

Before you could argue, he was gone in a flash, disappearing down the right side of the corridor. You swallowed your nerves, adjusted your stance, and headed in the opposite direction.

The hall was dark, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and something faintly metallic. As you approached the restroom, the sound of running water and the occasional clatter of something metallic filled the otherwise quiet space.

Peter reappeared seconds later, his grin as confident as ever. “Miss me?”

“Not really.” you replied with a smile, trying to match his nonchalance. “Find anything?”

“Nada,” he said with a dramatic sigh, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “But something tells me things are about to get, like, totally heated.”

The air between you shifted as Peter stepped closer, his presence magnetic. The playful banter faded, replaced by an intense silence that buzzed with unspoken anticipation. Your breath caught as the space between you narrowed, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

There was a shift in the air between you, the playful banter fading into something deeper, more palpable. Peter stepped closer, his presence magnetic, drawing you in without either of you uttering a word. The intensity in his gaze caught you off guard, and before you realized what was happening, the space between you vanished.

Your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss, but the restraint didn’t last. In a matter of moments, the kiss deepened, the passion between you igniting with a sudden and unrelenting force. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until every part of you was pressed against him. The world outside—the mission, the bar, everything—faded into a distant blur. All that existed was the heat of his touch, the fervor in his kiss, and the overwhelming sense that this moment had been inevitable from the start.

As the kiss intensified, you lost yourself in the feel of him. The warmth of his skin beneath your fingers, the way his breath hitched every time your lips brushed against his. His mouth moved with a hunger that matched your own, a silent agreement that this was more than just a cover for the mission.

your bodies moved in perfect unison, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Peter's hands traced down your back, sending shivers down your spine, and you felt his erection press against your tummy as he pushed you against the wall.

You slowly pulled away from the kiss, your lips tingling from the intensity of it, but your body remained firmly pressed against Peter's. Your breasts flush against his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt. The proximity between you was almost unbearable, each breath you took mixing with his, creating a charged intimacy that crackled in the small space between you. Your heart pounded in sync with his, the intensity of the moment thick and electrifying.

Your gaze locked onto his, unwavering and filled with an unspoken need. There was no hesitation in your voice as you whispered, your words heavy with desire. "Right here, Peter. Take me right here. Right now." The intensity in your eyes echoed the urgency in your voice, a plea that left no room for doubt, only raw, immediate passion.

all of a sudden you realize Peter has moved you both to a small restroom in the bar.

The bathroom was tiny, the walls painted a dark, almost black shade that made the light seem to flicker. Peter leaned you against the cool porcelain sink, his hands roaming up your body, leaving trails of heat in the tension. Your skin prickled with excitement, and you could feel the fabric of your dress straining against your curves. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You gasped, your hand reaching up to tangle in his silver locks. His touch was firm, yet gentle, as if he knew exactly how to coax the responses he wanted from you.

The kiss grew more passionate, your tongues dancing together as the music from the bar pounded in the background. It was a rhythm that matched the beating of your hearts, a tempo that spurred them on. Peter's hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. You arched into him, eager for more. He groaned, the sound vibrating through your chest.

With a swift move, Peter lifted you onto the sink, your bodies aligned in a way that made it clear what was about to happen. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his muscles tense as he held you there. His eyes searched yours for extra reassurance, and you nodded, your eyes filled with a hunger that mirrored his. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that spoke of need and desire. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you closer. You feel peter lift up your dress and push aside your panties while also unzipping his jeans and pulling out his hard length. You could feel the head of his erection at your entrance.

The world outside the stall faded away as Peter pushed into you, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your nails digging half moon shapes into his shoulders as he began to thrust into your begging hole. His strokes were deep and deliberate, and you met him with every thrust, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. The coolness of the sink was a stark contrast to the heat between them, and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth, the sound muffled by your kisses. Peter's hands roamed your body, exploring every inch. You could feel his fingers tightening, his movements becoming more urgent.

Your breathing grew ragged, and you knew he was close to the edge. The music grew louder, the bass line pounding in time with your hearts. Peter's hand slipped between your thighs, down to your clit. You bit back a cry as he began to rub it in gentle circles. The sensation was too much, and you felt yourself falling apart in his arms, the orgasm ripping through you like lightning. He groaned, his hips bucking against you, and you felt him cum with you. His body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, You stayed like that, panting and clinging to each other, the only sound in the stall the muffled throb of the music outside. Then Peter leaned in, kissing your forehead gently, his eyes filled with a softness you hadn't seen before.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Peter leaned his forehead against yours, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, no kidding. But we should probably…”

“Get back to the mission?” Peter finished, his voice low and teasing. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips “Yeah, yeah. Mission first. But don’t think I’m done with you yet, babe.”

