#it’s also so you belong with me stamped like be so for real

[thelovelybitten]

travis kelce —> stan marsh

taylor swift —> wendy testaburger

tell me I’m wrong—I dare you

[247-diaperboy]

Trapped in Diapers Forever part 4

He left the nursery and I laid there in a bit of a daze ,on one hand I felt in heaven and on the other hand could not believe this was really happening to me . After awhile I drifted off to sleep eventually being woke up later by Daddy slipping his hand in my diapers and saying we need to get you in dry diapers baby boy. Daddy then helped me out of the crib and over to the changing table . I waddled like a little kid from my diapers sagging being so soaked There was no way to conceal my rock-hard solid dick in my soaking wet baby diapers. Daddy began to remove my wet diapers and clean me up, all while snapping pictures of the whole ordeal. Then he finally slipped some very thick, clean diapers under me and began to lotion my crotch up paying extra attention to my pee pee . He began to masturbate me saying what a big baby I was and making me repeat it back to him. He said it again, diapers ''forever'' baby boy and made me beg him to keep me in diapers forever. At that point I would have said "anything" to make him keep going I was so horny. Then he stopped and tape up my diapers and said baby's only make messes in their diapers. He proceeded to massage my dick through the thick diapers, I began to buck my mid-section finally exploding in my diapers screaming I'm a BABY, I love Diapers, nearly passing out my orgasm was so intense. When I came to my senses Daddy was smiling and said wow someone really "loves" diapers, good thing because from now on you’re going to wear them 24/7. He told me I could get up and get dress, I started to remove my diapers and Daddy said leave them on, remember diapers forever! I said come on it was just play and tried to argue with him. Daddy responded with a mad look on his face, no baby boy this is VERY real. He held my chin with one hand and looked right in my eyes and said for now on your new place in life is in diapers. You know this is what you truly desire and walked over to a shelf and picked up something, it was a video camera. He said see this tough guy, not only do I have tons of pictures but have the whole thing filmed. For now, on you will do exactly as your told or else. Daddy added I'm sure your construction buddies would love to see you in a playpen wetting your diapers and pleading with me to please keep you in diapers over and over as your shooting you little baby load into your baby diapers in ecstasy Mr. Tough Jock Boy he said with a chuckle. I felt like a 2 year totally trapped, OMG diapers 24/7 WTF I thought.

I finished getting dressed and Daddy picked up 2 new packages of disposable diapers and plunked them in my arms saying you're going to need these this week. He also handed me a new webcam and mic in the box and said you are going to be needing these so I can make sure you stay your diapers. Daddy said here are the rules. You will wear diapers 24/7 from now on. You don't need to mess in them but always wet in them. You will set up the webcam on your computer and leave it on at all times connected to me. I will send text; you'll have 2 mins to be in front of the webcam when you're at home to show me your wearing your diapers. If you’re at work, I'll text you and you have to run to the restroom. Unbutton you pants and snap a shot of your diapers with your phone and send it to me. Remember you cell phone time stamps every picture so there will be no cheating. At night we'll get on Skype, and you will jerk off in front of Daddy in your diapers. You will tell Daddy you belong in diapers, and you love your diapers while jerking off. From here on out your 're ''only'' to jerk off in your diapers, that is where baby boys make their messes. With a evil grin Daddy said when I get done training you diaper boy. You'll want to wear 24/7 and will become a bed wetter again and naturally wet during the day with ease. The only thing you'll want to have sex with will be your baby diapers. Also, when you return next week, you are to be shaved baby smooth below the waist At this point my head was whirling, I was thickly diapered and holding 2 huge packages of diapers in my arms and being told my new place in life is a diaper boy 24/7. My head was whirling in circles, I was humiliated, upset and excited all rolled into one. Daddy walked me to the door and made me give him a big hug and said I'll see you next weekend. I waddled out to my car with my 2 big packages of diapers in both hands, got in and. I drove away feeling bulkiness between my legs thinking I’m trapped in diapers, is this really happening?

[leclercsluvs]

MV1 | Songs of a Healing Heart | smau

part 2 | masterlist

an: very sorry that it took like close to 3 months for me to finally do this, just got a bit busy with school and internships and life tbh, but i think i might be back soon to a more often posting schedule. hopefully. very sorry this is so late compared to the other part. more to come! like before, don't mind the time stamps too much, they're not important, unless stated otherwise. fc: sabrina carpenter pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader warnings: swearing inspired by: i can do it with a broken heart - taylor swift

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing & 2.621.294 others yourusername it's good to see you back where you belong

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maxverstappen1 trying to rub salt in the wound? i didn't win the main race🙁

yourusername but you beat lando🎉 landonorris ???

user1 shes been posting max a lot lately???

user2 and? they're friends??

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, landonorris & 1.482.294 others maxverstappen1 unfortunately, we could not go out for qualifying today 🌧 thank you all for sticking with us 🙏 the positive takeaway is our good pace in the sprint. bring on sunday 💪

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yourusername glad to see you back in top 3, i feel like it's been too long

maxverstappen1 how dare you remind me of my winless streak? yourusername you'll get a win soon. i can feel it. charles_leclerc 10 races. 10 winless races. ha.

charles_leclerc also ha, you actually got a penalty, sucker. so i'm actually p3, not you

maxverstappen1 fuck you charles_leclerc please 🤷‍♂️ maxverstappen1 alexandrasaintmleux control your man danielricciardo careful, don't want to get more community service now, do you? maxverstappen1 fuck you too

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, jensonbutton & 3.213.392 others maxverstappen1 unbelievable!!!🏆what a roller coaster… SIMPLY LOVELY 🙌 thank you everyone redbullracing

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yourusername congrats! i knew you could do it

maxvertsappen1 i believe you now owe me something 🙃 yourusername i'm aware. and i intend on keeping that promise.

lewishamilton amazing drive, congrats 👊

maxverstappen1 thank you man. appreciate it 💪

hulkhulkenberg 🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

redbullracing SIMPLY LOVELY 🔥

fernandoalo_oficial fantastic drive 👏 congrats 👏

maxverstappen1 thank you legend 💪

landonorris congrats on the impressive win, as you say "simply lovely" 😉😃

user3 WHAT. A. DRIVE. 🩵

user4 P17 to P1 with almost 20 second lead? max verstappen YOU ARE THE MAN!!!

user5 and no drs either user6 and fastest lap for every lap until the end? he was HUNGRY user4 real, how many times did he do it in a row? like 17 times?

gossipaccount

liked by user1, user4 & 2.381 others gossipaccount seems like max went out to celebrate his win with a blonde woman, any guesses as to who it might be?

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user6 i’m guessing yn. they were both hinting at her owing max something after his win, could be a date?

user7 hmm, it could also be a coincidence? I mean not every blonde woman he hangs out with has to be her. user6 true, however they have been spending lots of time together lately.

user8 i hope it's yn they would be so cute together, and it could just be a friendly get together. not everything has to be romantic.

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxverstappen1 & 3.291.349 others yourusername new little song i wrote for you all. just a little treat before my tour. i hope you like it. music video will be out in a few days. 'on purpose' out everywhere now!

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alexandrasaintmleux new favorite song

yourusername thank queen

maxverstappen1 like it? no.

yourusername rude >:( maxverstappen1 you already know what i think of the song 😶

user9 idc this is my new favorite song, i will shout it from the rooftops!

user10 real like how does she continue to make bangers?

user11 the real popstar

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc & 5.429.382 others maxverstappen1 ⭐⭐⭐⭐

four time world champion!!!! the season had a lot of ups and downs, but being able to achive a fourth title is amazing. thank you to all the fans, and thanks to everyone at redbullracing it's been a wild year!

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yourusername can't believe i got to witness it!

maxverstappen1 happy i dragged your lazy ass out? yourusername how dare you? 😓💔

landonorris good number to be fair! congrats mofo!!

danielricciardo congrats mate! on to the fifth?

maxverstappen1 you know it!

(please pretend it says what, not why, i already deleted the pics and i don't want to have to find it again 😭)

[daenerysmacfarlane]

Rituals - Rupert Campbell-Black

Rupert Campbell-Black x fem Reader 18+

Authors Note: Another smutty RCB fic from meeee. Also this is incredibly long and FILTHY, much like our dearest Rupert. The man has a death grip on me I swear. Smut warning, you are responsible for the media you consume. Spoilers for Jilly Cooper's Riders and a teeny tiny Rivals spoiler (I think?). I don't own any character from Riders, all belonging to Dame Jilly. Snippets from The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings belong to J.R.R Tolkien. Ayrton Senna was a brilliant F1 champion in real life who was taken from us far too soon.

If you ask an athlete if they have a ritual before they compete, most often they’ll say they do. Those that say they don’t most likely do, but don’t know it. Athletes are also naturally superstitious. Those that say they aren’t superstitious are usually fucking liars. 

You could say the most superstitious of all are show-jumpers and all the greats had a ritual they completed before they rode into the ring. Most of them, like Billy Lloyd-Foxe, turn to booze before their number is called. Fenella Maxwell, who is now Fenella Ferranti, studied the other riders before her, the faults they made and the strides they took to make the most impossible jumps. Jake Lovell puked everything in his stomach until he dry-heaved. And my hero, multi-Olympic medalist Rupert Campbell-Black, would mount the nearest, most attractive girl and then crash all the jumps in the practice ring so that his horse will jump extra high to clear the obstacle by feet. 

I, however, read to my beloved horse. 

Senna picks up the sound of my feet before I step around the corner and begins to whinny and stamp his hooves. 

“Alright, I’m almost there.” I call. 

The very last stall at the end of the corridor is where my thoroughbred Arabian waits for me for our latest adventure. Named after my favourite Formula One driver, Senna is very much the horse equivalent of his namesake, brilliant and determined, having won absolutely everything this season. I grab an empty bucket and undo the latch of the stall. Senna backs up and trots on the spot, he knows what’s about to happen. His coat shines and his mane and tail are impeccably braided. I can tell he’s raring to go and dominate the ring and show his competition who the true champion is but he has an hour and a half to wait. I turn the bucket upside down and plonk myself on it. Senna rests his head happily against my shoulder and I open the book. 

