#gimme all the historicals please

[simply-ivanka]

Why Do the Young Vote Left?

Socialist teachers lead them to think of government as a free-money tree.

It’s the gifts. The progressive vibe is that big government will take care of you. It knows what’s best for you. It will redistribute money how it pleases. You need to put a smile on your face while it takes away your laurels, guns and money. “We believe in the collective,” Ms. Harris declared, much like Hillary Clinton’s “it takes a village.” Equity in Schenectady. Handouts for all.

You want proof? Ms. Harris’s Senate voting record is leftward of socialist Bernie Sanders. Vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz fawns over China, saying “everyone is the same and everyone shares.” Viva la revolución and Che Guevara T-shirts for all.

This is antifreedom. Too many of today’s youth fall in line with progressives because they’re undereducated and overindoctrinated with someone else’s agenda. I watched in horror as local high-school biology classes spent weeks on the science of recycling centers and only a short afternoon on mitochondria and mitosis. Profit is a bad word. It’s gimme, gimme, whether it’s student loan forgiveness, free healthcare or tax credits.

Who’s to blame? Misguided capitalism-hating social-studies teachers to start, with Tim Walzian thinking: “One person’s socialism is another person’s neighborliness.” Who is he, Mr. Rogers? Add like-minded college professors. Work ethic and ambition are evaporating.

Worse, Pew Research notes almost a third of currently childless 18- to 34-year-olds aren’t sure if they ever want children. Why? The Harris campaign’s “climate engagement director,” Camila Thorndike, is among the hesitant, telling the Washington Post, “I want to protect them from suffering.” Perpetually pessimistic progressive prognostications induce fear. No wonder U.S. fertility rates are at historic lows.

OK, I know I’m asking for trouble. Every time I write about youth, I get a chorus of comments and tweets telling me I’m an old man screaming, “Hey you kids, get off my lawn.” Yeah, yeah. Very clever. I’m not that old. But in the Kamala collective—as California attempted—private “ornamental” lawns are out, and drought-resistant vegetation is in. Progressives literally want you off your own lawn.

My conversations with young folks who do exhibit some actual drive show their confusion: “I want to do a startup.” Great! To do what? “A sustainable something or other. To save the planet.” OK, is it productive? “What’s that?” Does it scale? “Huh?” Will it do more with less? “Not really, it needs lots of money to keep going and save more of the world.” Sounds like a nonprofit. (That usually invokes a smile.) Actually, wealth comes from delivering ever-cheaper stuff to millions of people, not handouts. “I don’t care about money.”

OK, I say, but progress and societal wealth happen when you delight customers and postpone consumption to reinvest profits into better products. The looks on their faces are as if I’m describing Chinese arithmetic.

Our youth aren’t lazy but lost. Progressives have strong opinions about society but no viable solution beyond handing out other people’s money—taken from the few who actually are productive, drive progress and generate wealth by fulfilling customer needs. It’s a downward spiral: When progressives tax—screaming “fair share!”—they cripple the productive few who actually create the real non-burger-flipping, get-out-of-your-parent’s-basement jobs.

To aggressive progressives, government is simply a magic money tree. Vote left and dollars appear. The gross incompetence of government—think billions for eight electric vehicle chargers—destroyed healthcare (thank you, ObamaCare) and education (assisted by Randi Weingarten’s teachers union) and is close to destroying energy (net zero), even while the Biden-Harris administration works hard to destroy Big Tech—one of the few productive industries. And I’ll never forgive progressive Hollywood for turning “Star Wars” into unwatchable wokey Wookiee drivel.

What industries will be left standing? Who cares, because the dreamy types think generative artificial intelligence will kill all jobs and government will provide universal basic income so they can Zyn, TikTok and play College Football 25 videogames all day. A naive youthful triumphalism.

This is a false endgame. There is so much more to be invented: drugs, immunotherapy, fusion, self-folding clothes, humanoid robotics, flying cars. Hard brain work plus quality recharging leisure time is the goal, not a nation of welfare queens.

I feel sorry for the youth that do care, do work hard, are productive and help push the boulder of progress up that steep slope, while essentially carrying all the others on their backs. It’s you against the collective, the village, which is always about being supported, pampered, living off someone else’s hard work and then complaining that the handouts aren’t big enough. So, yeah, get off my lawn, while lawns are still allowed.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 1

He finds her in a brothel of all places. A chance encounter, but one that will change his life – and hers – forever.

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 5.9k 🟪 READ ON AO3

🟪 Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Girl

Bourbon, rum, whiskey, anything that burns on his tongue, spilling liquid fire down his throat. It all blurs in the end. There's laughter, slurs, hands slapping backs, stumbling, murmurs, more laughter. That post-heist-haze sinking into his bones. Everything whirls inside his head as he makes it up the stairs. “Gimme your best...newest,” he hears himself mumble.

Last door on the right. Somehow he makes it there, leans heavy on the door knob, twists it, almost falls as the door swings open. There he stiffens, blinks slowly, his motions so heavy, frozen in time, slow as molasses. The door closes behind him, he stares ahead, blinks again, eyelids almost stuck to his eyeballs.

And yet he sees her.

The room is dark, small, a large bathtub in one corner, a four-poster bed in the other. An old armchair next to a fireplace, the fire roaring within, the only light source. And in front of it, between the flames and the chair, kneels a girl, pale legs illuminated by the orange glow next to her, skin, so much skin, not everywhere though. Her slender torso is covered by a loose blouse, unbuttoned in the front, falling off one slim shoulder, held together by a tight corset that pushes up her small breasts, creating a cleavage that doesn't suit her. Thin arms in wide cotton, or satin, he can't be sure, it doesn't matter.

He's fixated on her bare legs. The blouse barely covers the hint of hair between her legs, peeking out despite her kneeling position, thighs pressed tightly together as she sits on the heels of her feet. Her hands rest folded on her lap, the chest is moving up and down, and his eyes wander again, to her face. Pale. Soft edges on the jaw, high cheekbones, a small straight nose, lips... full lips, pink and shiny, a tongue darting out and wetting the bottom one.

And those eyes. Big eyes, glowing in the dim light, greenish, blue maybe, like the deep sea at midnight, a wave illuminated by the moon. They look both surprised and eager, but the flutter of her nostrils tells him she is more surprised and shocked by his sudden entrance, by the unsteadiness of his large body.

She looks so young.

Something stirs within him, and not just the strain in his pants, but something more like a knot in his stomach. This is wrong. He stumbles further anyway, watching her closely. She flinches when he comes closer, but doesn't move. Somehow he makes it to the armchair, flops down in it with a heavy grunt, his belt tilting even more on his hips. He shifts his holster away. Her eyes follow him.

He stares at the girl in front of him, immobile, waiting, patient and yet anxious. What is she waiting for? Why isn't she moving? Why is she here? When she eventually moves, only slightly, a little shift on her knees to face him, he lets out a groan, and she stops, eyes wide.

“How old are you?” he slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth.

She tilts her head, long brown waves falling over her shoulder, some strands gathering in the cleft between her pushed-up breasts. “Old enough to please you, mister,” she replies, her voice feeble and quiet, but there's a fire behind those words, uttered in confidence as if she's done it before, many times.

“Age,” he grunts again, staring at her. She holds his gaze, jaw clenching slightly.

“Eighteen,” she says quietly, her chin tilted up a bit.

He narrows his eyes, he's noticed the twitch in her folded hands, the tension in her slim shoulders. “Really?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Why does it matter?” she then asks, a little louder, batting those long eyelashes. “You're here to have some fun, aren't you?”

“You're young,” he simply states. Not too young, maybe, but young... young enough to make him think despite his drunken state. This is wrong. She shouldn't be here. “How long have you been here?” Done this?

“All my life, mister,” she answers, and he frowns, deep creases on his forehead that hurt inside his temples. “I was born here.” The ache grows. His head thumps to the beat of his thundering heart, mirroring the throbbing behind stiff fabric.

He leans forwards then, causing her to flinch once more, as he rests his elbows on his thighs and stares at her, scrutinizing her, takes in her young face. Pretty, no, beautiful, in spite (or because) of the rounded edges of her face. She's slender, sharp collarbones visible in the wide opening of her blouse. Those soft mounds tease him, urge him to release them from their unnaturally squished state.