The thrill of the moment lingered between you as you got yourselves dressed. The mission still hanging in the air—but now, something much more electric simmered beneath the surface.

okay my shit 80s vocabulary needs to never be written again I APOLOGIZE IF ITS CORNY

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[jazzraft]

NYX ULRIC FOR MOST FUCKABLE CAMPAIGN: Day 3

Woe, I be upon ye, with a lovingly crafted, academically cited argument as to why Nyx Ulric is more fuckable than Biggs FF7 for the @most-fuckable-ff-man poll. (Listen, Sephiroth is just going to win the trophy in the end because Final Fantasy fans are basic, can we at least knock out the rest of FF7 and give the other games a chance?) I have provided compelling evidence for most cases, please do your due diligence as a free thinking tumblrina and click through the links. It is my firm stance that, if presented in his full context, you will find that Nyx Ulric is indeed more fuckable than the opposing candidate.

VOTE NYX!

leather pants need I say more?

chest scars don't you just want to trace them... with tongue?

TATTOOS that mean something, don't you want to crack him open during pillow talk and find out what?

dom energy if you don't see it you ain't old enough to vote sorry

SCRUFF (see above)

smolder

bitchin jacket

supermodel strut

love a man in uniform

immigrant spirit

loyal to a fault

feminist

pansexual (I know more than you)

literally on fire and looks good doing it

heroic jawline, bastard smirk

culturally significant braids (a man with no culture is not fuckable sorry biggs you have no roots)

stays dead like a real man and doesn't need daddy square enix to deus ex machina his ass for franchising purposes like a capitalist COWARD biggs

MODELED AFTER A GAY FRENCH PORN STAR FR

fights imperialist bastards and looks good doing it

spits in the face of god

told a 100 crusty old ghost monarchs to go fuck themselves and they rewarded him for it

voiced by that breaking bad guy you're all obsessed with

his weapon of choice is these bad boys. takes a real fuckable guy to look your enemy in the eyes as he bleeds out beneath you

stared down the threat of tentacle porn and did not even flinch. fuckable - the freaky kind

i'm sorry, did biggs take on one of the most fearsome bosses in final fantasy single handedly and WIN? did he take down more than one?? no I don't think so, you'd need to be a main character to do that /shot

this is what he looks like when wet.

Fellow simps, if you're out there, feel free to add and reblog so the masses know what they're missing. I will not be taking questions from the press at this time. Please vote responsibly.

[patricks-hockstetters-lighter]

"SAY IT AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YA. PUNK!"

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· MEET THE QUEEN OF KICKIN ASS ~Bethany "big boots" Huggins~ Bad attitudes, Cigarettes, Leather, Bitchin good music

Bethany Huggins is Belch Huggins little sister nicknamed "Big Boots" by Henry because of her big boots. Shes well known around town as the girl who'll curse you out over anything. although belch doesnt want her to get in trouble for her bad attitude henrys very proud (hes taught her well) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩Bethany's hair you ask? well sit down cause it should have its own history book. One week its bleach blonde the next its box dye black, then its dirty blonde. but no matter the colour….. its gonna be big! Shes inspired by all her hair metal idols. ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Bethany's music taste is heavily inspired from belch, she loves metal and heavy music. but her favourite? Glam metal, she can go on and on about Motley Crue and Poison.

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆People around town give her odd looks, some say its her fashion some say its the rumours greta spread about her. like the time she spread a rumour that Bethany made out with Patrick "THE Perv" Hockstetter for 5 bucks. lets just say greta received some… presents from Pat in her locker that week. although there were some drunken words at a party from pat that it was in fact not 5 bucks but 25.

☆。。☆。。 。☆Bethanys style is her whole personality. leather and denim mini skirts that she knows she can wear around because if anyone tries something her big brother will pummel them. these skirts are paired with band crop tops and leather jackets. she buys a new pair a fishnets every week cause a certain black haired boy likes to snap them on the way to school in belchs car.

.¸¸.♡.¸¸.☆¸.♡.¸¸.☆.¸¸.♡.¸shes constantly covered in jewelry! brackets, necklaces, belts, belly chains, earrings, EVERYTHING. she loves silver shiny jewelry and gets Henry to steal for her. .·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩̥͙ ✩ ̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥̩̩͙‧͙ .she gets all her cigarettes from Victor cause Belch being a good big brother won't let her, won't stop her though.