“The Hobbit or There and Back Again by J.R.R Tolkien. Chapter 1, An Unexpected Party. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…” I trail off, giving Senna a scratch on the neck. 

We both soon get enthralled in Middle Earth and Tolkien. Senna nudges me when we get up to the part where Bilbo meets Gandalf as if to remind me to change my voice for the different characters. I drop my voice for Gandalf,

“‘What do you mean?’ He said. ‘Do you wish me a good morning or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it’s a morning to be good on?’”

Senna lifts his head and gives a sniff. I lift my head to see what’s caught his attention and my jaw drops. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

“Do keep going please, Angel.”

There stood Rupert Campbell-Black with a shit-eating grin on his face. He runs his hand along the length of Senna’s nose. He’s exquisite, curly dark locks, golden tan and eyes as blue as the ocean. 

“Wanted to see our soon to be champion and they told me you’d be here reading to this lovely chap. Been breaking my records I hear, naughty girl?”

I couldn’t speak. Fuck. 

“Cat got your tongue, darling?” He purrs. 

My stomach does flips when he calls me darling and starts to ache in a way I’ve rarely felt before at naughty girl. I pull myself together to answer him, after all he’s most likely here as Minister for Sport. 

“Sorry Sir, this is Senna. Named after Ayrton Senna. He’s the one who’s been breaking your records, he’s a dream.” I smile and rest my hand against my dear companion. 

Senna licks Rupert’s hand and nickers, a dazzling smile breaks out on Rupert’s face.  I can see in his eyes how much he misses show-jumping. 

“How are you finding Crittledon, Minister?” I ask. 

He snorts, “Boring, quite looking forward to you though. Tell me, how does this help you and Senna win?” 

“I’m not divulging my winning secrets to you, sir.” I smile. 

“I quite like you calling me Sir.”

Well… shit. I shift on the bucket. I can feel my face getting hotter, suddenly feeling like I was on fire. A burning need between my thighs makes itself known. Rupert reads me like a book and undoes the latch of the stall. I get up and stumble back as he enters, The Hobbit falling into the hay. Rupert backs me into the wall with his arms trapping me on each side. His pupils are blown, training on me like a predator with its prey. 

“You know what I always found when I competed? That a good fuck goes a long way to surely getting a rosette.” He presses body into mine and I can feel an impressively large, hard bulge pressing into my stomach. 

I gasp. “We can’t, not in front of-“ 

He cuts me off with a deep chuckle. A look of deja vu comes across his face. 

“Oh yes we fucking can.” Rupert drawls and kisses me like there’s no tomorrow. 

I try my best to keep up with the kiss but I get distracted by his hands as they slowly unbutton my blouse. 

However before he can get further than the top two buttons, my chef d’equipe and his former teammate, Ivor Braine calls out for him. He groans as I rush to straighten myself up. Ivor pops his head into Senna’s box and gives him a loving scratch. 

“Hello sweet boy, ah Rupert there you are! I see you’ve met our champion. I dare say she could’ve given you a run for a money.”

“I think she would’ve ended up in my bed instead. Still time for that.” Rupert chuckles. 

Ivor narrows his eyes. “Please leave her alone until after she jumps?”

I must look like a tomato with how much I’m blushing and Rupert exists the stall with his hands up in mock surrender. He turns around and winks at me before following Ivor out to the seating area. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Half an hour before I’m called. Senna looks at me and snorts, totally judging me. 

“Oh shush. Now where were we?” I sigh. 

I pick up The Hobbit again and make myself comfy on the bucket. 

“‘All of them at once,’ said Bilbo. ‘And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all the day before us.’”

Senna jumps clear that day and breaks another one of Rupert’s records. I can still see Rupert’s grin from the stands as I take Senna for a victory lap around the ring. I didn’t see him afterwards though and my heart sank a little. 

“He got called away, hooligans are causing mayhem at the Man United game.” Ivor says, “But I have incredible news, you’ve been chosen to represent us at the World Championship in France!”

As I look back on that day fondly while brushing Senna down after a ride, the sound of Silverstone brings me out of my reverie. Ayrton Senna has had gear box failure and is out of the Grand Prix. The cameras pan to the audience for a reaction and they stop on a very familiar and dashingly handsome face. Fucking Rupert Campbell-Black, standing there in his capacity as Minister for Sport. He has a grimace on his face.

My groom, Elsie who’s a literal godsend, sighs. “Even with a face like a cat’s arse he’s ravishing. Makes you take ‘Fuck the Tories’ quite literally.” 

I nod in agreement. The tv is in the stall across from Senna in my home stables. Elsie and I both like to watch F1 and keep up to date with the latest equestrian news. Elsie and Senna also like to watch Dynasty and pretend I have no idea about it. She hands me a parcel. 

“This came for you, along with two dozen roses. Who have you been shagging? I want roses!” 

I roll my eyes, “Have a dozen, Else. Lord knows you more than deserve it.”

“Don’t you forget it.” She smirks. 

I open up the parcel to find the most exquisite red coat with little union jacks on the lapels. A note falls out of the box. 

‘Looking forward to see you break that fucker Lovell’s record, also looking forward to seeing how ravishing and fuckable you look in that coat. All my love, darling one. RCB’

Elsie looks at me with her mouth agape. “Get… the fuck… out. You didn’t?!”

“I didn’t, no. We got interrupted.” I begin blushing like crazy and pluck the card out of her hand. Senna sniffs the card and nickers as he picks up Rupert’s sent. 

Not long later, the World Championship at Les Riveux came rushing around the corner. Elsie and I had made our way up to France early with Senna and Skywalker, my other horse. Today is the big day. The Final four. My new coat fits me like a glove and my hair is slicked back in a low bun. Elsie finishes the last touches on Senna’s tail braid. Having made our way through The Hobbit, I pick up The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Senna snorts and nudges me as I open the book. 

I walk around as I read to him; “Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone. Nine for the Mortal men doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne in the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them, one Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. In the land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.”

Senna whinnies and stamps his hooves in excitement. Skywalker picks up his friend’s energy and begins to do the same. I look up from the book to see what the fuss is. Coming towards me and Elsie is Rupert and Ayrton Senna. 

“Get fucked…” Elsie breathes. 

Rupert puts his hand out and my dear horse puts his head in it, sighing in contentment. 

“Red is most definitely your colour, Angel. Ayrton, meet England’s next world champion show-jumper and her horse. Senna has more power than your Lotus I fear.” Rupert drawls and gives Senna a treat from his pocket. 

Ayrton rolls his eyes at Rupert and smiles at me. “Your horse is lovely, I am very honoured to meet you both.”

Elsie elbows me in the ribs and I regain my composure, beaming at my most favourite driver. Well, apart from Niki Lauda. “Please the honour is all mine, the horse next to him is mine as well. His name is Skywalker. This is my groom and best friend, Elsie. I couldn’t do any of this without her. How are you feeling about Germany?”

“Hopeful. The team have been working constantly to repair the gearbox in time and so far so good. I’m there in two days. You should come to a race soon.” 

“Oh yes most definitely!! I want to go to Monaco!” Elsie blurts. 

I shake my head. “She’s not wrong, Monaco or Silverstone are at the top of my list.”

Ayrton gives us a massive smile. “I look forward to seeing you both there. We better let you get prepared, shall we Rupert?” 

Rupert pouts but agrees with the Brazilian driver. Rupert stops in front of me. 

“Best of luck, Duckie. Can’t wait to fuck you senseless in that coat afterwards.” He gives me a long kiss, taking my breath away. 

He saunters off with Ayrton to the stands. Elsie looks at me with her eyebrows raised, Senna snorts and judges me like he did at Crittledon. Ivor comes around the corner and sighs at the sight of me. 

“Bugger, you saw Rupert didn’t you? Well never mind about that now you’re up in 10 minutes. Several riders have disqualified themselves so you got moved up. Come along.” 

I can see how they got disqualified. The jumps are massive and complex and the ground is still slippery and muddy after the rain in the morning. This was where Senna excelled, however, just like Ayrton. Senna looks around and memorises the jumps. The announcer, former Team Great Britain show-jumper and now BBC Sports Presenter Billy Lloyd-Foxe, calls my name and my horse and I trot in. I take my helmet off and bow to the officials. Running my hand down Senna’s neck, I silently begin to pray even though I’m the least religious person on the planet. 

“Come on. Show them how it’s done.” I whisper taking the stirrups in hand. 

It’s all in a blur but he makes the course look like child’s play. His corners are tight and the jumps are cleared by feet, fully relaxed throughout the whole thing. A massive cheer goes up as he clears the final jump which was actually a triple. It becomes clear as I look up that we broke another record. I pump my fist and cheer, reaching to pat Senna on the neck. Rupert, Ayrton and Elsie are on their feet, Elsie jumps into Ayrton’s arms in joy. The presentation begins shortly after with Elsie walking beside me and Senna. On the podium, sashes and prizes are handed to me one after the other. Rupert, filling in for Prince Phillip it turns out, shakes my hand and presents me with a gold medal. He kisses my cheek as he places the medal around my neck. 

“Wear that too.” He whispers. 

The celebrations go on for hours into the night back at the hotel. Ayrton joins Elsie and I and we all become fast friends. The medal and the red coat have stayed on but I exchange my jodpurs, blouse and boots for a sleek black dress and heels. I feel Rupert behind me and his hand expertly traces my spine to my lower back while the other holds a flute of champagne. 

“Christ what a ride! I think Ivor was right, you would’ve bested me.” He grins. 

My eyes widen at the compliment. “You got a team gold with a damaged shoulder. But I will say I think we might be on par.”

He hums and his eyes take in my dress. They stop at my very revealing cleavage, emphasised by the gold medal. 

“I wonder what other skills we’re on par with.” His hand drops to my behind. 

“Get a fucking room!” Elsie shouts, Ayrton laughing beside her. 

“Shall we?” I smirk. 