His hand twitches, itches to touch her, but something holds him back. She's young. And... weirdly familiar. His eyes narrow even further as he squints at her, her small frame dark in front of the crackling fire. She shifts under his intense gaze, body stiff, hands wringing in her lap.

“Sir?” she whispers, lips moving slightly, a sweet voice like honey falling from them. Lips... full, shiny, wet, and a sudden image presses into his hazy mind. Lips parted, closed around –

He clears his throat and leans back with a grunt, wiping at his face, the scrape of his beard against his calloused palm a rough noise in the quiet of the room. He sighs deeply, lowering his hand, resting it on his upper thigh as he watches the girl.

“You shouldn't be here,” he huffs out, wetting his dry lips.

“It's my job, mister,” she says, tilting her head to the other side.

He shakes his head. “This shouldn't be a job... not for a young girl like you...”

“I'm eighteen –”

“You're a child!” he grunts, louder, rougher than intended.

She flinches, inhaling sharply, lowering her big eyes. “Do you want somebody else?” she whispers quietly, almost disappointed.

Suddenly he is aware of the noises around them, bleeding through the walls from the other rooms. Moans and cries and squeaking wood and metal. They crawl over his spine like ants, making him shiver as he stares at the small figure in front of him. Why is he here?

She is still sitting on her knees, stiff and immobile, waiting. For what? Her eyes look up at him, chin tilted, the slender column of her neck visible between her silky hair, soft skin, untouched (really?), innocent. Why is she naked below the waist?

He waves a hand at her, his arm stiff, heavy, the alcohol making everything harder to do. “Shouldn't be here,” he growls, tongue twice its size in his mouth. Does he mean her? Or him? Or both? He doesn't know. His mind is fuzzy, spinning out of control. His cock strains against his tight jeans. But his heart is protesting.

“Sir?” she asks again, blinking slowly, dark lashes batting against pale skin.

He leans back into the chair, inhaling deeply, closing his eyes, relaxing. Big mistake. Suddenly there is a warm hand on his knee, a touch like a pistol shot. He jerks awake, stares down at the girl, who has shifted, kneeling between his spread legs now, the same position, just closer, frozen in time with her other hand hanging in mid-air, ready to touch his other knee.

“What are you doing?” he grunts.

“Giving you a good time,” she replies quietly, and a shy smile curves her full lips. Lips around – He groans, rubbing his face again, his tired eyes. “You paid for this, mister. You should get something for your money.”

He shakes his head, hands back on his thighs, staring down at her. She is closer in her new position, backlit by the fire behind her, features blurring. Both hands are on his knees now, warm and small, hesitant but eager. Her pushed-up breasts nearer, the cleft between them deeper. His hands itch.

“Do you like doing this?” he utters, the words spilling without being processed in his muddled brain.

There is a flinch, a wince, a visible reaction in her tense shoulders. She swallows, her throat moves, but the smile on her lips is there, the lie tangible. “Of course, sir,” she whispers. “Let me show you how much...”

She leans up then, lifting from her knees, her hands sliding up his thighs, almost brushing against his. Actress, he thinks. Nothing more. He can't imagine –

But then he does: full lips around a variety of different – He clenches one hand into a fist, presses it to his upper thigh, straining, ignoring the tension in his stomach. The image stays. Lips, a wide mouth, bulging cheeks, closed eyes, tears streaming down a pale face, slurping sounds, helpless gurgles, muffled gasps, rough hands in her hair as her head is pushed deeper onto –

A groan escapes him. “Fuck,” he growls, shaking his head. His eyes find hers, his breath heavy, his body on edge, the strain in his pants almost unbearable, and yet...

She is settled between his legs, shoulders pressed against his thighs, hands inching closer to his belt. “Don't,” he hisses, and his hands grab hers, making her gasp, her lips parting, eyes widening. His long fingers curl around her smaller ones, holding her, inches from the tent in his pants. She looks startled, then confused.

“But mister...” she whispers, letting him hold her hands, her wrists. His hands are large enough to wrap around it all. Lashes flutter, the tip of her tongue sliding over her upper lip. She trembles slightly.

And then he lets go, and his hands grab her face instead, careful, as careful as he can in his dazed state. She lets out a surprised yelp but stays perfectly still as he cups her cheeks with his big hands, his fingers slipping into her soft hair, his thumbs wiping at the corners of her mouth. She holds his gaze, holds her breath.

“You look like...” he starts, quiet, a low rumble in his chest as he stares at her, his mind spinning, new and old images whirling together.

Soft lips, wet, full, strained around –

Green eyes, sparkling in the sun, a smile, a laugh like honey on his scarred soul.

“Her,” he mumbles, tilting his head, leaning closer until his nose brushes against hers. She stiffens, but doesn't move, can't move with how he holds her face. She swallows slightly, lips trembling against his thumbs.

“Who, sir?” she breathes softly, warm and cautious against his dry lips. Her eyes are on his face, taking in every detail with how close he is. Scars, wrinkles, creases, his rough beard stretching along his jaw, up his cheeks, around his lips, fluttering slightly as he breathes through his nose.

“Keira,” he finally utters, the image clear in his dazed mind. The same woman. No, not the same, similar, and a woman, not a girl. The same hair, the same small nose, the same eyes. “You look like Keira.”

And that's why it feels wrong to use her like he wanted to when he first entered the room, to be here, in this house of moans and grunts and creaking wood and metal.

The girl stares at him, lips parted, face warming under his palms. There's recognition in her deep eyes, darkened by the fire glowing behind her, the only light source. “You... knew my mother?” she whispers, barely audible, shifting back onto her knees, bare legs folded beneath her, her hands straining against his thighs.

His heart sinks and swells at the same time. Mother. Her mother. She looks like her. Like Keira. But what is she doing here? I was born here, she has said. Bound to a life of... servitude. Pleasure for others. A slave, a body to use, for money. The moans and grunts of the other rooms flood his ears, louder than before as his mind clears up, as the shock settles in.

“No,” he says apprehensively, a low hum over his dry lips, and his hands tighten around her delicate face. The girl frowns, he notices his mistake. “I mean, yes, I knew her,” he utters quietly, staring at her, gently caressing the corners of her lips with his thumbs. “I didn't know... about you...”

She blinks slowly, watching him, curiosity in her big eyes. Her lips part, a flood of questions ready to spill over them, but he lets go of her face and leans back, shaking his head.

“What happened to her?” he asks, already afraid of the answer as he drives a big hand through his messy hair.

The small figure between his legs shrinks as she sits down further on her knees, her hands leaving his thighs, resting on her lap. She lowers her eyes, inhales sharply. “I don't know,” she whispers. “She... left me here.” There's a hint of resentment in her soft voice, and he can't blame her. Anger rises in his throat like bile.

“She did what?” he hisses, leaning closer again.

She flinches, looks up. “Madam Claire said she worked here, got pregnant from a customer, gave birth to me, and then left, ran away, without me...” Her voice breaks as she retells her story, and his gut clenches.

The tiny frame in front of him shrinks even more, falls into herself, and he can't stand it. He leans in, brings his hands under her arms and lifts her up, easy, as if she was a doll, her wavy hair bouncing slightly. She struggles in his grip, but then she's sitting sideways on his lap, her very bare bottom warm against the fabric of his jeans. She stiffens when he pulls his arms around her shoulders and her against his broad chest.

“I'm sorry,” he slurs, his tongue heavier than ever.

“What for?” she breathes against his collarbone, where the buttons of his black shirt are open, revealing weathered skin.

He sighs, his hand wide on her back as he holds her, his breath making strands of her hair fly before he presses his dry lips to her warm forehead. She lets out a strangled gasp, tenses in his embrace, her hands squished between his chest and her own. “If I'd known about you – I... wouldn't have left you to this – to endure this fate...” he mutters, his heart as heavy as his tongue.

“Why do you care?” she asks, her voice quiet but curious.

“I loved your mother once, many moons ago, twenty years it must be by now,” he says into her hair, his own voice a deep thrum in her ears. “She left me, one day, and I made the mistake of letting her go. Maybe I pushed her to end up here, maybe she wanted to work like this... she's always been a free spirit, couldn't stay long at one place. I guess... I learned that from her.”