@softfem-dom MOOTS TAG ME IN YOUR IT OCS AND ILL TELL YA OUR OCS RELATIONSHIP

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Epilogue (SinsDC)

Epilogue

Avengers x POC!Reader "Nyx"

POC!Reader "Nyx" x ?

Summary:

In the light of a new day, the past comes to darken your door.

Warnings:

18+ Only MDNI, Implied Smut

Notes:

I just couldn't help myself with this one. It's going to be fun see how this all pans out in the main fic. Happy Reading Heathens! 😈

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Banner by @cafekitsune

Wiping the fog from your bathroom mirror, you take a step back admiring the evidence from the prior night's arduous activities. A story written along your flesh of the relationships that have built over time. Relationships that have shifted from more than just lust and mutual respect to something more. Something you are not quite ready to think about or admit.

Throwing on your tiny black silk robe, you pull your hair up into a messy bun and head out into the hall. Making your way to the surveillance office where Jensen, your favorite muscly little tech nerd is reviewing all the footage from last night. Including all of your amorous activity.

“How do you want these packaged up Boss? This is delicate material. Wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

“Encrypt it and send it to my private server along with a physical copy of each delivered to my quarters. Then delete any trace of them. We can never be too careful.”

At that moment Wade struts through the office door. “Nyx! You’ll never guess who I have with me.”

An imposing figure steps into the room. Your eyes take in the dirty brown boots, tight blue jeans held up by a belt with a large buckle, and well worn white tank topped with a leather jacket. Stopping at a bearded face you know all too well.

“Hello Logan. Long time no see.” You greet the smirking man.

“Well didn't you fill out nicely, little one?”

“Want to give this body a test run? I think I might be able to finally best you old man. Even with those stabby stabby’s.” You tease.

“We talking hand to hand or something more?” He quirks a brow.

“Are you telling me your body is on the table as well Mr. Howlett? You can’t tease a blood thirsty girl like that. It’s downright cruel.”

“Still holding that torch for me pup?”

“The flame never extinguished. No matter how many times you tried to douse it by fucking all my friends. I had to hear about your stamina and prowess quite frequently. Only piqued my curiosity all the more that you wouldn’t let me take a ride. Especially knowing how well I could take those claws of yours.”

“You were too young, pup. Plus you were off limits. I wasn't going to cross Madam or Cliff. Those women should have been thanking you by the way.”

“And why is that?”

He steps forward so that your barely covered breasts graze his abdomen. Releasing a single adamantium claw as he runs it along your thigh, slightly lifting your short silk robe in the process.

“That bratty attitude you had at 18 accompanied with the skills you already acquired was quite the aphrodisiac. Left me pent up after every session. Needed somewhere to release that tension and Madam offered up her girls in return for my continued training with you.”

You fidget with the tie of your robe. Uncaring of the two men still in the room witnessing this rare moment of vulnerability. “You disappeared when they died. I was left to my own devices. The bloodlust got the better of me and for a minute there I was lost in the haze. I looked for you, ya know?”

“I know bub. Got real close a couple times too.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Let me make it up to you then? I’ll even let you get a free shot in.”

You quickly grab his wrist, claw gleaming in the office light, and stab him in his left thigh.

“SON OF A BITCH!” He roars out. “You vicious little wench. I wasn’t ready.”

You laugh in his face as he retracts his claw. “Quit your bitchin. You’re already healing. Plus you deserved it. Now.” You place your hands on this heaving chest. “Are you going to let me kiss it better?”

He wraps a hand around your throat. Teasing his thumb along your throbbing pulse point. “Just remember, curiosity killed the cat.”

“Well good thing this pussy can handle losing a few lives.” You grin up at him. “Jensen, I’ll be retiring to my private quarters. Make sure the sound proofing is set to high. I am not to be disturbed for the next 48 hours unless someone is bleeding or needs to be, understand?”

“Roger that. Need me to cut the video feed as well?” Jensen adds.

“No.” You look up at Logan. “You can keep it running. Link the live feed to Tony’s office as well. Hide it but make it obvious you're doing so.”

“You know Rogers is going to hate that. Take it as a challenge. He doesn't like to share outside of his team.” Logan pipes up.

“It’ll be a good reminder that I am not exclusively theirs when outside of the club then won’t it. Plus I like when the Captain is angry. The lack of control is delicious.”

“You devilish little minx. You’re going to make me regret ever leaving you behind aren't you?”

 “I promise you’re going to love every tortuous second of it.”

“You’ve got to let me watch.” Wade blurts out.

“You better hurry up and make it to the tower then, Wade. Be sure to send the team my regards.”