Rupert takes my hand and leads me back to his suite. He wastes no time in pushing me against the door and kissing me. I feel his cock press against my stomach through his pants and I moan, finally able to fully savour the moment. His hand slides my dress up, pushing my panties to the side and he finds the opening at the apex of my thighs. His talented fingers ease in and out, in and out. My hips buck as he finds that sweet bundle of nerves and plays with it. Rupert drops to his knees and takes my underwear off with his teeth, never breaking eye contact. I whimper. His mouth joins his fingers, my fingers burying themselves in his hair, legs shaking. I begin to lose control when his tongue starts moving against that nerve, I cry out as he pushes me over into that blissful release. We both look at each other. His eyes totally dark except for a faint blue ring around the pupil. 

“Fuck me please.” I beg. 

“As you wish, Angel.” 

Rupert picks me up and takes me to his bed. The jacket comes off briefly but only to get rid of the dress. 

“I meant it when I said I wanted to fuck you in this jacket and I most definitely will.” 

I moan at his words as I claw at his belt buckle. He unbuttons his shirt and reveals the most incredible chest I’ve ever seen. I run my hands down it, memorising every inch of him for my dreams. My fingers find the loops of his trousers and I pull him to me, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. He pushes his tongue in as I moan and quickly sets a punishing pace. I can taste myself on his tongue. His trousers come down along with his boxer briefs and my eyes widen at the sight of his length. 

“Fucking hell that won’t fit!” I slap my hand over my mouth, my brain filter completely failing me in that moment. 

Rupert laughs. “I don’t know Angel, I thought you like a challenge. I know I do.” 

“Well when you put it that way.” I smirk. 

He grabs a condom from the bedside table and puts it on. “Absolutely no unwanted pregnancies, you need to represent us at the Olympics. I’m speaking to the Olympic committee tomorrow. You ride like that, I want a fucking medal.” 

I’m shocked, grabbing his face and kissing him again. He pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. Lining himself up, I slowly sink down on him. Stretched and full to the brim, we both moan at the feeling. Already he’s the best fuck I’ve ever had and he hasn’t even started moving. I start to raise myself up and down with his hips meeting mine. The gold medal bounces as I ride him and the sound of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Rupert’s hands alternate between my breasts and my behind. The pace gets faster and faster in a savage fuck. It doesn’t take me long to find that lovely release several times over. He changes position, my legs over his shoulders as he drives me into the bed with each thrust of his hips. Feeling every inch of him, my hands twist the bedsheets. He grabs my face and kisses me. He places my legs around his hips and resting his forehead against mine, thrusts harder. I look into his eyes and see he’s coming undone. I start to buck my hips as I once again feel him bring my pleasure to a boiling point. The release hits me first, Rupert following closely behind as his hips stutter and he groans. He gives me a long slow kiss and then eases out of me. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” I sigh, getting my breath back. 

Rupert pulls me into his chest. “I think you mean today.” 

I look at the clock. 3:30 in the morning. I snuggle into his chest. His soft snores hit my ears and I feel my eyes closing. I wake up a bit later with Rupert wrapped around me and the need to use the bathroom. I look at him, completely out cold with a wisp of black hair curling on his forehead and still snoring. I can’t help but think how angelic he looks. I untangle myself from him and enter the bathroom, my body creaks with a sweet ache from last night. My hair was somehow still in the bun but messy. I pull my hair tie out and it falls down my shoulders. I silently walk out of the bathroom and start to pick up my clothes from the floor. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, Angel?” 

I let out a shriek and turn around. There Rupert lies with his head propped up, eyes sleepy yet already full of mischief. I hold my clothes close to my naked body. 

“Thought you might-“

“Not want you here when I woke up?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, “I was looking forward to a bite of your crumpet for breakfast. Now come back to bed. Seriously darling, you would have been back in your room already if I was done with you.”

“But what about the Olympic committee?” I shift my gaze to the floor. 

“You are the best rider Great Britain has ever seen, you’re a fucking shoe-in. They can bugger off so I can bugger you until Olympia.”

I smile. “This isn’t a one time thing?”

He returns the smile, an honest expression on his most beautiful face. “Consider me besotted, Angel. So, are you coming back to bed?”

I drop my clothes back to the floor and saunter back to the bed. Rupert grins, throwing the sheets off his magnificent body. His lips quickly find my neck. I hold him against me and his arms quickly embrace me too. 

Perhaps this means my ritual will include Rupert now. 

[unholyhelbig]

Claiming my spot as the cowboy Kate chapter two announcement post if you’ll let me 🤭

Title: Outlawed (2/4)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Main Masterlist

Summary: When y/n returns to her hometown of Barton Hollow she stumbles across an outlaw in dire need of help. Together, the two navigate complicated feelings, and demons from their past that are determined to destroy them in the way only the Wild West could.

Warnings: murder, domestic abuse, parental abuse, canon-typical violence, mentions of brothels, reader is called slut (not in a fun way lol), use of a knife (for cooking purposes), gun usage, spit (also not in a fun way), Horrible grammar I do not proofread, we die like cowboys

[A/n: Let's pretend that I didn't forget about this au for a few months, let's also pretend that I have a plan for where to take this plot... I totally do... totally honestly do and don't just plan to have them hate fuck. Enjoy!]

The homestead was nothing but barebones, every crack that was once reinforced by your fathers cracked and aged hands had corroded and allowed the red clay dust to infiltrate. Transients had slept in beds that were once yours and had eaten at hand-crafted tables that you crouched over, shoveling eggs into your mouth and minding your manners, careful to keep your elbows off the wood. Ideas of a house, but never a home.

You’d tied Othello out back. The house was far enough away from town that your presence here wouldn’t draw immediate attention, but you didn’t want to take any chances. Not with an obvious outlaw in your possession. There was enough food in your own pack to keep you sustained for at least a month. You’d stretch it. Find a way to stretch it.

“She’s a real sonabitch, Thello.” You’d griped to the animal as she lounged in the stretching shade of the house, tail flicking back and forth. You pressed your full weight down on the iron handle of the water pump, displeased with it’s resistance. “We saved her from certain death, and she has the nerve, the absolute nerve to give me attitude? Nothin’but trouble. Should have left her in the damn desert.”

You wouldn’t have. Your conscious wouldn’t allow it, and if it did, you would have turned right around and wasted your time loading her onto the back of Othello. She huffed in response, knowing exactly what you were thinking. You got the lever of the pump down for the first time and you were promptly rewarded with a mechanical gurgle, but no water.

“And you know what else? She’s an outlaw.” Othello chuffed, stamped her foot. A clear move of defiance that pleased you enough. Such a good listener. “An outlaw! I don’t feel bad for takin’ her belongings, no sir, I be she took them off some poor fellow first. Doesn’t quite explain the engraving, but hell. This creates a shit storm for the two of us.”

Your voice strained at the end as you pushed the rusted lever down once more, hands burning from the assault of the sun. Once more, an offensive rumble. This time a brown sludge moved from the mouth of the spigot and plopped onto the dry ground.

“You speak of me so fondly, sweetheart.”

Both of your hands were braced on the lever, full body weight aimed to push down. You felt indecent, in nothing more than a tank-top and the blood-marked pants that you’d worn when you’d plugged her wounds the night before. You were covered in a layer of sweat and dirt. Somehow you looked worse for wear than she did.

Kate wore her jacket despite the heat, no doubt covering her wound from you. Her hand was slipped underneath it, clutching at her ribs. She had put her boots back on and scowled at you from the shade behind the screen door. Her slate eyes sparking something serious as she kicked it open in a flurry of dust.

She took a confident step down that had a swaying gait. The type of walk of someone who was compensating for an injury. You crossed your arms over your chest, steeling your jaw. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Far the fuck away from you.”

“You’re hurt, Kate. And I still have your pistol.”

Her eyes flicked angrily towards you as she sauntered past, cowboy hat dipped low over her gaze. “Keep it, Doc. Hope you can shoot better than you can stitch.”

Kate Bishop’s left leg was lagging behind her right and you watched as she slowed even in her preamble a few feet into the endless red desert. Othello gave you a pleading look as if you were supposed to stop the determined outlaw. There was nothing but miles and miles of stretching sand and endless heat that bore down on the both of you. She would certainly drop in the next fifty feet and turn to bone by the end of the week. Coyotes would pick them clean by the next and you could mount them above the hearth like a prize.

“You don’t even have water!”

“Don’t look like you do either.”

You grimaced and slammed down the lever until it bottomed out. It gave way to a steel murmur before a tantalizing flow crashed into the packed dirt. You let it run from brown until it was clear and cold. It was a shock to your fingers, a relief against the heat. The sigh that escaped your lungs was as much a taunt as it was a relief.

Kate has stopped in her spot. Her hands were balled at her side and her head dropped in defeat. She turned her cheek towards you, glared as if you’d offered snake venom instead of solace. You had wet both of your hands and ran them through your hair, letting the cool water drip down your face and soak into your shirt with a grin.   

“What is your deal?” She grit out, slamming back towards you with as much speed as she could muster, her finger suddenly jabbing into your shoulder, tips of her boots splashing in the mud. “You rob me like I’m not a dead woman walkin’ and then you fix me up, and convince me not to walk into the desert after I tell you I’m an outlaw. Why can’t you just let me go?”

She had a snarl to her lip, her eyebrows furrowed and a small cut at her brow. You couldn’t help yourself. You flicked the brim of her hat. Her fingers grabbed your wrist with an iron grip and an animalistic growl. “Alright, alright. Don’t pop a stitch, cowboy.”

Kate must have felt the ache of her exertion because she squatted down and cupped her hands under the steady stream of water and allowed herself to drink, peering up at you under the shadow of her hat. You couldn’t deny her beauty, even in the paleness of her exhaustion. Her shoulders were crouched, her jaw clenched. She nearly looked feral. Guarded. Someone who had never known peace. You relented.

“I didn’t study medicine for convenience, Kate. There is kindness in my heart, curiosity there. I couldn’t leave you.”

 She hummed around a swallow of water, righted herself with great difficulty that made your fingers twitch. You were quite certain that she’d bat you away if you offered up any extra support. She’d bite you and transfer her canine qualities through it.

“You got any food, Doc?”

“You were about to walk into the desert and die five second ago and now you want food?”

She shrugged dejectedly “Pissin’ you off makes me hungry.”

Likewise. You’d had some dehydrated meat and broth that you could do something with. Pressing the lever down and shutting off the lever before making your way back into the house. You were sure Kate would follow with the promise of a meal. She’d flopped herself into one of the chairs at the table, much like your father did after a long day at work, yet she did so in an endearing way.