He feels her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as she slowly relaxes on his lap, leaning against him, warm and tiny and frail. “What do you mean?”

“I travel a lot,” he says simply, sudden images of tents and horses and wagons filling his mind. But also of masks and guns and blood and shouts, and comically large bags filled with money, cowering people, screaming women, the rattle of a train, the silent squeak of metal doors, splintering wood. And pictures of him, drawn, some more flattering than others, and his name printed all over them. Dead or alive.

She tilts her chin up, big eyes looking at him, her lips parted slightly, long lashes grazing pale skin. He sees her better now, in the orange glow of the fire. She looks like Keira. But she's alone, left to her own devices, forced to work a profession she was born into, that she didn't choose. “What's your name, mister?”

He frowns at her innocent question, trying to forget the Wanted posters. “Ben,” he growls, a deep thrum in his throat. “And yours?”

“Nebbia,” she replies quietly, her eyes wandering over his face, her small body molded into him, warm on his lap, pointy bones digging into his thigh, pressing on his erection. Nebbia like Neigh-bee-ah, long e, more like ehh, short i, like an e, and the little ah at the end, like a soft moan. Rolls off her tongue like honey.

“Nebbia,” he repeats, her name rumbling out of him as he tries to figure out why Keira would name her daughter this. But then a smile crosses his lips. “Fog in Italian,” he whispers and watches how she nods, the same kind of smile curving her lips. He wonders if Keira has made it over the pond, finally seeing the country she always wanted to visit. But why did she leave her kid?

Free spirits can't have children pulling them down, grounding them to the earth, binding them to one place. The poor girl... If Keira knows what happened to her? What she has to do?

Full lips around –

He clears his throat, his big hands resting on her small waist. She still looks at him, somewhat hopeful, big eyes, there's innocence in them, but also something else. A shadow in her green irises. A stain.

“Why aren't you wearing any bottoms, Nebbia?” he asks quietly, his fingers teasing at the curve of her rear.

He sees her blushing, red spots dancing over her pale cheeks. She looks away, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I figured it'd be easier for you...”

“Easier for me?”

“I heard you were drunk, very drunk,” she whispers into his neck, her fingers fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. “And I thought –”

He stares at her. In his mind, he can see her lips straining around a variety of cocks, but he can't see her lying on her back with her legs wide open, taking any of those wretched members into her sweet little – “Have you ever...” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows. “Am I your first? Would I be your first?”

She licks her lips, then chews on them. A nod, short and jerky. Eyes dancing over his chest. The sigh that escapes his throat is both filled with anger and relief. She is young. Inexperienced, has never learned the reason why those women in the other rooms cry out in pleasure. She (her mouth) has only been used for the pleasure of others, and that fact only spurs his anger, makes the vein on his forehead pulse.

Why did they choose her to satisfy him? Gimme your best...newest, he hears himself mumble. Newest. Freshly eighteen, huh? Just come of age, open for business. (To think this filthy little brothel has actual rules and has given her time to develop is almost absurd.) He closes his eyes for a moment, relieved it was him who found her without bottoms.

Because he knows he will not soil her innocence.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he mutters as he closes his arms a little tighter around her, holding her safely on his lap.

“What?” she breathes, trying to look up despite his bear hug.

“I can give you a better life,” he says softly, tilting his head to meet her gaze.

“Why?” Despite her innocent tone, there's doubt in her voice. Disbelief. Why would anyone want to be nice to her?

He laughs darkly. “Because you deserve it?” One of his hands moves up, caresses her warm cheek. “Unless you actually want to keep sucking dicks.”

His lewd words make her flinch, her face flushed as she looks away, takes a sharp breath, her fingers clawing at his shirt. She shifts on his thigh, her body tense. “I... don't...” she mutters under her breath.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asks, pressing his thumb under her chin to make her look up. Her eyes are wet, glistening, her lips trembling.

“Can I?” she whispers, a tiny flicker of hope in the green pools that stare at him.

He smiles, a genuine smile that lights up his rough face, deepening the dimple on his cheek. “If you want to. I can get you out of here, no one will notice anything...” he tells her quietly, watching her closely.

There's turmoil behind her eyes, shivers running down her body, her throat moves when she swallows hard. “They'll be angry with me,” she breathes, blinking, looking away, her eyebrows furrowed. “The women...”

“You don't owe them anything,” he says, the hand on her lower back applying soft pressure, fingers playing with the laces of her corset. “They may have raised you here, but they made you do heinous things that no girl your age should do! No respectable woman without her consent...”

“And the men? Some of them come here only for me...” He stiffens at her words, imagining those sleazy men, salivating at the thought of shoving their cocks down this poor girl's throat. “I bring good money...” He scoffs at that, shaking his head.

“And how much of that do you see, hm?” he asks her, tilting her chin back up so she looks at him. She inhales deeply, avoiding his gaze once more. “Yeah, that's what I thought...”

“I have a comfortable life –”

His hand closes around her throat, long fingers pressing into her skin. She stares at him, gasps, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, you're eighteen now, you're fair game. Men will do anything to you now, fill every single hole you have!” She gasps again, cheeks flushing at his blunt words. “You might have gotten used to sucking dick, but believe me, opening your legs will be a whole other ordeal.”

She frowns at that. “Is sex really that bad?” she whispers, voice feeble, bashful, he's surprised she is able to get these words out at all.

A laugh rumbles through him as he eases his grip on her neck. “No, sex can be amazing, but with the wrong person, there can be a lot of pain and discomfort, and the consequences...” He looks at her, holds her nervous gaze. “You're so young, you deserve better than a drunken guy forcing his cock into your hole, leaving you either completely soiled and sore, or sick, or pregnant...”

She cringes and pulls a breath through her teeth, averting her eyes once more. “You talk so obscenely, mister,” she mumbles.

He breathes out another deep laugh. “It's the harsh truth, darling. That's how the world works, get used to it,” he says matter-of-factly.

“And you want me to go out into that world?” she whispers quietly.

“Trust me, out there you'll be better off than here, if you stay with the right people. I'd worry about your current world,” he mutters, listening to the noises from the other rooms, remembering, despite his haze, how run-down this building is, its clientele, and the state of the whole town.

She can't stay here. He won't leave her, now that he knows of her existence. She's Keira's kid, and unlike her mother, he will never abandon her.

Sighing deeply, he moves his hands along her body, encircling her waist, gripping her gently, before he picks her up and puts her on her feet next to the armchair. She stares at him startled, her hands immediately going down to cover her modesty. He grunts and stands up too, towering over her. She takes a cautious step back as he starts swaying, the alcohol still buzzing inside his head.

“I could really use a bath,” he growls, wiping at his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness. The girl stands next to him, so tiny and frail, the gentle curves of her legs backlit by the fire, her soft face tilted up to look at him, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. For a moment he is mesmerized by the sight, by how naturally beautiful she is – how out of place she feels.

When he feels the strain in his jeans, he sighs again and turns away, stumbling past her towards the tub in the corner. There's already water in it, a thick layer of soapy foam even, and when he dips a few fingers into it, he notices that it's still a little warm. He can't remember it, but he must have left a good penny in this establishment, for booze, a hot bath, and the best...newest –

He turns back to her. She is still watching him, standing behind the armchair, her hands on the backrest, biting her lip. “Hey kid, you wanna join me?” he calls to her, his fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

She inhales sharply, then walks around the armchair, her naked legs catching his eye for a moment. “I'm not a kid, mister.”

“Ben,” he corrects with a smirk, now working on undoing his belt. It creates a thud when it falls to the wooden floor, his holster and the heavy pistol pulling it down. Her eyes follow his movements as he undresses, kicks off his boots, steps out of his jeans, shrugs off his shirt. Then her feet tap over the ground as she rounds the tub and stands on the other side.

“Not a kid, Ben,” she whispers, chewing on her lips, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse as she drags it lower to cover the hint of hair between her legs.