[fly-rye]

there's really nothing like real leather. it's so soft and comfortable and it's also BITCHIN

i look so fucking good in this black leather jacket rn just trust me

[xbittersweet-nostalgiax]

Ended up actually writing something about my farmer—a little ficlet, I suppose?

Also kudos to my dad for basically beta reading this and helping me with the poker stuff. (He's dyslexic and hates reading, so you know the man loves me lol)

FRIDAY POKER NIGHT

Only a few people in the saloon looked up as Roxanne entered, the sight of their new farmer familiar enough now that it was fall.

She stomped her boots a few times on the welcome mat, knocking off some of the dirt from the mines.

Roxanne could smell the warm cinnamon and allspice of the chef's special, pumpkin pie. She could see where Marnie already had a serving of it as Lewis wined & dined the rancher.

The farmer waved at Gus as she headed over to the table where Willy and Clint were already a couple of drinks deep and just in the beginnings of a poker game. Her bag thunked heavily as she set it down by her chair, full of resources and monster loot.

"Yer late, lass." Willy eyed the extra wild state of her hair and tired expression.

Roxanne groaned as she plopped down into the seat, tugging off her gloves, "Yeah, yeah, shut up and deal me in next round. What're we playing, what's the ante?"

Willy took a puff of his pipe, "We're playin' Five Card Stud, ante is twenty-five gold. "

Roxanne gave an affirmative hum as she took out a pack of clove cigarettes and lit one, waiting for the current round to finish.

She watched Robin and Demetrius dance for a bit, taking drags of her cigarette and letting the sweet smoke settle her.

Clint won the hand, then Willy relit his pipe before he shuffled the deck and dealt out.

Roxanne took the cards and added her coins to the middle of the table.

"I found a big vein of iron and I couldn't stand to leave it. Had a horde of blue slimes hanging around it, though." She explained, looking at her cards as Clint started the betting round. She had a decent hand, so she tossed a few more coins into the pile, "I raise five. One of these days Marlon'll sell me a sword that's worth a damn. This claymore just ain't cuttin' it anymore."

She tapped her boot against the two handed sword strapped to her bag.

Willy gave a reproachful sigh and added to the pot, "Aye, well, ye hafta show ol' Marlon ye can handle it. I'll raise five meself."

Roxanne waved him off and knocked her ash into the ashtray on the table, "Yeah, I know, I know. I'm just bitchin' to be bitchin',  I guess."

They were interrupted by a ruckus from the pool hall, Sebastian and Sam's voices raised as they disputed the game. She heard Abigail say something and then the trio emerged from the game room, still bickering even as they left for the night.

Roxanne huffed a laugh and took another pull, blowing out smoke as she mumbled, "Seems like the kids are havin' fun..."

"Clint?" Willy's voice drew her back to the game as he tried to get the blacksmith's attention, "Lad?"

Roxanne looked away from her hand to see Clint's attention being drawn over to the bar, following the busy swish of a red dress.

The farmer snorted and rolled her eyes, "Clint, quit gawkin' at Emily and focus on your cards, man. Bet's been raised, call it or fold."

Clint flinched, caught out, his face flushing as he stuttered, "Wh-what? I wasn't—"

"Yeah," Roxanne interrupted, drawing out the word while grinning roguishly, "Sure you weren't."

"Oh yeah, before I forget." She put her clove cigarette in her mouth, talking around it as she reached inside her brown leather jacket. She pulled a small velvet bag out of the inner pocket. It used to house a bottle of expensive whiskey, but now it held the treasures she found while spelunking.

She placed a jade on the pub table and slid it across to the blacksmith, "Here. Picked that up while I was down there, you like this sorta thing, right?"

Clint brightened as he took the gemstone, embarrassment momentarily forgotten, "Yes! This is exactly what I've been looking for!"

Roxanne nodded once and then turned to their fisherman friend, offering him a diamond from her little treasure trove, "That one's for you, Willy."

"This is great!" Willy accepted the jewel, admiring it in the saloon's low lighting, "If only me ol' Pappy was around. He’d go nuts for this."

"Glad you like it." Roxanne laughed before taking one last drag and stubbing the leftover clove cigarette out in the tray.

"Hi, Roxanne! Don't overwork yourself or you might end up in Harvey's clinic!" Emily had managed to sneak up on their table, meaning that Clint was now very focused on his cards, practically hiding behind them.

"Ain't nothing I can't handle." Roxanne assured Emily as she fished an aquamarine out of the bag for her, "Here, spoils of my adventuring."