You busied yourself with the gas stove, with the supplies that you’d thought to bring with you from the last town you could stop in without being hunted like prey. Othello was strong and loyal, and you were thankful for that. Thankful for her. Bartons Hollow was the last place you wanted to be.

“Your old man make this?”

Kate’s voice was surprisingly tender. You turned from the counter, having been wiped of dust.  A warm breeze pushed past a window you’d propped open, cooled the warmth in your cheeks. She was running her calloused fingers over the top of the table, the grooves and the sods.

You nodded, “He was a woodworker. Thought himself like Jesus, if you’d believe it. Didn’t stop his drinkin’ any. But He was good at carving. If you stop at any house or business in Barton Hollow you’ll see his work. It lasted longer than he did. On account of the drinkin.”

You were very aware that you were rambling. The knife you were using came down hard on the carrot that you were chopping. The steady sound filled the room. Kate shifted in her chair and it creaked under her weight. “He beat you?”

“You’re good at small talk.”

“Just a question.”

“Most men that drink do.”

You dropped the sliced vegetable into the broth. A spiced scent filled the kitchen, and it made your stomach clench. Maybe it was the conversation that had it tightening. You’d moved onto the dehydrated meat, pushing the blade into the bloodied flesh, the tendons that distracted you from the overwhelming feeling of being back in this house. Back in this town.

Kate moved with a silence that was unmatched. Even with her injury. Her spiced metallic scent had filled your lungs, but it didn’t startle you. You let your gaze land on her as she leaned against the counter next to you. She watched as your hands stilled, the blade expertly trained at the center of the meat.

“I kill men like that.” Kate swallowed thickly, watched as your stare remained neutral, but remained on her own. “Men who don’t know how to stop. Who think that they control the world just because they’re men. Sometimes I kill important men and that gets me into some hot water, but that doesn’t mean they’re not men who don’t deserve it.”

You breathed out, moving the meat to the broth, giving your hands something to do, setting the knife flat against the counter and wiping the pink juice onto the nearest towel. It was suddenly too cold and slimy against your palms and you didn’t like the feel of it.

Kate gently moved your stare to hers with a surprisingly smooth finger at your chin, directing your attention fully to her own. Tepid gray eyes begging for approval. “Does that scare you?”

“Not as much as it should.”

She dropped her hand, but not her attention. Your stomach flipped at the undivided observation. It shot right to your head and made you feel fuzzy. You could see her freckles this close, her scars and the cracks her lips. The ones you wanted to soothe.

They finally flicked behind you to the white doorframe leading to the living area. To the lead markings that tracked your height. Her shoulder brushed against yours in immense heat, fingers brushing the cursive that tracked your height throughout the years. “Mm, so you were always short, y/n.”

Your name dripped like hot honey from her lips. A genuine smile interrupted her face in a brilliant way. You had to turn to the food, stirring it to keep it from burning. She was pulling you in, and fast. A roguish type of charm that you were sure got Kate Bishop far in life.

“m’not short. Just not as tall as you are.” You frowned, watching the stew bubble, a pleasant smell filling your lungs. “Were you worried I was going to outlaw the outlaw?”

Kate hesitated, her fingers pausing at your last measurement of height. Your mother had stopped taking stock of you when you hit middle school. Your father wanted to stop marking the architecture and as you got older, you started to spend as much time as you could away from home, and with the town physician instead, shadowing him. Learning what you could. What he allowed.

“A little,” She sounded small. Vulnerable. “Played my hand. Got nowhere else to go.”

You flicked the gas stove off and dished out two helpings of stew. The comfortable heat of it brushing against your forearms as you situated both bowls on the table that was steady between you both. Kate waited for you to settle in the first empty chair before she took the other one, suddenly concerned about manners. A stark change, a posh one, that had been embedded within her, you were sure.

“I’m not expectin’ you to go to bat for me if it comes to it.” Kate said, filling the stretching silence, scooping up a helping of stew and speaking around it “I dug my grave, sweetheart, I can lay in it. Christ, this is delicious.”

You took a bite of your own food, relished in the way it quelled your hunger “Good, cause’ I won’t. I don’t expect you to do the same. Mutual destruction an’ all that. I’ve got some business to take care of in town that’s not savory. Might have to split quickly. You can stay here. Doesn’t belong to me anyway, bank owns it.”

This caught her attention. She was smirking at you now, shoveled a large bite of potato into her mouth and kicked you under the table as she chewed thoughtfully.

“Ow? Ow! What?”

“What’d you do?”

“Didn’t do a thing.” You frowned at her, “Town just doesn’t like me. You bed the wrong’ daughters and call out the wrong people for their blasphemy and all of the sudden you’re a pariah. A disgrace to the family name. Last thing I need to do is show up with a pretty woman after years of being independent.”

“let me come with you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“No, I heard you” Kate grinned cockily “But I can take care of myself, and it sound like you can too. You don’t want to show me where you grew up, Doc? Least you can do after you robbed me.”

You huffed and tilted your bowl, draining the rest of the bone broth. “Saved you, you mean. You would have bled out without me. Picked to the bone by vultures. When are you going to let that go?”

Kate leaned forward on her hand, jutting her lip out in a mock pout “When I get my pistol back.”

“Forget it. You get it back when you convince me you’re not going to put a slug between my eyes in my sleep.”

 “I’d never waste a bullet on a beautiful girl.” She deepened her pout, kicking you under the table again with impressive accuracy. She was wearing your resolve down. “Let me come with you.”  

You leaned back in the chair, watching her carefully. She’d lifted her hat enough to give you access to her eyes. They were true. She couldn’t get far with her injury, and even if she did bolt, there wasn’t too much you’d do to stop her. A subtle ache in your chest would be the only thing proving your worth. A memory of an outlaw. It would be nice to have her with you, sure. Of course.

So finally, you acquiesced, trying to ignore the dazzling smile she produced and the warm feeling it conjured in your stomach. She was a stranger. She was an outlaw. She was giving you a damn headache.

Bartons Hollow is nothing more than a main street bordered by a general store, a post office, waterhole, library, and a few other stops that had been in and out over the years. A the head is town hall, flat buildings with even flatter fronts to brave the winds. A few carved pathways that branched off to unsavory community centers and bunkhouses.

“What is the Palace of Pleasures?”

Kate’s breath was molten against the shell of your ear. You’d brought Othello to a slow walk. Her arms were around your waist. It took a good amount of convincing to have her take up residence behind you. But, it was your horse, so she eventually gave in with the threat to make her walk.

Her chin rests on your shoulder, her hands interlocked right above the button of your pants, thumbs pressed against your navel. Her cheek is nuzzled against yours. If people were not to talk of your return, they certainly were bound to now. You swallowed the dryness in your throat. Brought on by the sand, you were sure.

“Planning to bide your time there, Bishop?”

“Planning to join me?”

She laughed something genuine, the sound vibrating against your back. You lead Othello to the nearest tying post by the edge of town before the both of you dismounted. It made you nervous, leaving her here. But you did so, just the same, with a parting brush through her mane and an adjustment to the collar of your own shirt. You were stalling. Ignoring the looming prospect before you. Checking and double checking the pistol in your belt. The second one at the small of your back. Kate’s weaponry.

“You all sorted out?” She snorted.

“Just fine.” Your shoulder shoved into hers when you walked past, knocking her a little off kilter. “Stay behind me.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The Brass Stag was a typical saloon, a reprieve from the boiling sun. Above was a bunkhouse not as quiet as the other in town but half the price. This time in the afternoon granted you some quiet but a general crowd was gathered. Frothy drinks were being served and the light followed you in with a puff of dust. Warmth clung to your clothes to fight off the chill that lingered.

Kate stumbled against you, taking your earlier warning to stay close a little too seriously. You leveled her with a glare, to which she shrugged sheepishly but directed her attention to the liquor with apt joy. Instead, you were focused on the woman manning the bar.

Russet red hair was mostly pinned up, some terrasses falling over broad shoulders. Her neckline dipped low over pale skin. Sharp fern-colored eyes glared down at the countertop before shooting up to yours. You watched as her fingers twitched, and then moved without consequence to the double-barreled shotgun hanging above the bar.

She cocked the gun, aimed it directly at your head. The silence that washed over The Brass stag was about to be shattered by your brain matter. “I told you never to come back here.”

But there was something else. Kate’s hand was around your center, pulling you close to her front. You were enveloped in her warm metallic sent and worried for her wounds. For the simple fact that she had been on her feet for so long. For the even simpler fact that she’d taken her pistol from the small of your back and aimed it right back at the woman behind the bar.

“Now, you can scare away all your business with a half-ass attempt to blow this beauties head clean off, but I must warn you, I never miss my target.”

“Natasha, let me explain. No one has to get hurt.”

Her stare hardened, grip readjusted on her weapon “Worse than what you’ve already done?”

Kate pulled back on the hammer of her weapon with a mechanical click. You stiffened, her thumb rubbing against the fabric of your shirt. You felt comfortable in her grip. As comfortable as you could be with a shotgun aimed right at you. There was an undeniable tension, so palpable it was resting heavily against your chest. Suffocating you.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed, give you an advantage.” Kate taunted with a clear smirk in her words. “Even shoot you in the hand so you can pour me a drink afterwards.”

Natasha snarled back “Will you tamp her down?”

“Afraid even God himself couldn’t do that, ma’am. I just want to talk.”

Natasha drew in a breath large enough to show in her chest, stone stare flicking from Kate to you, not much of a distance. She lowered the muzzle of her gun. Soon it was pointed at the floor, but not remounted.  Kate waited three pounding beats of your heart before she shoved the tip of the weapon back into waistband of your pants, hand lingering for just a moment too long around your midsection before withdrawing like a serpent.

“Whatever you have to say,” Natasha rumbled with a critical glare, “You’ll do it fast, and you’ll do it standing.”  

You approached the bar, but stopped a good half-foot away from it, not wanting to get any closer to the woman that you grew up with. Closer to her younger sister, watcher her with wonder from afar, with pride in your chest and jealousy against your skin. Now, she looked exhausted, worn and pale and dimmed by the smoke that drifted from a rolled cigarette the burned green in a nearby ashtray.