She doesn't look away once he is completely naked in front of her, his clothes, gun and bags discarded on a chair, but he can see the red in her cheeks when her eyes flick down to his hard cock, bouncing slightly when he raises a leg and steps into the tub. The semi-warm water lulls his muscles as he sinks into it with a groan, stretching his long legs, leaning back, placing his arms on the edge, before he looks up at her.

“I meant it, Nebbia,” he says softly, tilting his head. “Come join me. I promise you don't have to do anything but sit with me.”

“I... shouldn't...” she whispers, her eyes trailing over his naked chest, half-submerged in the tub, before she looks towards the door. “We're not allowed...”

“I paid for you, didn't I?” She looks back, meeting his gaze, and he smiles at her. “Technically I can do anything to you. But I just want you to enjoy a semi-hot bath. There's still enough room,” he adds and spreads his legs, creating a space between them on the other side of the tub.

She hesitates, and he wonders why. Moments ago she seemed content to give him a good time, as she has called it, but now she is strangely coy for a prostitute who's had her throat fucked countless times before. The image of her lips strained around a cock – his cock maybe? – comes back into his mind, and he has to clench his jaw tightly to fight the urge to grab her and pull her close, do all those things to her that he has warned her about. That he's promised not to do to her.

Eventually she turns around, presenting her well-formed rear to him, those plump little cheeks, well-rounded, squeezable, the cleft between them guiding his eyes between her legs, but when her hands move up to the string holding her corset, he sighs, nodding to himself when he sees her predicament. He reaches out and tugs on the bow with one finger, loosening the tight laces slowly, carefully, and she lets him do so.

The stiff thing falls down her hips once it's loose enough, and she steps out of it, slowly turning back to him as she unbuttons the rest of her blouse and shrugs it off her slender shoulders. He can't help himself, he stares at her naked form.

Keira's kid. Half his age. He's promised her a better life.

And still he can't look away, taking in every detail of her body. How her small breasts perk, nipples hard already, the gentle slope of those mounds he wants to weigh in his big hands. How her hair falls over her shoulders, soft springy waves, silky, the same color as her mother's. His eyes trail down her chest, over the shimmer of ribs under thin skin, the flat stomach and little indent of her belly button. And that small waist, the swell of her hips, soft pale legs, cushioned thighs, and between them, the hint of hair above her sex.

Her skin is pristine, pale like alabaster, unmarked, pure.

There's a blush on her face that slowly spreads down her shoulders and between her breasts, and he has to force himself to close his eyes as she steps closer and lifts a leg to step into the tub – even though he wants nothing more than to take a peek at her sweet little cunt. Unused and innocent. He has to keep it that way.

Water splashes against his stomach when she sits down opposite him, knees bent and pulled against her chest as she settles between his outstretched legs. He looks at her with a gentle smile, and she smiles back, her eyelids fluttering.

“Not bad, eh?” he laughs quietly, moving a fluff of foam towards him with his big hands, then lathers his arms with it. She just sits there on the other side of the tub, watching him.

“Do you really mean it?” she whispers after a moment of both of them just soaking in the water.

“What?” he grunts, leaning his head against the edge of the tub as he slides a little lower, using the space she's left to fully stretch his body.

“That you're going to take me with you,” she replies, her eyes scanning his face.

He sighs, his breath blowing a tuft of foam towards her. “Yes, I mean it. I won't let you stay here, objected to all these... things,” he says. “You're Keira's daughter, and even if she might not have wanted you, I will take care of you.”

She frowns, trying to ignore the sting in her heart, the flinch of her tense shoulders at his words. “But why? You don't know me! And I don't know you! Why should I go with you?”

“You wanna stay here? Rot away and die in ten years or sooner?” His voice is harsh, his eyes dark, his jaw tense. “There's no money to be made if you stay under your Madam's thumb. You'll just be another body with a bunch of holes, destined to take it all, if you want to or not. How is this a life you'd want to continue?”

She licks her lips, her arms hugging her knees tighter. “I have food and a roof above my head...” she says quietly, averting her eyes.

He scoffs. “If that's your standard, then I can assure you that you will never go hungry, always have a comfortable bed, be safe from the elements, when you come with me.”

“But why?” she asks again, finally looking back at him. “Why are you so... nice to me?” She takes a shuddering breath. “Just because I'm the kid of a love lost?”

“I thought you weren't a kid,” he teases, and she groans with a slightly exasperated smirk. “I know it's a rare thing for people to just be nice nowadays, but you can trust me. I'm a good guy,” he lies through his teeth, a glint in his eyes.

“And you expect me to believe that?” she says, shifting in the tub, extending her legs slightly, her feet brushing against his inner thighs. “I might not know how the world works, but I see the men coming here. I've seen all types. And you look like the type I might encounter on a Wanted poster.”

He raises his eyebrows, his lips twitching. “Interesting assessment, missy. And you can tell by just looking at a man's cock?”

She grunts in indignation and splashes water towards him. He laughs and shields his face with one arm. “A fine gentleman would never talk like that...” she mumbles.

His laughter gets even louder. “And you expect a fine gentleman to walk into this establishment? Do you know where you are?” She scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest, slowly stretching out her legs until he can feel the soles of her feet pressing right against his groin. “Careful now,” he warns.

Her cheeks are flushed, but that doesn't stop her from rubbing her foot upwards and along his hard shaft, pressing it into his lower stomach. He watches her closely, holding in a groan. And she looks right back, green eyes hard and a dark smile on her full lips. Lips around his cock. He leans back and lets out the noise he has been suppressing. Her toes curl around his tip, his breath hitches in his throat.

And he savors the moment, just a moment, a few seconds, because it feels good. She is good, doing what she does. Would be a shame to stop her now, hm? But then he leans in and lowers his hands into the water, grabbing her ankle, stopping her after all. She yelps quietly as he pulls her leg towards him, causing her to slip. Her hands squeak along the edge of the tub as she tries to hold onto it, but before her head submerges, he lets go of her, letting her leg rest on top of his thigh.

She scrambles back into a sitting position, her eyes on him, her lips parted. “I don't have a choice, do I?” she then whispers, allowing him to put his big hand on her shin, holding her there.

He smiles at her, his eyes twinkling. “Correct, sweetheart. I will force you to have a better life, no matter what,” he says quietly, rubbing his hand up her leg.

She inhales deeply and leans back, her arms resting on the edge, hands hanging off, as she relaxes in the water, under his touch, with her bare chest exposed to him. Trusting. “You're a strange man, mister... Ben,” she whispers, smiling softly as she watches him.

He grips her thigh gently, winking at her. The buzz from the alcohol is as good as gone, replaced with a different kind of vertigo. Ignoring the twitching of his cock under the water surface, he keeps his eyes on the girl in front of him, taking in her features, a strange warmth gathering in his stomach.

He came here to celebrate the successful heist, drink himself stupid and have a good fuck afterwards. He hasn't expected to meet Keira's kid here, to be this attracted to her, to tell her he wants to take her with him. But he has, is, does, all of it, he wants her by his side, wants to give her a chance at a different life, away from pleasuring strangers every night of the week.

Does he want her for himself? Maybe. But he still also genuinely wants her to be happier, be herself, have the freedom that he has. She deserves it. And he does too, selfishly so, to have her.

🟪 Chapter 2

END NOTES: Hello and welcome to my first original work (that I share with you)! Thank you for reading!

Please note that I am no expert on anything wild west/western/horses/cowboys/brothels/etc. - I write silly little love/smut stories. This story, even though it's not mentioned, is set at the end of the 1800s somewhere in the west, I'm keeping it vague on purpose, this is about Ben and Nebbia.

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[olympeline]

Please somebody spare a crumb of kindness and ask me about my scotfruk omegaverse thoughts. I have so many Feelings about the potential dynamics between these three. They are some of my favourite guys to put in situations together. So I’m reworking one of my old posts with a new a/b/o twist:

Gimme a historical human AU where Alasdair, the alpha king of Scotland, was wed to the French prince Francis Bonnefoy to strengthen their nations’ alliance against the English. Everyone assumed Francis - graceful, pretty child he was - would present omega. He might even have been a borderline case who had a “false heat” or two after he hit puberty. So the two royal families were all: “Jackpot!” and married him to Alasdair as soon as they were both of age. Then, disaster! Turns out they’d jumped the gun in the worst way. Against all odds, Francis presented beta. Meaning there could be no children born of his and Alasdair’s union. Disaster for France, much worse disaster for Scotland, opposite of disaster and cause for much laughter, celebrating, and schadenfreude in England. Many jokes made and toasts drunk to royal couple “Alas, no heir” and Francis “Barrenfoy” in the lands Anglo.