"Thank you! I'm gonna put this under my pillow, and hopefully I'll dream about the ocean." Emily cooed over the round gem,  slipping the trinket into her dress pocket before addressing the table, "Another round, three this time?"

Willy smiled and nodded at the barmaid, "Aye, the night is young."

"I'll pay for this one." Roxanne interjected, waving away both men's protests, "I got a good haul today, fellas, let me get it."

"Three drinks, coming right up!" Emily chirped as she returned to the bar.

Clint finally resurfaced from his cards, expression gloomy, "I'm doomed..."

Roxanne snorted at his dramatics, "Would you calm down, man? You're making a big deal outta nothing."

"You talk to her like it's nothing!" Clint retorted, voice hushed, "How am I supposed to compete with that?"

Roxanne shrugged, tucking the velvet bag back into her jacket and leaning back in her chair, "Oh I dunno, man, how about actually talking to the woman? Ain't like she's gonna bite your head off."

"Every time I talk to her I just end up embarrassing myself!" Clint huffed, before he deflated, "All I want to do is impress her..."

Roxanne's playful expression turned serious and she sighed as she leaned back into the table.

"Dude, you've put her on this pedestal." She said, arching a brow, "Little hard to talk to someone when you're on the ground and you've placed them up so high."

"She is higher than me." Clint insisted, murmuring reverently, "She's a goddess."

"Sweet Yoba, Clint, she's a person." Roxanne snorted back an incredulous laugh. Her eyes wandered over to where Emily was fussing with the beer taps, "I guess I kinda get it though, she is a pretty cool person."

Clint gave a dreamy sigh, "Yeah..."

"Alright youngin's, enough moonin', let's get back to playin'." Willy cut in, all fond exasperation as he gestured to their game.

Clint had the presence of mind to look sheepishly chagrined, "Right, sorry..."

Roxanne just smirked, unashamed, "You still haven't called the last bet, Clint."

[cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien]

Korvo’s New Main Look and Main Outfit For My Solar Opposites AUs

Figure it’s time for Korvo to get a new style for Solar Opposites aus, especially for Mighty Solars and Solar Opposites: Unleashed. So, here is the decoration and details for his new outfit designs.

Korvo’s New Look and Glasses (both Shlorpian and human)

His robe has become a long suit jacket, but still has his robe crystal on it that looks like the one David Dramain wears:

His Shlorp boots became long lady sandals, with green diamonds on each of them on the front like his old boots

He wears a gray shirt that says Bitchin’ underneath:

He still wears black leather pants, but with a belt on it.

In his human form, he pulls his hair back and wears a black men’s hair tie with a diamond on it

In his human form, he wears blue shimmering lipstick, saying that it helps fit his feminine side.

In both his Shlorpian and human form, Korvo now wears contact glasses like Hank from King of The Hill ever since he lost his eyesight due to a powerful blast when he first became Qausarblast

This fellow mission leader now feels like all stylish and has never felt better than ever since he starts getting to living on Earth with his now husband Terry, their kids Yumyulack, Jesse, Sonya and Pupa, his nanny and fellow friend Phoebe and the rest of their human friends and frenemies.

[221btardisimpalawithloki]

I posted 1,849 times in 2022

569 posts created (31%)

1,280 posts reblogged (69%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@221btardisimpalawithloki

@stepmommycrowley

@clarafordahwin

@nobodydean

@crotchapple

I tagged 1,149 of my posts in 2022

Only 38% of my posts had no tags

#rb - 499 posts

#op - 234 posts

#vid - 27 posts

#dean - 18 posts

#lb - 14 posts

#sam - 12 posts

#tmgnatural - 8 posts

#fic rec - 8 posts

#prev - 8 posts

#cas - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#also gabriel shoulda done more psychological warfare ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so like idk he traps dean in therapy in s13 as revenge for yelling at him

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

anyway the thesis is that sam is queer but all his boyfriends leave him for dean so it's just more convenient to date women

46 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

#4

stop LAUGHING guise. misha is being SILENCED by the cw PROOF under the cut

74 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#3

See the full post

115 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

#2

👱🏻‍♀️ is-the-mary-video-cute Follow

NO!

If you see a Mary video where her hair is deflated, her nose is undersized, and her style is modern, that is a sign of distress and neglect. You can ensure your Mary is happy and healthy by providing her with hairspray, loud florals, a brown leather jacket and a bitchin' classic car. Hope this helps any Mary hobbyists out there!

247 notes - Posted October 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

24,673 notes - Posted March 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[starrystar]

Transcription: 

39

Green and kind of mossy background

It would be a month before they could fit me in.

MD: It’s probably benign. Try not to worry about it.