“What about that drink, then?” Kate asked.

Natasha glowered at her, grabbed a crystal glass from the behind the counter. She reeled back, making a lewd noise in the back of her throat before spitting a mixture of mucus and saliva into the base of the cup. She filled it with whiskey then, before sliding it towards Kate with an expectant look. “Five cents.”

Kate blinked at her, then looked at you. “You got five cents, doc?”

Christ. You wished she wouldn’t have said that. Natasha had a shocked expression on her face, eyes flickering to yours with a form of shock instead of the normal anger that flushed her features on any given day. Her grip on the counter loosened and her shoulders dropped in the slightest bit.

“You’re a doctor, then? A legitimate physician? Not that bullshit witchcraft that Maximoff used to pull?”

“Would it make a difference if I was?”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, unclenched. “Alexi is sick. I would be inclined to let you live long enough to defend yourself if you’d take a look at em’”

“You’d put your pride aside long enough to let me?”

“Don’t push it, y/n.” her nose twitched. “Strange died two years back. We ain’t got no real help around here. Clint prays hard and we pray harder but it only gets us so far during the drought. Be good to have a doctor around, even if it is you. Folks may be willing to overlook your discretions in exchange for reliefs.”

“And what discretions were those, exactly?” Kate reached for the drink, it was shoved away by Natasha’s lithe fingers.

“Ask her. So willing to shoot for a woman you barely know.” Natasha laughed bitterly. “Learn your loyalty, kid. Your doctor might be a little too good with her hands. Rumor spreads like wildfire round here.”

“You pointed a shotgun at her because she’s a slut?” She looked at you tenderly, holding up a hand “Sorry, sweetheart.”

Natasha shook her head, clicking her tongue “Oh no, plenty of people are sluts. Not all of em’ kill the Pastors daughter.”

[catfern]

cowboy!ellie headcanons

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

music: roses are falling - orville peck

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fingering (briefly), drunk sex-ish, guns??, yearning and just sappy shit mainly im in a vulnerable state

an: this is shit brainrot bc i've played too much rdr2 and i want ellie to let me ride her cowgirl style. this took me for-fucking-ever because i got acrylics and dropped my wpm from 108 to 67. also if i put out a poll asking what fic to post next would people vote

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✷ cowboy!ellie having the most pornographic, velvet-laced southern accent known to man. drawling out words in a whisper, that reassured wit sitting in her throat with a lopsided smirk. she’s such a tease, knowing how it gets to you, that ‘c’mon, sweetheart, you gonna make me wait f’you?’ after she trots ahead, glancing back at you under the wide brim of her hat. please, trying to make eye contact with ellie after a long day of riding (ifykyk), seeing just a glance of the veins in her neck, beads of sweat sitting in the little crevices as she leans down to her saddle bag. god, her hands!! and she looks at you, that knowing impatience and ‘okay there, darlin’?, and you can’t look at her, your head swimming and drowning in the molasses of her voice and too focused on the up, down, up, down, up trot of your horse.

✷ setting up camp for the night, bed mats a good distance away from each other, and you wake up, fire dying, moon high, and ellie is still awake, hands covered in dirt and ash and rust from her old revolver that she cleans too occasionally. the gentle scratch of charcoal on parchment, her body hunched over, protective like a creature, and when you call out to her, she TOSSES her journal into the dirt like it burned to touch. if the moon wasn’t so faint, you’d see the uncharacteristic blush fleeting across her cheeks, but too quickly, she tells you to go back to sleep, she’s just staying up to take care of the fire. you listen in a haze, and ellie tears out the five, maybe 6 pages?? of rough sketches, harsh lines etching out your body, your smile, your eyes, and stamps them into the cooling embers of the campfire.

✷ if we’re talking historically accurate cowboys, ellie is definitely the type to believe in dinosaurs!! it’s this new, fresh, science fad and everybody laughs at her for it, cause omg?? giant lizards?? nah!! but ellie is so adamant, reading every paper and pamphlet on the subject that she can get her hands on (assuming she can even read lets be so real), and she’ll tell you about it! small, reluctant meanders from more important topics, at first, but you’re kind and you listen to words either of you barely understand, and sure it’s a little bit boring, but she’s happy, and for some reason she makes it incredibly dynamic, crash coursing you on lizards that evolved (a buzz word in all her pamphlets) into BIGGER lizards.

✷ cowboy!ellie, the horse whisperer. she doesn’t teach you to ride, but you’ve never had a way with horses, cantankerous and rough, so you need a lil bit of assistance. ellie will take the lead, letting you rock behind her on your horse, your arms draped around her like common occurrence, and she’ll turn, ‘see? be gentle, she’ll listen. you’re a team, y’know?’

✷ ‘she just likes you more than me.’

✷ her laugh is boisterous, loud, it sounds like it belongs amongst the hills and caverns, like wind against rocks, ‘no one likes me more than you, flower.’

✷ one day, you’re just passing through a small town, nothing more than a few shops and scattered farm houses, and ellie spies an outlaw poster, poorly tacked to the community bulletin board. it’s her, badly sketched, sure. her chin is way too big, nose a bit askew, but it’s definitely her. and you laugh as she presses you frantically, ‘i don’t really look like this? do i?’ and it’s got some ridiculous nickname that definitely over-inflates her ego, ‘ellie 'longshot’ williams (no one has called her that ever) that she’ll parade it around like a medal

✷ ‘aw, love, do you need some help shootin’? don’t call me long shot for nothin’.���

✷ you’d get a bit vulgar, a bit defensive because, yeah, maybe ellie is actually good at shooting, and you could benefit from her teaching. but that fucking nickname, lording over your head with that lilt in her voice, and the childish, goading smile, you’d tell her to shove it somewhere the sun don’t shine and just pray luck guides your bullet.

✷ your now-so-serious scowl eats at her, so ellie has to swallow her boyish pride and shut up, simply falling behind you. gently tapping your shin with her boot to get you to adjust your stance, her hands stretching out over yours to feel out the barrel of the foreign pistol. they’re rough, calloused, unmade for this sort of gentle gesture, but you welcome the heat that they give. with a soft push and pull, like a tide she moves your fingers, your hands, to hold the gun well. her voice is a whisper as she instructs, ‘don’t hold it so loosely. stronger grip helps aim.’ 

✷ she’s shaking in her boots. a moment like this, tender, with you is scarcely shared. the closeness burns her chest as she feels you breathe against her, skittish but assured, ellie’s finger snaking around yours to settle on the trigger. you go to fire, and the recoil sends you backwards in a shock, ellie having to move her hands from the gun to your waist to keep you steady. you laugh something coarse, leaning back into her without a thought. adrenaline intimacy.

✷ ‘okay, maybe y’need a few more lessons before you get it right.’ it’s a selfish thought, but it cements ellie in that moment, with you just in her reach, and her revolver. she’d clean it for you.

✷ cowboy!ellie doing stupid shit, like taking longer detours to show you the scenery, the stretching fields and great mountain waterfalls, stopping to pick wildflowers (she’s a sap), or taking the extra care to saddle up your horse for you, securing the girth and not letting you touch it because ‘i don’t need you slippin’ on me.’ she takes care of you, out on the road, it’s not an official thing, but you’re off limits.

✷ ellie is kind, but sex with her isn’t. the first time, she’s terribly drunk, playing away her night in a saloon, at a poker table (she’s losing), and you’re sat at the bar, wearing that, and it’s violently throwing her off her game, so she decides to make it known that your presence is an interruption. dragging you upstairs, she’s unkind. ‘you’re not helping my luck, looking like that.’

✷ ‘how do you need me, then?’

✷ she tastes like cigarette smoke, and bourbon, and she smells like the sleek of rain on dry dirt, and feeling her all over you is intoxicating, rough. she’s quick, her lips aren’t soft but rather, a grating possession on your skin, a feeling that swallows you, melts you down in the heat of her hands. she swears, a lot, it sounds like disbelief but really, it’s a bribe. a prayer. ‘dear god, give me this, let me have this, and i will be devout.’ it’s primal, something uncontrollable. drunk, it’s worse. she loses herself in the haze, becomes complete disregard, her fingers inside you without hearing you, just feeling you. lost in you and she keeps pounding into you simply because she’s enraptured by the feeling of you clenching around her.

[headchefshcs]

can you maybe make something abt rock zombie branch?

PopS1ut // Rock Zombie Branch x Pop!GN!Reader

Barb decides to have some extra fun, turning to the new Rock Branch and makes him fuck you in front of everyone.

NSFW undercut Minors DNI, They/Them pronouns used

You were standing right at the front of the stage when Barb says this, and Branch takes no time grabbing you with his hair and holds you up while he’s fucking you. Your dick/pussy can be seen as well as he fucks you. “Make daddy proud, popslut” he sneers as he’s holding you up with his hair.

He has one of his hands either in your mouth or on ur chest, playing and abusing it. When he cums/makes you cum he makes sure everyone can see it. He then places his free hand, gathering the fluids and putting it to your mouth. “suck them clean slut”, in which you oblige, seeing as you can’t do anything else. You feel absolutely humiliated having your friends see you being used, but at the same time deep down you enjoyed it.

You don’t turn into a rock zombie Barb lets you stay a pop troll just just as a personal pet for Zombie Branch. It doesn’t take long for you to gladly become his lil fuck poptoy, always have your head on his thighs. You’re always full, either a toy or his cum and looking brain dead all nice and cute with your collar. He only refers to you as “pet” or “popslut”, while he has you call him master/daddy/sir. “What’s my real name again… well master calls me popslut and he’s always right…”

He slut shames you all the time, though you’re not paying attention, too busy sucking him off to hear anything he’s saying. He makes you get a tramp stamp saying “Popslut” or “Branches Popslut” he also make you get a piercing on you pussy/dick. He has you wear either black collar with spikes or a nice pink one that goes with your pop look, to humiliate you even more. You’re nothing more than a popslut . On your collar it just says “Return to Branch” or “Branch’s cock sleeve”

He loves to humiliate you but at the same time wants everyone to know who you belong to. He’ll often makes you sit on his dick in public or have you suck on his dick while he’s relaxing on a couch. While other times he lets people use you, saying “come fuck the only popslut left”. After letting numerous Rock Trolls go through you he’ll fucks you senseless, all while shaming you saying “yeah that’s right. There’s only one dick that can turn you into this much of a little whore and make you feel this good”

When you’ve been bad such as going around sucking and fucking others without Branches permission he has a few ways of punishing you. You’ll try to beg for him to forgive you but nooo if you don’t wanna be his pop slut you can be someone else’s.