Everyone tells Alasdair to set his “useless” husband aside. Annul their marriage and try again. But Alasdair has come to truly love Francis and he refuses. Their wooing was rough at first (ba-dum-tsh!) but opposites attract and they fell for each other in the end. Just in time for all hope to die that Francis could be an omega. Alasdair wouldn’t throw Francis away, though. Fiery, fiercely loving, stubborn man Alasdair is, even Francis himself couldn’t change his mind. Though Francis’s protests are, admittedly, halfhearted as hell. He’s come to love Alasdair just as much. He doesn’t want to lose him or the new life he’s built for himself in Scotland. The guillt still gnaws away at Francis, though. All kings needs progeny as a matter of urgency. If only he hadn’t presented beta. Then everything would be all right.

Meanwhile the English, once they got over their hangovers, decided to take advantage of their neighbour’s political woes and attack the Scottish borderlands. Their forces lead by one Arthur Bloody Kirkland: beta English prince, ready to kick some tartan on his father’s orders. The English aim to seize the lowlands but, unfortunately for them, Alasdair and Francis aren’t so distracted that they’ve forgetten how to fight. It turns into a Battle of Bannockburn style Scottish victory and not only is the English army sent fleeing, but Arthur himself is captured. Though he at least manages to hide his identity and pretend to be an ordinary knight. Swapping armour with a dead comrade just before capture and letting the jubilant Scots believe they’d killed their enemy’s crown prince. The last thing Arthur wants is to be executed or used as a hostage so England is bankrupted getting him back. They’ve lost enough as is with his humiliating defeat. Arthur is taken back to Alasdair’s castle and made into a gift for Francis. Even after such a big victory, Alasdair can see his husband is still depressed and hopes having a sassenach slave to torment will cheer him up. Arthur gave Alasdair plenty of lip while being questioned and afterwards Alasdair decided a life spent on his knees (ahem) as a servant would be just what the doctor ordered for the proud, haughty Englishman.

Francis and Arthur are Francis and Arthur no matter what the universe and sparks fly right from the get-go. Francis does enjoy tormenting Arthur but Arthur gives as good as he gets and Francis…likes it? They both do, actually. Just staring across the room in a: “Grrr, I hate you so much but I want you inside me so badly you bastard fuck you!” way. More guilt for Francis because now he’s attracted to two men on top of everything else and only one of them is his spouse. Alasdair notices and is pissed as hell but then he also can’t help imagining that blonde on blonde Action and ffffuuuuck. He should just get rid of Arthur, who’s a terrible servant anyway, but ffffuuuuck. Seeing him on his knees is…ffffuuuuck. Also, much more importantly, having Arthur around to fight with has rallied Francis’s low spirits at last. So throwing their prisoner in the nearest loch is a big no-no. You played yourself, Alasdair. For Arthur’s part, he knows he should be trying to escape and not thinking so much about Auld Alliance double dickings but it’s like he’s losing his mind around them. Seriously, what is wrong with him? Why is he feeling this way for these sexy husbands he’s meant to hate and also it’s winter so why the fuck is he suddenly so hot all the time?! Scotland is meant to be cold but Arthur is stumbling around flushed and unsteady with a brain full of cotton as if he were drunk. This must be how omegas feel when their heats are close. But that’s not relevant to Arthur, who’s confident he’s 100% a beta and always has been. Which is fortunate because an omega can’t be king in England. Absolutely, totally against the law down there. So it’s a good thing that’s not what Arthur is. That he definitely isn’t one of the 0.01% of omegas who present late for Reasons no one understands yet because it’s the past and advanced medicine still involves covering people in leeches and yelling at stars. No, Arthur is just coming down with something. He definitely isn’t a late bloomer. Definitely. Definitely, definitely. Otherwise his already bad situation would be even worse! And even Arthur Bloody Kirkland isn’t that unlucky. Hahahaha haha…haha…ha

So that’s our pitch, folks! We have Alasdair: the alpha king trying to balance complex political realities with adoration for his spouse. Alongside Francis: the beta king consort torn apart by the guilt of being one of his beloved Alasdair’s Biggest Problems in a way he can’t fix. And finally Arthur: the captured beta (…) secret prince trying to find a way to escape back to his kingdom before anyone discovers his true identity. Oh the drama, oh the angst, oh the romance, oh the everything. Good God, please let me ramble on about these fictional men. I am Like This thinking about them:

[veliseraptor]

gimme ur hard/soft xue yang headcanons please 🧋

i actually already answered for xue yang but since he is my most beloved boy I'll go ahead and do more

hard headcanon: Xue Yang genuinely liked and cared about a-Qing. I think there's textual evidence for this in the novel, and I hold it as true for CQL as well. I think he found her annoying sometimes, and I don't think he started out liking her (tolerating, mostly), but she grew on him and by the end of the three years he would absolutely kill for her if he felt like there was a threat to her safety.

It's just that it isn't enough when things careen off the rails, just like it's not enough with Xiao Xingchen. It's like a habit he can't break: namely, a habit of violence. He definitely blames her in part for the disaster of everything, but I do think that if he doesn't exactly regret killing her (after she made him angry, stupid, doesn't she know better?) he doesn't make much of an effort to get rid of her ghost, either, and he's not actually happy about her being dead.

soft headcanon: I have a whole sequence of events in my head about the aftermath of Xue Yang's Hand Incident, the main feature of which is that I think there was someone who took some pity on him and scraped him off the street, amputated what was left of his finger, and kept him from dying immediately of shock or exposure. As was almost inevitable with crush injuries before the age of antibiotics, though, there was definitely infection, and when it looked like Xue Yang was going to die he got dumped back outside to not do it in the house.

(Seriously, guys, crush injuries were really bad (still are, but, like, in terms of infection historically even worse). And I feel like it's very important that in Xue Yang's description of what happened, he lost his little finger but the wheel still went over the rest of his hand.)

By rights, he shouldn't have survived after that, and I like the idea that part of the reason he did is because he in some very rudimentary way tapped into demonic cultivation as a means of, like, managing the all-out assault on his body. It's not something he would've had a lot of control over, or even awareness of, but I like the idea of it.

But this is under "soft headcanon" because it's all stuff where, like, somebody else writing a different version of events isn't going to bother me, as long as it's traumatic as heck.

[t1meslayer]

Nine people I'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @amethystsoda <.< This is my first time doing one of these Tumblr viral posts so tysm for getting me involved!!

===

Last Song: The real answer is "Pokemon OST I've listened to 100 times," but that's boring — even if it's a banger like ScarVi's Wild Area battle theme.

Instead let's share this very normal song from the end of a very normal playlist curated by a very normal friend about a very normal character:

This person may or may not become relevant later.

===

Fav Color: Yellow! Especially a lighter Daffodil kind of shade.

===

Last Movie/TV Show: Last movie was Disney's Wish (available now on Disney+, you see) during a VC yesterday. But I can tell you literally nothing about that movie other than the fact I was bored.

So go watch Space: 1999 instead. It's basically a British Star Trek show from the 70s with the most unnecessarily bangin' disco theme song you've ever heard in your life, and I'm obsessed.

===

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?: Historically a sweet guy, but I've been doing more spicy as of late. Lots of curries and chicken sandwiches and spicy pickles... Gimme more, please.

===

Relationship Status: Single and ready to mingle, as the kids say!

===

Last thing I web searched: The real answer is boring job hunt stuff. Instead, have one of my favorite clips I recently dug up related to taxes:

(For those who don't know, Brutalmoose is also the guy behind that "This time, I'm really gunna do it" image. Great videos all around. Been watching since forever.)

===

Current Obsession: PokeRogue. It has taken over my entire brain. And how could it not when you have such exciting revelations as:

Draco Meteor Fomantis.

Insane.