SB: I’m not…you know what, no. I’m just gonna go ahead and worry about this one.

But at least insurance had approved everything and I was ready to start chemo.

SB: Meh, what’s another cancer on the pile more or less?

Since my hair was gonna fall out anyway, I got my stylist to give me a mohawk.

SB: Heh heh heh. I always wanted one of these and never had the nerve.

SB: Bitchin’

40

Red and black alcohol ink background

I was smug as hell about the mohawk

Textbox: I told my dad—70, career navy, never had hair that touched his collar—that I was getting one before it all fell out on its own. He fumbled his be supportive roll in the face of this, but my stepmom swooped in with the save.

Dad: But a mohawk…really?

Stepmom’s speech bubble over top of dad’s: Ooh! What color?

SB: Oh, just red and black. I don’t want to be ostentatious.

Textbox: This actually made it better. If you don’t freak out at least one parent, is it really punk? My stylist rose to the occasion, though we have to take off a couple inches before I could fit in the car. I still drove home hunched over the wheel like Quasimodo at a Dead Kennedys show.

Photo insert in the style of a Polaroid snapshot: a headshot of Ursula in nature, wearing a black leather jacket with studs on the shoulder. Her hair is a truly impressive mohawk that is bright red at the front and goes to maroon along the back. The mohawk is as tall as her whole face. Her expression is what you’d see when you look up “smug” in the dictionary.

Note: My stylist is a treasure and I told her I’d see her next year.

41

Purple and black background

I had a power port installed just under my collarbone

Speech bubble: Tell them you want USB-C!

SB: Oh, aren’t we clever…

Textbox: For some reason, the port really scared me. I think it was because my previous experience with internal hardware was with IUDs, which felt like a mule was kicking me in the cervix with spiked shoes. And everything online said there might be “some discomfort” for a few days, which is medical speak for “this is gonna hurt like a stone bitch.”

Also they were really paranoid about infection.

RN: If it gets red or swollen or hot, do not try to sleep it off. It will not get better.

42

Blue alcohol inks like dark water background

RN: This tube is running directly into your lower jugular. If it gets infected, that goes straight into the heart. Don’t pick at it.

SB: Yes’m.

Suddenly the tech’s story about bacteria strings whipping around like snakes seemed very personal.

Textbox: I confessed that I was afraid of the pain because of the IUD and the nurse told me that the state of reproductive pain care was barbaric and not to get her started. She promised the surgery wouldn’t hurt at all. She was telling the truth.

RN: Meet Mer. Fentanyl!

SB: Hello, Mr. Fen…hhhh…zzz

43

Yellow and orange spotty background

I came to with an inch-long incision on my chest and a vague memory of telling the nurses interesting animal facts.

RN: It was like National Geographic!

MR: Did she tell you about hyena genitals?

RN: She sure did!

There was indeed some discomfort then it just ached like hell

SB: I’m gonna find the guy who writes “some discomfort” and cause him some discomfort. With a baseball bat.

Note: The port is both A) a miracle of moder technology that is sparing my veins from untold horrors and B) more soreness and ache and trouble than anything else so far.

44

Bright, almost Pepto Bismol pink spotty background

Chemo class with the pharmacist went well

Rx: You’ll need to use a barrier method during intercourse for the first two days

Speech bubble overlapping previous: Tell me what will happen! Rash, radiation burn, death, what?!

Rx: Uh… We don’t know? There haven’t been any clinical studies.

SB: Ok, so if I write sex with a chemo patient into a book as an ingenious murder weapon—

Rx: Please don’t.

Something something “so outside the realm of possibility” something.

Note: This pharmacist was incredibly fabulous, in all senses of the word. We later bonded over a mutual love of Primus.

45

Full red watery background

And then it was time to face…the Red Devil

Insert ominous music here

Textbox: Actually, I sat in a recliner for about four hours, playing on my Switch and having to pee every twenty minutes. Finally they brought out two bigass syringes full of what looked like red Kool Aid, and injected them into the IV drip.

RN: Chew ice while we do this, it cuts down on mouth sores.

SB: Crunch crunch crunch

Ten minutes later

SB: Wow that urine sure is pink!

Textbox: Really, that was it. I was so pumped full of anti-nausea meds and steroids that I felt fine. This type of chemo didn’t even cause neuropathy so I didn’t need cold gloves or anything. I ate a Whopper on the way home.

Note: I have never been on steroids before and they are scarily amazing.

46

Light bluish gray watery background

I had so many nausea pills that I half-expected to be vomiting like a toddler on Space Mountain.