He’ll have have you so close but he just stops like “ah ah ah.. not until I hear you fucking scream and beg”. In which he has you sobbing and begging for him. Or he makes watch him fuck someone else, all while telling you to not touch yourself. "see this is what GOOD sluts who know their place and know how to behave get treated" “run around and get as much dick as you like but your not gonna get one that’s as good as mine”

After that you don’t go to anyone else if your given the chance. Branch just smirks like “yeah that’s fucking right. You know who you belong to.”. After which he’ll treat you with a “reward” and eat you out, all while making you moan out “thank you master/daddy/sir” “There’s only one dick that can turn you into this much of a little whore”

[colourstreakgryffin]

If u still write for Haikyuu, I have this little yan!Sugawara x fem!reader concept: Reader is a new 1-2nd year at Karasuno who got dared to disguise as a boy and join the boys volleyball team as a dare but actually got in, so now she has to keep up her disguise until graduation. For some reason, the other boys dont realize and just think Reader is a really feminine dude with a manbun💀 (reader never cut her hair)

One time, Sugawara just accidently finds out reader's gender because he came over to her house once and reader PANICS. Like "OHMYGODPLEASEDONTTELLANYONEATSCHOOLABOUTHISISWEARI'LLDOLITERALLYANYTHING-" readers thinks shes cooked as hell basically (she kinda is)

(I'm sorry if this is too much, what I just wrote is a whole fanfic 💀)

Oh. Right! Okay, normal love(what I got from your follow-up). I do not like when the request is written for me but you know what. I really like this concept, it’s got so many Mulan vibes and I’m gonna do it! Thank you for the Haikyuu request, I haven’t written for Haikyuu in such a long time

Koshi Sugawara- Red Handed

Koshi Sugawara has really been suspicious of you since the first time you entered the Gymnasium… you proclaim you’re a boy, you do… look like one, no real feminine body parts so that’s a good sign but you’re also kinda curvy, kinda delicate and have a long man-bun. Well, he can’t really talk much about man buns… Asahi

However, he always felt like there was more with you than meets the eye, it is a feeling stirring in his gut for such a long time now yet it laid dormant for as long, out of how nonsensical it truly is. He just knew it, he just didn’t want to speak up

That’d just be plain rude

This day flies by as every other day, Koshi watching over and working with both Ukai and Daichi to watch over the second and first years of the volleyball club. Hinata and Kageyama eagerly but competitively throwing spikes and hits to each other over the court and the net. Tsukishima just listening to his dear friend, Yamaguchi‘s comments. Nishinoya and Tanaka making quite the big deal over Kiyoko giving them wet towels whilst basically worshipping her every breath, during the break the whole team are taking… but where are you?

Koshi wanted to explore where you are and find out why you always hid away after each break but he is way too polite and well-mannered to dare make his own big deal over you so whilst he watches you arrive back to the court… he thinks you’re odd, always thinks you’re odd. Such a feminine curvy ‘man’ you are, he wonders why but he doesn’t want to press on it too much

After a few more hours, the club finally closes off for the day and as every member begins to clean off, Koshi’s eyes naturally begun to smoothly follow you once more he is done packing up the team’s uniforms, whose is helping Tanaka put away the net on the net set into the storage closet

How weird… but not that important

Koshi is the last member of the club to leave, taking over specific maintaining and cleaning duties off the Coaches and Managers so they can get home and rest sooner, he always wishes to help them as they work so hard for him and the team. His footsteps lightly tap and skid on the slippery wood plane floor of the school’s infamous gymnasium

The keys jiggling loudly in his pant pockets as he checks over the private locker room, going a double check to ensure that no sensitive belongings or important items are left behind and well, yes. There was something… something of yours, your personal club jacket, spotted from the corner of his eyes at your changing locker

Koshi cannot just leave this behind as he picks it up smoothly, his thumbs tracing over the silky soft black fabric and reading over your last name stamped on the back. It’s not even just that, he can feel something harder in the pocket and finds out it’s your phone, making the need to give it back to you more urgent

He does know your address, as all personal information is written down then hidden away by Kiyoko for any possible emergencies. Since you’re also a member of the team, your number and address is dotted down like the rest, including himself

He knows it’s immortal to snoop through confidential information for unnecessary reasons but he doesn’t see it as anymore good to simply leave this possession in the gymnasium where it could possibly be taken by another Club’s members or a faculty member

Koshi, after a few seconds of deep thought and his eyes glued to the folded cellphone his hand is holding through the black club jacket’s pocket, decides that he must personally head to your home and deliver your valuable item himself as he doesn’t want to bother any of your friends nor any of his own teammates to drop it

Setting off on a grave trip to your place after pushing through his own moral thoughts screaming at him to just take your phone number and call you and tell you to come pick up your jacket holding your valuable phone, he can’t bring himself to do so as he locks up the gym slowly and steadily as well as with not even a loud breath leaving him. It’ll be okay

That’s all he tells himself

Koshi, after an almost painful walk with how heavy his heart is over his guilt and shame… he doesn’t know how long this trip took but he didn’t necessarily care, his hands and arms almost possessively clung on the jacket to ensure he won’t lose any little piece of it. He may be a bit suspicious off you but you’re a good kid at the end of the day

He reached a rather pretty looking house in the ordinary neighbourhood of this pretty little town calls theirs, bracing forward with an explanation buried in the wired nerves of his brain and edging on the tip of his tongue. Stopping right before the door, Koshi politely knocks

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock

Then silence falls upon himself and the already quiet household for a few long uncomfortable seconds until it swings open and his eyes widen in surprise… that… is you. This pretty girly girl before him, looks so much like you and the way she flinches and her hand tightens on the doorknob. He has a feeling it may just be you

The new member of the Volleyball club, the ‘boy’ whose man bun could give Asahi a run for his money. However, Koshi shoves it aside for now, suspecting it may just be a sister of yours and he is not one to create unwanted drama so he politely cracks a pretty smile and offers the jacket before saying

“Here, ma’am. This is for your brother”

You, going to pretend like you aren’t the boy who joined the club, takes the jacket and makes your voice as sweet and girly as possible to try deflect off your own awful deep impression of a male voice when you’re doing this longtime stupid dare at the club. Answering with a thank you, your mother ruins everything by merely saying

“Dokusha, honey! When you’re done at the door, come to the table! It’s time for dinner!”

That’s all Koshi needed to hear and all the locked away supscious he had, are rising from the deep soiled ground to explore… you’re a girl? Well, he kinda assumed so but he also hoped he was just tripping but he isn’t and he couldn’t be more… offended

It didn’t take long for you to begin panicking, like properly panicking as your mother didn’t even know what was truly going on from the kitchen in her peacefully cheerful oblivious little world. With a flustered face and much shame and regret and a weight of million apologises and begs for forgiveness, you begin mindlessly crying out

“OHMYGODPLEASEDONTTELLANYONEATSCHOOLABOUTTHISISWEARILLDOLITERALLYANYTHINGSUGAWARA-SAN!IWASDAREDTOATTENDTHECLUBBY MYFRIENDS,I’MSORRY!”

Koshi is quite mad at what he has found this very second as you spill out all your guts through begs for him to spare you, the truth about the ‘boy’ he had many suspicions on for such a while yet had always respected by never speaking on. You’re not a boy at all. You lied right to his face?! All for some dumb little dare from some friends! You don’t need to do this! You committed a minor case of fraud, something very immorally wrong

Whilst he is furious, he isn’t heartless

He gets that children like you make dumb mistakes. He makes dumb mistakes… a lot and he won’t throw the book at you for this, even if it’s wrong. He just will give you a long LONG lecture about why this is bad, to never do it again and work to try get you onto the girls’ Volleyball team. If you’re that interested in Volleyball

Koshi eventually manages to find his voice again after examining every part of you with his sharp eyes to remind himself once more that this is real, maintaining his usual composure and poise in a flash, as to not scare you off. He’s mad but he does kinda understand where you come from

“Dokusha… after dinner, do you have a minute to talk? We… need to discuss a number of things”

[youthereader]

Near Zero preview.

summary: Brought into be part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

a/n: Though based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character.

This is my first time writing reader fic, so please be kind! I've had this swimming around in my head for the last couple months and finally decided to get started. Big thanks to @indulgence-be-thy-name for encouraging me. I also could not have done this without the constant inspiration of @stargazingfangirl18 whose stories first got me interested in reading reader fic. ❤️

rating: eventually E (no smut in this preview)

When you see him now, he’s so different to the last time, but he’s unmistakably the same man. Now, he wears a broad hat and carries a pipe as he approaches you in the empty room.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he says, and his smile opens him up completely.

He extends a hand as you rise to meet him. Your things are being sorted thoroughly somewhere out back, but you still hold onto your coat and matching pocketbook. Los Alamos feels like another world, so remote that you hadn’t expected the town to be built here, with roads and people swarming. It is a living, breathing thing you’ve somehow managed to stumble into, it feels.

“Dr. Oppenheimer,” you reply, shaking his hand. “I didn’t know if you were meeting me.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss it,” he replies, though he sounds distracted. “What do you know?”

Hardly any pleasantries, which you expected. In the years of knowing him, Dr. Oppenheimer didn’t get to know you as your professor, and certainly not as anything else outside of the classroom. You had not subscribed to the Cult of Oppie, and not necessarily out of choice.

Though there were women studying theoretical and experimental physics, they were few and far between. Since leaving high school, you had understood that to be taken seriously, you could not act like a man. The few friends you had in high school often teased you about your lack of grace, your ability to be covered in chalk dust at any given time, and your unwavering standoffish nature.

You belong in a think tank, but not on a podium proclaiming these theories. You could work in a team, which was why you supposed your name came up for this.