===

Your Tags (should you choose to accept it): @alchemicallymoon, @clearskeyes, @mossymothdragon, @kiliofdurinsline, @sheepishspirits, @ephemeraldew, @transientmelody, @tracc04, and a very relevant insane person @trybard

Like Ari, gunna throw a blank copy under the cut since mine was so busy! Thanks for reading <3

Last Song:

Fav Color:

Last Movie/TV Show:

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?:

Relationship Status:

Last thing I web searched:

Current Obsession:

Tagging:

[darkrpfinders]

🫀hello, I'm 21+ she/they and looking for someone to write with, 18+, preferably 21+ m/f, m/m and f/f, as well as a mix of pairings with nb/trans folks (basically looking for anything, with slight preferences, but the main thing to note is I only write subs (who aren't necessarily bottoms) when it comes to nsfw)

I'm looking for a fandomless rp with ocs. I have a couple ideas, though not anything I'm too set on, and would strongly prefer to figure out the plot and specifics together

romance, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, fantasy/magic in a modern setting – love it, adore it, gimme anything dystopian/apocalypse or just dark/horror/mafia/historical settings are not up my alley cannot do actual slow burn justice, but yearning/pining is fun. smut is required, can even be the main focus, but still with plot

age-gaps and (step)cest are something that I am very interested in at the moment and would love to write (not looking for 🍪 though) I won't do any non-con, (extremely) toxic/abusive dynamics, pregnancy, humiliation/degradation. no scat, vore, gore, bestiality either

basically, I'm looking to write somewhat problematic things but with genuine romance and maybe slightly rose-tinted glasses

I write on discord only, multi-para (I break 2k characters limit but not always, and it depends on the scene) and in 3rd person. I don't expect you to match me, sometimes I just write a lot and don't need you to do the same – simply give me enough to work with (2-3 paras at least)

rapid fire is the dream, but I do have a full-time job, so looking for anyone active who can do 2 (and more) posts a day (currently on vacation, so will be more active the next week and a half) if you'll take longer with your post – please communicate so (also if there are any issues/you don't like something – tell me too) if you have a tendency to be inconsistent in your activity or disappear/ghost, please don't interact. if you cannot realistically write 2 or more posts a day, please do not interact either

I generally make ocs for specific rps to make sure they fit whatever we come up with. irl face claims or picrews/art/etc, all fine, I just need to have a visual of what your oc looks like - if you have a preference, I'll adjust

I'd like it if we could chat ooc and exchange headcanons, pinterest boards, gush about our ocs, plot together, etc. also looking for this to be long-term

for est timezone, I'm active during late day/evening and night. also english is not my first language and typos happen

if you got through all this and are interested, please like this post and I'll message you

.

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

Bluebellofbakerstreet's 007Fest 2023 Finish Line Masterpost

15 point art:

GBBO, Q Works Late, James in Jamaica, Kilts!, Aston Martin, Bond on a motorcycle, Commander Bond, Renoir Bond, Location Graphics

10 point art:

Bond, Max Zorin, Eve, Felix, Three-Color Bond, Renoir Eve and all of the Miss Moneypenny Takes a Holiday pics.

5 point art:

Cat, Jaws, Blofeld, and all of the others are from the Children's Story/Rebus

5 point writing:

Skyfall for Kids

Meme/Manip:

Bond Bingo Graphics (2)

Other fan creations:

2048 Game

Scavenger Hunt Fills:

#6 Create a Bond-themed crossword. #23 Create a portrait of a Bond character using only Skittles, M&Ms, or similar small round colored candy.  #28 Find the Difference - Create an almost identical image and change a few things there (could be an edit or art). Tell us how many things have changed when you post it. #29 Solve someone's Find the Difference challenge (Can earn up to 3 times) Solved 3: by kitten-kin, anyawen and ate-the-bean #33 Complete a Bond themed crossword created by somebody else. (Can earn up to 3 times) Solved 3: 2 by kitten-kin and one by spiritofcamelot. #37 Create at least 5 Bond-themed rebus puzzles. #38 Design 3 outfits for a Bond character to be worn on 3 separate occassions.  #44 It's never too early to introduce James Bond to the next generation, although some of the content is too mature. And too long. Rewrite a Bond book or movie as a children's book. For extra points, record yourself reading it like a bedtime story to a child (Both story and read-aloud included.)

Prompt Sheet fills:

#11 Anything, and I do mean anything, about Max Zorin from A View to a Kill. He deserves more attention. #22 Flowers. Put them in a bouquet or in the park. In the garden or as a garden ornament. Put them in a painting or a china pattern. Boutonniere? Yes. Flowers. Gimme. (2nd picture) #25 ANY excuse to put Q in a kilt (and see James' reaction?) #40 Dance. Flailing arms? Okay. Ballroom waltz? Gimme. Line dancing? Sure. Bump and grind? Ayup. Gliding across the floor or stepping on toes, put it in my veins. #62 Bond in Jamaica and his little harem of stray cats who learn his fishing schedule or recognize his boat. #81 “Please stop rolling your shirt sleeves up, it’s terribly distracting”  #155 Historical AU:  Regency?  Victorian?  Roman Gladiator James and  Emperor Q?  (2nd picture) #159 Something nautical; Bond is a naval Commander after all.  Maybe a navy AU? Pirate captain Bond?  A shipwreck?  A romantic sailing getaway? #179 Q and Bond have to go undercover at the GBBO. And to fully complete the mission…one of them must win. Bonus points if they’re investigating Paul Hollywood. #206 Q working late

Art Table fills:

Use a medium you don’t use often  Draw in a different style Ten-minute challenge  Use only three colors Free Space/Challenge Yourself  Draw in One Continuous Line Black and White Only No Lines Inspired by a Painting

Theme Days:

Festivities Day  Felix Friday Characters of Color Moneypenny Day

Events:

1 Hosted:

Bond Bingo Discord 7/30

3 attended:

Productivity Hours Discord 7/15 Productivity Hours Discord 7/16 Ato's Writing Sprints 7/20

87 comments

[witchail]

plots please gimme the bestiess

⤏ send me “plots please”

you already know my salt and the lack of cc and suzaku interactions. @inuresis

01. we gotta explore the [redacted] s1 potential and why suzaku was able to sense cc despite not having a formal connection. frankly, i still want to explore that novel concept of suzaku's ancestral clan being connected to the geass order. granted, all i really have is a poor google translate explanation, but i honestly feel like that is a great thing to explore. particularly the things book marianne claimed : suzaku cannot inherit geass because he doesn't have the R-cells. -No one in his family was able to inherit the code, because they cannot have geass - the kururugi clan originally being former owners of geass ruins until they split from the geass order. - his bloodline dubbed "the guardian bloodline" and their duty to protect the divine, which historically was those with the code. naturally, this can also explain why suzaku and cc had that unexplained yet symbolic connection that doesn't need to rely on lelouch.

02. taking that in consideration, it makes the whole "sword and shield" thing even more unique in terms of them "becoming equal". neither of them are bounded to the rules of the past and instead are redefining the role of "guardian and code holder". they already possess their own similarities and burdens, there is no mask to be have between the both of them. they have a mission, sure, but that does not mean any interactions should be dropped after the requiem. there is a connection and she too can be a confident.

03. okay ignoring the two points above, just make an AU where suzaku was given geass instead LMAO.