SB: Ok, I take this one twice a day on days 1, 2, and 3, this one once a day on days 2, 3 and 4, then as needed, this one as needed every six hours, this one as needed every eight hours…

Textbox: But I didn’t actually feel that bad. Don’t get me wrong—

I felt like ass on a stick for a few days

Textbox: But it was just like having the flu or something. I was tired and a little queasy and more vague than usual.

47

Purple and light yellow splotchy background, like early dawn

Textbox: It wasn’t like some special new level of sick. It wasn’t nearly as bad as food poisoning or that time I got swine flu.

I didn’t enjoy it but it wasn’t apocalyptic

SB: Eh, I’ve had worse.

Except for the constipation that was was apocalyptic

SB: Peristalsis, why as thou forsaken me?

Textbox: Pro Tip: If things are badly blocked up, taking laxatives only increases the pressure. It does not unblock things. But once they do unblock, you will have an experience.

Note: There is a moment in the dark hours of pre-dawn when you are alone in the bathroom with a nitrile glove, whatever lube you have on hand, and your God. This was not the fun version of that moment.

48

Yellow and orange spotty background like a vibrant sunrise

The second week I felt normal. My grandmother had chemo thirty years ago and it was horrific. It almost field weird that this wasn’t.

I took a lot of naps. My sense of taste went a little haywire. Cheesy powder flavor simply ceased to exist. Nacho Doritos tasted as if they were dipped in flour.

Cousin: Noo! We’re white people! Cheese is all we have!

SB: Right? Right?!

Note: At the time of this writing, I am 3/4ths of the way through the Red Devil (I start Taxol next) and aged white cheddar is the only cheese that I can taste. I have borne up well, but if that is taken from me, I may lose the will to go on.

The Saga Of Bob, Part 5: Chemo Time

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

In which our heroine finally gets an infusion of the finest toxic cocktails modern medicine can provide.

My stylist is a treasure and I told her I’d see her next year.

The port is both A) a miracle of modern technology that is sparing my veins from untold horrors and B) more soreness and ache and trouble than anything else so far.

This pharmacist was incredibly fabulous, in all senses of the word. We later bonded over a mutual love of Primus.

I have never been on steroids before and they are scarily amazing.

There is a moment in the dark hours of pre-dawn when you are alone in the bathroom with a nitrile glove, whatever lube you have on hand, and your God. This was not the fun version of that moment.

At the time of this writing, I am 3/4ths of the way through the Red Devil (I start Taxol next) and aged white cheddar is the only cheese that I can taste. I have borne up well, but if that is taken from me, I may lose the will to go on.

Thank you again to people who have transcribed the earlier Saga of Bob—you are heroes!

[a-love-poet-at-heart]

Oh man i almost have 60 different pins and buttons on my leather jacket

Gotta say the Daddy Dafoe one is still probably my fav. That or the bitchin doc ock one from etsy with chains connecting the tentacle heads pins to pin of his body

[kakashihasibs]

I secreatly think you’re one of the coolest people who has some of the best takes

And i always giggle when you talk about poor Kakashi and his IBS (as a fellow IBS sufferer, i love it)

Idk if I'm the coolest 🤔 but i do have a bitchin leather jacket so 😎

IBS just fits kakashi so well. He's so stressed and up tight all the time. His butthole definitely does not work 😤

[bloody-demi-boy]

Okay but here me out - yandere mad king

You have no idea how much I wanna write about this omg

The only thing is like, with the whole Ryan thing happening, a lot of people see his characters (especially Mad King and Vagabond) still being him and don’t want anyone to use those characters ever again because of what he did

Which I do understand, but they’re characters with so much backstory and content and personality and they’re so interesting to work with.  But I’d probably get like, a massive amount of hate for playing with these characters

It’d be one thing if it was Port or Erid’s dads, but for characters literally based on Ryan himself, I don’t think I’d be able to do anything with them here without backlash

[the-punforgiven]

Bitchin

So this lady (I do not know her name, this is purely like, a cold read)

I really like this armor and how grounded it feels relative to other equipment I've seen from this series lol

More details below

I really like the armor of the legs and how it ends at the poleyns (knees), giving way to boots. I like that especially because among armored fighters historically those who weren't fighting on horseback would quite often forgo the typical greaves and sabatons we associate with fully armored knights, since there's not a lot of instances in battle where anyone is aiming below the knee tbh

(The only one I can think of off the dome that does is a halberd technique where you hook the head of it on your opponent's ankle and yank it to trip 'em up, but tbh I don't think armor would really help you against that lol)