“My country needs me,” you reply.

He smiles again, somewhat smaller. His eyes survey you a beat longer and you swallow, picturing your hair windswept and unruly from the train journey. You might smell of sweat, you hadn’t showered since yesterday and came straight here when you let yourself known to security.

“And your country will be glad to have you. Have a seat.”

He gestures to a desk and chair, waiting for you to sit. The silence stretches and you feel his eyes on you. You’re wearing your best dress and your nails match your lipstick. Though you were given little context about being summoned here, it felt like a job interview from the telegram you received a few days ago.

The last time he saw you, you dressed like someone that didn’t care about making a good impression.

To stamp down any nerves, you pluck your cigarettes case from your pocketbook, fishing one out. A lit match appears as you put a cigarette between your lips, Dr. Oppenheimer’s hand cupping the flame as you lean in.

“Mm, thank you,” you murmur. You exhale, watching as he pulls back, extinguishing it with a short puff of air.

He stares down at the burnt-out match for a couple seconds before he looks back at you again, his brows furrowing.

“This opportunity means reaching beyond what we have before scientifically,” he says, and you take another pull from your cigarette.

You speak around your smoke. “This is to do with Nazi weapons, isn’t it.”

“They split the atom,” he replies, and you nod. “And since you’re here, it means you’ve been cleared to be part of our great endeavour.”

The ‘our’ would be ‘his’ to a lot of people. You know better, having seen the hundreds of people outside.

“I need like-minded people,” he says.

You rub the tip of your thumb and forefinger together absently, frowning. You were the first to admit that you had very little in your life besides your work, and that hadn’t been plentiful since war broke out. Belatedly, it occurs to you that he’s referring to your intelligence.

“What could I contribute? I wasn’t one of your best.”

“You were,” he amends, lowering his voice a little. “You just didn’t participate outside of a school building. You were invited.”

Your eyes swing to meet his and you recall that Oppie reputation, that he was a womanizer underneath the genius. It never meant to be aimed towards you, that charm. Or so you assumed.

“I’m not the type to enjoy crowds,” you reply. “It’s character flaw of mine.”

You were speaking just like your parents, the ones that had not encouraged you to pursue academia. Being a homemaker, someone with a reliable husband was what they wanted for you.

“Would you have come, if I asked you to, personally?” he asks.

His question throws you, and you stammer out: “N-now, or back then?”

“I asked for you both times,” he says.

For the first time, you blush. Hoping he ignores this, you smoke some more to clear your head. You had almost forgotten about his ability to make you flustered.

“If you asked me to come to a class party personally, I would have said yes,” you admit.

You dare to glance his way again, stomach flipping. So much for being a more polished version of yourself, you’re back to being mousey and strange under those intense eyes.

“That’s a pity,” he murmurs. “But I’m glad you’re here now.”

A/N: If you've enjoyed this so far, let me know! Thank you for reading. 🖤

[moneyque]

— monique mitchell, task OO3: p1.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟷: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂

What is your full name?

Monique Ella Mitchell.

Where and when were you born?

May 23rd, 2000 in Canarsie, Brooklyn.

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Michael Mitchell is an infamous drug distributor who owns several clubs throughout New York City. He can be described as stoic, over-protective, and intimidating. Monica Mitchell was a registered nurse before she passed away but was described as nurturing, loyal, and had a lot of sass & cheek.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

Monique is an only child.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

Monique lives in her penthouse condo in Los Angeles, California by herself.

What is your occupation?

Monique is currently a socialite, influencer and a model.

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

Standing at 5’4 and a half, Monique has dark brown eyes as well as dark brown hair that runs past her shoulders. She identifies as black, race-wise, and weighs around 145 lbs. She has numerous tattoos scattered around her upper body— a symbol on the back of her neck, ‘MUSE’ underneath her collarbone, her ex-boyfriend’s name tracing her ear, & another small tribute to her former relationship on her hip, ‘get money or get lost’ on her forearm, the outline of a diamond on her finger, and ‘new york’ on her left hand. Her style of dress is definitely trendy/ahead of the trend, fly, anything and everything designer, flashy, revealing, and anything to show off her curvy figure.

To which social class do you belong?

She belongs to the upper class.

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

None.

Are you right- or left-handed?

Monique is right-handed.

What does your voice sound like?

Monique has a distinct New York accent mixed with her somewhat high-pitched tone.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

‘Stop playing with me.’ ‘Ode.’ ‘Girl.’ ‘Cute.’ ‘Weird.’ ‘Real.’ ‘Likeee.’

What do you have in your pockets?

Dior Addict Lip Maximizer in the color ‘Holographic Pink’ with a matching compact mirror to go with it.

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

Monique has a habit of flipping her hair or touching it. She also rolls her eyes constantly throughout a conversation and is overall very expressive with her facial features to a fault. Monique is very vain, so any time she gets a chance to look at herself or admire herself, she takes it. Monique makes it a point not to wear the same purse/handbag two days in a row. Another defining characteristic about her would be the color pink being incorporated into every single aspect of her life in almost a childish manner.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸: 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚄𝙿

How would you describe your childhood in general?

Monique’s early childhood was a rough start for her. At the time, her father was still dealing with the loss of his wife/her mother as well as being a dope boy on the corner trying to bring in a steady income for his new born daughter. Initially, they struggled, living in the projects, surviving off of food stamps and a necessity-only lifestyle. Despite that, Michael always made sure Monique never wanted for anything. So, the transition from the projects to their penthouse in Brooklyn in her late adolescent years was somewhat smooth for her.

What is your earliest memory?

Monique’s earliest memory would be opening presents on Christmas at Sakari’s house, where she celebrated with both Sakari and Josiah’s family. Her father had just gifted her a Barbie DreamHouse, which sparked up her love for the doll/franchise.

How much schooling have you had?

Monique has been in school her entire life up until now, the highest point she reached being her B.S in Business and B.A Communication.

Did you enjoy school?

The only aspect Monique enjoyed about school was meeting up with her friends, or hanging out with them afterwards. She viewed school as mandatory and experienced a lot of pressure from her father to be a straight A/B+ student throughout her years in school.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

Monique learned a lot from her best friend Josiah, as far as street smarts, gang life, and how to make money.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

Monique’s father was her biggest role model. As well as Josiah. She also considered Barbie a role model to her, in the sense that she was perfect, very feminine, had it all, and could be whatever she wanted.

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

Monique got along with her dad very well, he was one of her best friends up until she reached high school. Which is when she started to take note of how overbearing, overprotective, controlling, and stubborn he was, which ultimately led her down the path of deceit and dishonesty.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Monique wanted to be rich.

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

As a young girl, Monique loved gymnastics, exploring the city and watching classic movies with her dad.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

Monique displayed traits of resilience, sass, being outspoken, very saddity, and very adventurous.

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

Monique was popular amongst her peers, throughout her childhood, mainly because she was always in the latest, had the best clothing, and appeared to live a lavish lifestyle. However, she always kept her friend group short. Her main friends were Josiah Reeves and Sakari Vaughn, but they grew to be like family to her. She kept very few close friends in school and mainly hung around the older crowd that she was introduced to.

When and with whom was your first kiss?

Her first kiss was from one of the boys in her neighborhood at the age of six.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

Monique isn’t a virgin. She lost her virginity to her first boyfriend when she was 15.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟹: 𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

Monique considers moving out of the projects the most important event in her life so far.

Who has had the most influence on you?

Herself.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Monique considers establishing herself as a brand, a household name and being able to make money off of just being herself one of her greatest achievements.

What is your greatest regret?

Monique has no regrets.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

Monique sold her ex-boyfriend’s social security number and pushed a girl down a flight of stairs causing her to sprain her wrist.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Monique has been to jail for stabbing a woman in the arm, but her father got her record expunged.

When was the time you were the most frightened?

Monique was most frightened during her first car accident during a speed race.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

Her ex boyfriend’s mom walked in on them having sex when she was 16.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

Monique would change how fast she grew up. Monique feels like she rushed into being a grown up, and faced harsh realities very early on. She feels as though she didn’t get to experience ignorance and innocence for long.

What is your best memory?

When her dad bought her a G Wagon, her first car, when she was seventeen.

What is your worst memory?

Being in school and finding out her best friend had gotten shot, and was in critical condition at the time.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟺: 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝙵𝚂 & 𝙾𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

Monique tends to lean towards the pessimistic side, even though she’s working on it, she finds it easier to see and expect the worst.

What is your greatest fear?

Monique’s greatest fear is her father passing away and letting her guard down and then being hurt by someone she loves or trusts.

What are your religious views?

Monique isn’t spiritual at all but believes in God.

What are your political views?

Monique shares liberal political views.

What are your views on sex?

Monique sees sex as something somewhat sacred to her but fun. She doesn’t have sex with just anyone, she’s very calculated with whom she shares her body but she’s also accepting of people who think differently when it comes to sex, and sex work in general.

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

Monique isn’t a killer but when she’s pushed to the limit, it’s no telling what she’ll do or is capable of doing. Killing is acceptable when it’s to protect one’s self or someone else, and is unacceptable when it’s senseless.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?

The most evil thing a human being could do is maliciously harm the harmless.

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

Monique does believe in true love and soulmates.

What do you believe makes a successful life?

To Monique, having a successful life is accomplishing what they want/set their mind on and acquiring wealth while doing so.

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?

Monique is usually very honest with how she feels or thinks, especially if she feels like she has the right to be or is justified in her thought process. If she has any doubts in her mind, she’ll keep it to herself and deliberate amongst her trusted friends and loved ones before communicating it.

Do you have any biases or prejudices?

Monique is biased & prejudice against men, in general.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?

Monique absolutely refuses to do anything that 100% comprises her self-respect or whatever she considers beneath her. She holds herself to a certain standard and any time that standard or boundary is pushed, she’s quick to attack the situation or retreat.

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

Monique would die for her father, only.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟻: 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝚂 𝚆/ 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?

Monique is very standoffish and keeps everyone at a distance but still is polite/kind and considers herself approachable. Her treatment of them changes depending on how she perceives them, if they are friends or closer, or if she wants to get to know them romantically/financially.

Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

The most important person in Monique’s life is her father because time after time again, he’s proven to be the most genuine, solid and stable person in her life.