[prpfz]

alrighty, been a few months, let's try this again with a tweak or two 🫀hello, I'm 21+ she/they and looking for someone to write with, 18+, preferably 21+ m/f, m/m and f/f, as well as a mix of pairings with nb/trans folks (basically looking for anything ig, with slight preferences, but the main thing is I'd be looking to write my character as a sub)

I'm looking for a fandomless rp with ocs. I have a couple ideas, though not anything I'm too set on, and would strongly prefer to figure it out together. romance, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, fantasy/magic with modern settings – love it, adore it, gimme anything dystopian/apocalypse, or just dark/horror/mafia/historical settings are not up my alley cannot do actual slow burn justice, but yearning/pining is fun. smut is required, can even be the main focus, but still with plot age-gaps and (step)cest are something that I am very interested in at the moment and would love to write (stepmother/stepfather with a daughter/son with me writing as the stepparent is the idea I'm still stuck on - not looking for 🍪 though) I won't do any non-con, (extremely) toxic/abusive dynamics, pregnancy, humiliation/degradation. no scat, vore, gore, bestiality either basically, I'm looking to write somewhat problematic things but with genuine romance and maybe slightly rose-tinted glasses

I write on discord only, multi-para (I break 2k characters limit but not always, and it depends on the scene) and in 3rd person. I don't expect you to match me, sometimes I just write a lot and don't need you to do the same – simply give me enough to work with rapid fire is the dream, but I do have a full-time job, so looking for someone active who can do 2 (and more) posts a day (currently on vacation so will be more active the next week and a half) if you'll take longer with your post – please communicate so (also if there are any issues/you don't like something – tell me too) if you have a tendency to be inconsistent in your activity or disappear/ghost, please don't interact. if you cannot realistically write 2 or more posts a day, please do not interact either

I generally make ocs for specific rps. irl face claims or picrews/art/etc, all fine, I just need to have a visual of what your oc looks like I'd like it if we could chat ooc and exchange headcanons, pinterest boards, gush about our ocs, plot together, etc. also looking for this to be long-term for est timezone, I'm active during late day/evening and night. also english is not my first language and typos happen

if you got through all this and are interested, please like this post and I'll message you

give a like and anon will get back to you

[endy2eepy]

Haiii <333 I'm Ender or Coy (or Rose when I'm regressed!) Welcome to my agere blog 🌙

✨ Here's (under the cut) some stuff you should know about me before interacting, following, or if you wanna be friends! ✨

The information listed is:

my DNI and a misc important section- you MUST read these before following/messaging/commenting.

a section for if you wanna be friends- you MUST read this if you wanna message to be friends

my wishlists- just for fun but if you gimme gifts I will love your forever and ever

my likes/dislikes- you should read this to make sure there's nothing on my page that may make you uncomfy, but you don't have to

my tags- these will help you find posts you're looking for

(this DNI banner is free to use if you want, idm)

DNI List

🌙 Actually, I don't really have much of one but:

⭐ Basic stuff, obviously, like no NSFW (abdl and other kink variants included) and no homophobes/racists/ect on my page.

💛 I'd also prefer AI "art" users stay off my page, but I probably won't block or even notice if you're not heavily interacting!

✨ Other than that, I'll just block anyone who makes me uncomfy... it's usually nothing personal <3

Important About Me

🌙 I like media from problematic creators.

⭐ I won't take it personally if you block me over that, I know it may make some people uncomfy!

💛 I will not, however, let you fight me on it... I'll just block you first.

✨ When I say separate the art from the artist, I don't mean give them money and pretend nothing happened- I mean piracy is easy and bootleg/second hand merch is abundant!

🌙 I will block people who post slander on things I enjoy, but not people who simply hold the creators accountable or are just slightly critical.

⭐ It's hard for me to understand heavy baby talk or typing quirks, especially when I'm regressed.

💛 If you message/comment with them, there's a fair chance I'll ignore it since I can't read it. It's nothing personal, just try to add a translation if I ignore you the first time!

Wanna be my friend?

✨ My DMs are open, but I'm a bit shy and I've never been the greatest at making friends or responding to messages, so please be patient with me!

🌙 I'd prefer only to be friends with people who are 17-21 bodily, and 16 and 25 are my absolute limits (I'm 18).

⭐ If you don't want to be friends with me outside of little space, I'd prefer not to be friends at all. This is a pretty small (hehe) part of my life after all!

Wanna buy me something?

No you don't! Here are my wishlists anyways :3

main:

little:

art:

Likes/Interests

💛 Big:

Shows: Hazbin Hotel, The Amazing Digital Circus, Don't Hug Me i'm Scared, Boy Meets World

Movies: Dead Poets Society

Games: OMORI, The Sims, Fortnite, Overwatch, Cukt of The Lamb, D&D, MTG (sometimes), Cards Against Humanity

Books/Comics: Boyfriends (WEBTOON), If I Stay, All The Bright Places, The Art of Being Normal

Misc: Reborn Dolls, Character Design, some things not suitable for this account lol

✨ Big and Little:

Shows: The Owl House, Angel Hare (YouTube Series), Centaurworld

Movies: The Velveteen Rabbit, The American Girl Historical Collection

Games: Just Dance, The Wii series, EA Playground, Minecraft, Roblox, Old Flash Games, Candyland, The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Books/Comics: Heartstopper (more big but little too), The American Girl Historical Collection

Misc: Arts & Crafts, Collecting things (sunglasses, sloth stuff, and stickers), American Girl Dolls, MCYT, Playing Dress-up, Fashion Design

🌙 Little: (my little age fluctuates a lot so there's a lot of different age ranges in here)

Shows: Too many to list! Word Party and Bluey for modern stuff, and then 2003-2010 PBS kids and Nick/Disney Jr. The goodnight show with Nina and Star!!! Also, veggie tales!

Movies: N/A?

Games: The Imagine Series

Books/Comics: The Monster at The End of This Book, Goodnight Moon, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, anything by Kate DiCamilo, Dork Diaries/Diary of a Wimpy Kid/Dear Dumb Diary

Misc: hmmm I don't think there's any

My Tags

#endys sleepy rambles misc (mostly text) posts

#endys dreams little doodles, coloring pages, ect

#endys dreams pt 2 mood boards, playlists, ect

#endys half asleep ideas recipe/game/craft/activity ideas for fellow regressors

#endy shares reblogs/reposts from other sites

[findroleplay]

🎂Hi hi, 26, she/her, EST. Looking for someone 20+ please to interact! (And all characters 18+ please)

I’m a multi-para, past tense, 3rd person roleplayer who plays females in M/F couplings. I love moodboards, chatting OOC, real life or AI/drawn facdclaims, plotting like crazy, all the exciting fun giddy can’t-stop-thinking-of-the-story stuff (but not a requirement if you’re not looking for that)

Looking for someone to play the older male characters to my younger females — here’s a few general ideas I’m thinking of, but I’m open to all sorts of plots! Mostly looking for power imbalances, romance, smut, opposites attract, drama, thick tension, touches of horror and whump, touches of genuine affection and fluff…

WORDBANK OF GENERAL THOUGHTS:

Phantom of the Opera, Pirates, Cults, Arranged Marriages, being sold off to pay family debts, cowboys and country westerns, 1970s co-dependent band members, kidnappings and Stockholm syndrome, Hades and Persephone -inspired relationships, sugar daddy/sugar baby, anything historical, Titanic, noir, beauty and the beast, 1920s golden age, royals, Lovecraftian horror, small towns big secrets, vampires and gods and immortal beings…..

Gimme a like and I’ll message you. Please be open to discord for the actual RP. Thank you!!

-

[yeuphoric]

nervously  throwing  this  list  out  there  of  plots  ideas  /  genres  i  am  dying  to  write.  if  you  give  this  post  a  like,  i’ll  dive  into  your  messages  to  talk  about  plotting  together.  or  you  can  shoot  me  a  message  with  what  you’re  interested  in  if  you  want  to  speed  up  the  process  <3

just  some  things  to  know  before  we  get  to  the  plot  ideas:  a)  none  of  these  have  to  be  romantic !  platonic  equally  welcome. also i only write f/f and f/m. b)  active  and  enthusiastic  partners  appreciated.  i  love  worldbuilding  together  and  coming  up  with  lore  and  little  tidbits  of  info  about  our  plots  and  ships.  the  more  detail,  the  better !

okay,  onto  the  plots :

hollywood  verse.  original  characters  only.  think  a  group  of  a-list  celebrity  friends  who  cause  a  scene  wherever  they  go.  or  a  newbie  paired  with  an  iconic  celebrity  for  a  project  and  either  sparks  or  fists  fly.  a  fictional  band  on  their  first  world  tour ?  i  would  also  love  to  explore  the  darker  side  of  hollywood  too.  cults  and  scandals  and  secrets  and  all  that  juicy  stuff.

animal  crossing  inspired  plot.  just  want  something  cute  and  fun  for  the  summer.  i  go  into  more  detail  about  this  here.