Still, the lack of greaves and sabatons implies to me that our mystery fighter is accustomed to fighting on foot rather than mounted, and the general lighter vibe of the whole set kinda locks in for me that she's most likely someone who travels a fair amount, and has modified her armour to reduce as much weight as she can

There's an interesting addition of leather vambraces overtop the metal gauntlets, further tying into the general Vibe above, I don't really have anything to say other than that I think the mixing of materials is pretty nifty, I think

The chainmaille on her arms kind of perplexed me a little bit, since most plate armors that encorporated chain would use it to cover the armpits and other joints, since it's notoriously hard to armor those with anything else. Using the maille to cover only the outside of her arms feels odd since she's already got the plates for that, but I guess when you're fighting giant dinosaurs and shit it makes a little more sense since I don't imagine them really going for the weak points in someone's armor. Maybe the layers help more for that? Idk

The armor on her torso feels very lacking, and appears to be literally just an arming jacket. I personally wouldn't want to go into battle with just that since all my favourite organs are in my general torso area and I'd want to keep them protected, but I suppose alongside tying into that "Lighter armor for travel" vibe mentioned earlier that it also speaks to the confidence this person has in their abilities? Or maybe they just can't afford a breastplate who knows lol

The placement of her gorget confused me somewhat initially, in a "Girl why are you wearing your gorget under your arming jacket" kinda way. I was especially confused as to how the pauldrons were attached since in a lotta armor they often they attach to the gorget, and that made me wonder like, did she cut a hole in the jacket to feed a buckle through? But upon looking a little closer her pauldrons have laces on them, implying they're tied to the jacket, not necessarily the gorget. Definitely a really cool detail I think!

... Though it does kinda look a little off, since the pauldrons stick out so far it kinda makes me wonder how long those laces are or if the shoulders of the jacket are extra padded to compensate. That said, I think the extra broad shoulder armor does a fantastic job in the character design sense for contributing to a powerful sort of "strong looking" silhouette so I can't really complain

Still though, like come on with the gorget. I get wanting to have that stylish popped collar look, but like, idk I imagine you could try to feed the collar through the neck hole and get the same effect? Idk though

Always love when armor designs incorporate little bags and pouches on the hips, lovely touch there, no notes

Not super sure what the thigh straps are supposed to be doing exactly, but out of respect for Namari Dungeonmeshi I won't rag on them lol

I like the extra little flashes of flair on the pauldrons, with the little rivets, the fluting, and the little extra details are really nice, flowing quite smoothly into the embossed leather detailing on her jacket. It's a nice touch!

To be honest I think the cuisees (thigh armor) and poleyns are my favourite part of this armor design, idk why I just like the shapes lol but if I had to nitpick I think they could probably go up a little further, but it's far from a deal breaker for me tbh

I do think alongside some chest protection she could do with like, a chain skirt or some tassets or something to protect the general sorta groin/upper thigh area, but I also get that's not the vibe the character designers are going for so I can let it slide lol

Overall I think it's a really solid design! She definitely carries the vibe of someone who travels around fighting monsters for glory and/or pay, and is damn confident in her ability to do her job (or is poor)

And well it's pretty far from what I personally would wear if I were a traveling monster slayer, I think it's a pretty cool costume design and I like it! Strikes a good balance between fantasy and practicality for me 👍

There's also a weird sorta prince charming vibe in there too, with the dashing hair, confident posing, and immaculately polished steel (well, with the steel that's there at least lol)

The only other thought that comes to mind is that she also doesn't seem to have a backpack or a lot of room for provisions, which suggests to me she either has a mount of some sort to carry the rest of her stuff, or she's working for some sort of organization with an outpost that can provision her relatively close by. Possibly both?

Idk shit about monster hunter but I saw one of the new characters on my dash and I want to talk about her armour am I allowed or nah

[tonystarkisafruit]

YAKNOW HOW everyone has their own thoughts and opinions about you and you'll never know what they are unless they tell u

WELL one undergrad semester I had a 7 am math class everyday of week and I have chronic can't wake up disease so I was late just about every single day.

And i hated myself for it. I thought everyone must think I'm a huge asshole, that I'm a terrible student, I'm selfish and interrupting class. I was so sure everyone hated my guts

BUT the last fucking day of class someone i was chatting with was like 'whoa ur a normal person' and i was like 'say more right now' And i guess bc i walked in everyday late with coffee (from home not starbucks tbc) and my sunglasses still on that they thought i was like the coolest kid on the block. They thought i was the hottest shit since sliced bread. That i was just like the poster child for so cool i am actually better than u.

There were days that i skipped that class bc i couldn't bring myself to walk in late 🙃