science  fiction.  literally  anything.  colonies ?  spaceships ?  aliens ?  yes  please.  cyberpunk ?  anarchy ?  crime ?  absolutely.  robots ?  technology ?  philosophy ?  i’m  begging.  apocalypse ?  end  of  the  world ?  war ?  gimme.  just  need  more  sci - fi  things.

greek  mythology.  anything.  everything.  historical.  modern.  you  name  it.

road  trip  plot.  an  ex  couple  broken  up  but  have  to  travel  together  for  whatever  reason ?  estranged  family  members  trying  to  reconnect ?  criminal  and  the  hitch-hiker  they  picked  up ?  best  friends  driving  across  the  country  before  /  to  college ?  runaways  trying  to  get  far  away  from  home ?

twilight  /  true  blood  inspired  plot.  cosy  small  town  vibes.  everyone  knows  everyone  and  everything.  supernatural  creatures  roaming  in  plain  sight.  secrets  hidden  everywhere.  freaky  stuff  going  on.  first  loves.  unrequited  loves.  love  triangles.  you  get  the  idea.

historical  /  fantasy.  anything  welcome  but  if  you  give  me  cowboy  x  someone  they  pick  up  along  the  way,  or  a  gang  of  outlaws  mumu  (  rdr2  style  )  i’ll  empty  my  bank  account  into  yours. 

horror  /  scary  plots.  i  don’t  watch  a  lot  of  horror  movies  but  i’ve  had  a  need  for  a  more  horror  driven  plot  lately,  particularly  a  friend  group  stuck  somewhere  and  there’s  something  (  a  killer ?  a  monster ?  a  supernatural  entity ? )  on  the  hunt.

bratz mumu. i have a yasmin and sasha and need a cloe and jade for a fun / camp / nostalgic verse ?

[likemesomesalads]

Gimme L. U. C. E. for Luce my best friend and S. H. A. Y. for my man shay and B. I. R. D. for my beloved Luca pls and thank

Ask and u shall receive :3

Luce:

L. What is their secrets to happiness?

Finding the place where they belong and not just being used.

U. What do they like to do in their spare time?

Shopping, first and foremost. They love fashion and will take their time finding the best items for themselves or for friends.

Sitting in a coffee shop having some cake and people-watching. They love caffeine and sugar and would only live on that if they could. And they also love watching people, listening to their surroundings...Keeping their observation skills on top.

Reading. Mostly romance novels. Big fan of Goldclaw. They also like historical recountings.

C. What’s their weirdest habit or quirk?

Hmmm...Well, they collect plush bunnies, No other plushies, just bunnies and also mostly black ones which is weirdly specific, I guess.

They always adjust/fiddle with their clothes if they are nervous or unsure.

Also kind of related to clothes, not sure if it's a quirk though, but they always wear clothes to cover all their scars. They'd rather be too warm in summer than show any of their scars.

E. What is their love language?

Quality time and physical touch. They show their love by choosing to spend their time with their loved ones and when they do they love to be in touch with them. Holding their hand, hanging on their clothes, walking arm in arm, etc.

Luca:

B. Describe their family dynamic.

Emotionally abusive. Luca's parents used the blessing of their child as a way to get themselves deeper in the social elite and only showed love to him as a child when he played along. As an adult Luca is distant from his parents and very formal towards them. He loves them but isn't a child anymore and understands what's going on. And he's still afraid of his grandpa who cut his feathers as a child so there is that.

I. What makes them feel safe?

Flying. Up in the sky is safe. Nobody to please, nobody to ask him to do things for them, no masks.

R. How tall are they?

187cm

D. What was their high school experience like?

He was home-schooled...so nonexistent. He would've been the school's pretty boy, getting female admirers even though he's clear on the fact he's gay. He'd also be a theater kid :3

[eolewyn1010]

🦉Positivity owl reporting for duty! This was sent by a friend who wants you to smile as much as your posts make them smile. Please list five things that make you unique, four things you are super passionate about and why, OR three of your favorite memories. Feel free to send the owl to those who you feel deserve to smile🦉

Owl! I love owls; that's already positivity 🩵

5 things that make me unique:

The idea of going to a 1920s party for my birthday made me sit down and sew two dresses for my mom and me, in two weeks, with no sewing machine.

Tumblr is the only social media I use and have used since leaving school. Well, discounting WhatsApp, but that seems like a different category. I guess tumblr is more anti-social media anyway.

I have worked / learned all of three months of my life in a bakery before I had to quit my apprenticeship because of health reasons, and in that time I've become obsessed with the particular onion bread of that particular bakery. I still think it's incontestably the best onion bread I've ever tasted.

My brother once made fun of my interest in historical fashion and movie / tv costuming, and I'm still butt-hurt about it. Where do you get off belittling something you are not very well informed about yourself?

I have learned fairly late in life that stuff made of pumpkins / squashs is tasty, only a few years ago, because they simply weren't a thing we used for cooking. And then I just made it part of my identity within a few weeks time. Pumpkin soup? Anytime. Pumpkin bread? Yes, please. Squash spread or chutney? Absolutely. Cookies? Gimme. I just bought a pattypan and am contemplating what to make of it, but it's so colorful and warty that I kind of don't want to cut it up. It looks so silly <3

[dianasaurthemelonlord]

One State being in the Lime-light for being extremely brutal and violent doesn’t negate the fact we oppose all others too. In the same position, in the same context, most people given that kind of power for long enough would eventually do the same… especially when motivated by an ideology that preaches a certain land tis the birthright of that people and its commanded by the one trye god. Thats the exact logic of pretty much every massacre, genocide, and power-intoxicated jackass ever “GIMME THAT ITS MINE, AND GOD SAYS SO” everything after that is an Adhoc Justification, the favorites being “Fighting Terrorism” and “Wont someone please think of the Children”, or “These people fundamentally and biologically EVIL, there is no redeeming their inherently evil spirits”

ANY state doing that abd bragging about it all over social media and insistimg on it even though their economy is falling apart, would rightfully get more focus from Anarchists than, whatever Switzerland is doing these days. We gave Russia the same beating after Putin made the monumentally idiotic decision to invade Ukraine, Some are doing the same for Sudan now alongside Israel-Palestine, and historically we always focused on the Worst State First and right now the country actively using starving children for target practice is probably the worst when their soldiers are doing it with all the glee of an elementary schooler when its Hamburger Day in the cafeteria

"I don't think any state should exist"

*proceeds to exclusively target one specific state*

Yeah, I don't believe "Anarchism" is your primary position.

[catravandece]

I have so many bridgerton thoughts i need to shit them out or else im gonna explode so spoilers

first up- the negs 👎

jesus fuckign christ i HATED the costumes this season. H A T E D. the extras looked more regency than the mains and that was literally the only thing keeping me in the mindset that this was actually 1815. ""historical accuracy"" is a beast on its own but the whole appeal of the regency romance genre is the /regency/ of it all. bweeeehhhhhh

speaking of regency-ness did we just like, throw all conventions of social ruin out the window? where are the chaperones? the tension-driving rules of polite society that makes transgressing it all the more fulfilling??

i got such whiplash from these timelines, maybe at one point ill write down all the things that made me go ?????? but for now please know that i am Deeply Confused

the fact that they shuffled off kanthony twice in the same season is absolutely hilarious. if the series continues all the way through to hyacinth and gregory i expect the cast list will be 4 people and an old sears mannequin alskdjbcnekjdfskl

CRESSIDA DESERVED BETTERRRRRRRRRRR CRENELOISE 5EVER WHY DID THEY ABANDON HER SOFTENING ARC IM SO UPSET SOMEONE GO SAVE HER

ok now the nices👍

i was totally prepared for there to be no queerness this season so to be slapped with the one-two punch of both bi benedict and Michaela Fucking Stirling girls i am EATINGGGGG

nicola coughlan truly does have perfect breasts and honestly her being naked on screen was the best gd part of this season. gimme gimme more pls do not banish her and colin to the shadow realm i mean married babymaking dimension

phillipa yelling about the bugs was so gosh dang cute and wholesome i love her shes my scrimblo bimbo

and as much as i hated the sillhouette of the costumes i did enjoy the colors, i am always a sucker for gauzey pastels