Who is the person you respect the most, and why?

Monique respects her father the most, because of all the things he has risked and done for her to be where she’s at today. He could’ve just given up after his wife/her mother passed and stayed stagnant, and hindered her, but he’s put everything on the line to make sure she had what she wanted at all times and nothing/no one could supersede that.

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.

Monique’s friends are Asiah Porter, Josiah Reeves, and Sakari Vaughn. She views Josiah as her best friend.

Josiah is an older brother figure in Monique’s life, the second man in her life who took care of her, protected her and introduced her to the street life, fast money, and everything she’s known growing up. Monique sees Josiah as selfless, reliable, solid and loyal.

Sakari is the older sister figure in her life who’s always stuck by her side growing up. Sakari and Monique share similar home situations and upbringings which only brought them closer, as well as their fathers being close friends, and former business partners. Monique would describe Sakari as nurturing, soft-spoken, and not quick to express how she really feels.

Asiah Porter is Monique’s former roommate, she met Asiah through Sakari and once Monique moved to L.A., they formed a strong bond. Monique views Asiah as her partner in crime and a listening ear whenever she needs one. To Monique, Asiah is often the voice of reason, has juvenile tendencies, and is very friendly.

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.

Monique is single.

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

Monique has been in love three times. The first time was with her first boyfriend, rapper Artist Dubose, who she dated for five years consecutively and thought she was going to spend her life with but they broke up due to both sides taking things too far and being disrespectful. The second time was with an on and off again situationship that ended up becoming more serious than she had originally intended it to be. She realized she was in love as she broke things off with him, due to internal issues. Lastly, Monique was in love with her ex-boyfriend of nine months, which also started off as harmless but eventually turned into something deeper. However, towards the end of the relationship, fights broke out that revealed issues with their relationship, resulting in her ending things with him.

What do you look for in a potential lover?

Monique looks for a provider, someone who's consistent, with a charming personality. Someone who shares similar traits to her father, someone who will defend her blindly whenever need be, someone who will cherish, reassure her, and exercise patience with her and not give up on her. She also looks to see if they trick.

How close are you to your family?

Monique is extremely close with her father, being that he’s the only family she’s ever really known or had. Monique is familiar with her mother’s side of the family but doesn’t have a close bond with them due to them not being as fond of her father and his occupation.

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?

Monique hasn’t started a family and doesn’t wish to at the moment, simply because she’s currently too selfish to have kids at the moment. Pregnancy scares her.

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?

Monique would turn to her father or her best friend.

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?

Monique trusts her father or Josiah just because they have shown her things in the past that make her feel comfortable with them doing so. Her father’s shielded and protected her, her entire life, treating her as if she was fragile and Josiah has fought for her many times before.

If you died or went missing, who would miss you?

Monique believes the entire world would miss her.

Who is the person you despise the most, and why?

Monique despises her entire block list, and people who don’t like her in general because she feels as though they’ve picked unnecessary problems with her.

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

Monique would 100% argue with someone and by no means avoids conflict.

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

Monique leads herself in social situations, she wouldn’t try to control the crowd unless she’s being paid to host. Amongst her ‘peers’, she does her own thing or keeps her distance.

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?

Monique doesn’t mind interacting with large groups of people, she’s used to entertaining a large crowd because of her social position what she does for work, and who she is. She doesn’t necessarily like being around a lot of people, and if she had the choice, she’d stay by herself.

Do you care what others think of you?

Monique cares about how she's perceived, not necessarily about what others think of her. This means she cares about the impression she gives and the vibe she projects, but she doesn't necessarily care about how people personally interpret it.

@la-resources

[raytorosaurus]

I have seen maybe half a season of TUA and didn’t read the comics so let me tell you seeing those panels where Vanya is yelling “We belong on that stage” (and in reference to herself and her taller blonde bass-playing brother) drawn in profile with literally Gerard’s haircut and outfit was a big shock to the system. I never even considered that he’d inserted elements of himself and his bandmates into TUA except for a bunch of weird edits people made comparing how much Aiden Gallagher looks like Frank but now I feel like I really need to read it.

im really looking forward to rereading all of the comics after this semester's over because i haven't done that since volume 3's run ended and i'll definitely make more coherent posts about it then but like. it's really really interesting to compare to all of gerard's other art because he is just...so distinctively him, even across different mediums and genres. tua and mcr and hesitant alien and kjna and his visual art etc etc etc like his artistic fingerprint is stamped so boldly and unapologetically all over them and that's something i really love about him. like his art, love it or hate it, is sooooo genuine always. even when he's purposely imitating other artists, he's very consciously doing it in his own voice, putting his own spin on it.

when i say tua and mcr are completely separate projects i mean it - i don't think one should only ever be discussed in relation to/in the context of the other - and, above all, tua is certainly not like...autobiographical, or a direct representation of real people/events. it's led by gerard but it has a different creative team than mcr does and that really shows as well - i definitely wanna talk ant this when i have more time but part of the reason im not sold on conweap as an album is because it's too umbrella academy - it's really evident that gerard was working on both of them at the same time, and letting one influence the other too directly. mcr's a band, not a Gerard Project, and umbrella academy is largely a duo (w gabriel bá), so they can't just be transplanted onto each other yk.

anyway I'm rambling but all this to say - tua isn't meant to be "about" mcr any more than bullets is "about" 9/11. but gerard's life was changed and shaped by his experiences in the music scene throughout his life, by dropping everything and living as a penniless artist, by becoming suddenly (in)famous, and that really shines through in tua. he says he drew inspiration from touring band life to write a dysfunctional family, and the dehumanising effects of fame and attention, and of being categorised and scrutinised on a private or public level, are huge themes - as is addiction, mental health, complicated grief.

like...i actually got into mcr through the tua comics lmaooo. i read volume 1 because of wonderful @blackmoldmp3 talking about it and immediately said oh. i need more from this dude's brain right now. and i was soooo not disappointed haha. i really am obsessed with quite a lot of the things gerard is also obsessed with as an artist. the particular themes and imagery and scenarios he's fixated on are really very consistent throughout everything he does - only the way they're discussed or portrayed does change over time. i don't rly subscribe to the idea of gleaning specifics abt artists' personal lives from their works because, beside all else, it just does them a huge disservice (that's my number one gripe with the popular talking pounts around hes alien and frank's solo work in particular; however "confessional" you wanna read art as, it's still art that was created with skill and intent.)

anyway that's way off topic dkfnfj. what i do love about this kind of thing is looking at distinct creations in the context of the rest of an artist's body of work. like...yeah, gerard's said there's a lot of mikey in klaus. has dressed similarly to vanya and the kraken and the seance at times etc etc. has compared himself to the rumor, because she's the one he relates to most. puts a lot of his familiar ideology surrounding music and performance into vanya. puts angry teenage vanya in a shitty punk band with her disillusioned teenage brother on bass, and puts a classical music prodigy in a punk band as an excellent guitarist, writing songs about killing the president etc etc. i could go on! because these things are just scattered everywhere through the comic, just like all of gerard thematic and aesthetic and ideologic fingerprints.

so what's reallyyy interesting to me is looking at umbrella academy as something gerard wrote on the road with mcr across multiple years. volume one was released while the tbp world tour was ongoing, and volume two only a few months after. the progression of parade -> tua -> conweap -> danger days is SOOOO fascinating to me, especially because one of the things that really works about danger days imo is the way it kind of shakes off some of the tua-style gritty cynicism and returns to mcr's defiant, extravagant theatricality. if you go through tua with a fine-tooth comb you'll definitely find the most direct comparisons to conweap, in terms of mcr. the way dd approaches the themes it has in common with tua is just.....so different, and so so mcr. and then you can see the at times self-referential development on those things in hesitant alien - AND THEN VOLUME 3 COMES AROUND AND LIKE. AUUUGGGGHHHHH the change and growth there is SO apparent. btw i don't mean "growth" "progression" etc in this post to mean "improving" - i just mean change and development in a neutral sense, bc it's so interesting to see it laid out there in an artist's body of work. but like. man it makes me crazeeee actually the way gerard picked tua back up....almost certainly around the same time mcr started discussing a potential reunion. and the way that foundations revisits and reconceptualises mcr's existing catalogue is paralleled in the way vol 3 of tua is, like...........like there's so much life lived there, between those things. gerard's even said he's changed his plan for the ending (if we ever see it 🥲) because he has more compassion for his own characters now and doesn't want to see them broken down for good. he says he's gotten better at listening to other people - for starters, he's a lot more conscious of his own subconscious racism/whiteness that came through at times in the original run and has expressed regret for that (namely, the entire main cast being white, with a couple of side characters being uncomfortably stereotyped).

but just like. augh. im not gonna lie man i have no idea what i've just typed im sorry it's probably so rambly bc I'm so dizzy rn and definitely am not gonna proofread it or whatever skdjfj but. I LOVE ART! I LOVE ARTISTS! I LOVE DIVING DEEP INTO AN ARTIST'S BODY OF WORK AND WATCHING THEM REINVENT THEMSELF AND/OR DOUBLE DOWN ON THEMSELF (SOMETIMES FOR BETTER, SOMETIMES FOR WORSE). obvs this fandom genuinely does have a big issue with invasive/un-self-aware parasocial behaviour but there's a difference between that and like. getting obsessed with a particular artist. that's so normal and in fact necessary to life imo. i think every artist literally has to have ppl like that i can't imagine any other way to live it's just a specific type of human connection at a distance baby. don't get me wrong tho i also wanna chew on his thigh. anyway.

my god. how did i get here what even was your question. tua. yes it's crazy. it's not for everyone for sure but it has enough of the shit that makes me crazzzzyyyyy that it got me into mcr which made me crazierrrr so. yes i can recommend. especially if ur like me and lovvvve stories that are a little bit fractured by design. that dance around big parts of the story, where there's as much significance in an absence or in a tiny background detail than there is in any dialogue or action scene. most of the criticism i see of tua is about the pacing but like. to my tastes it's a really great use of the comic medium yk? lmk if you want content warnings or something there are plenty skdjfj.

[dwimmerlaiks]

I want to do my routine textpost but the past few minutes I've been trying and inside my mind has been all like "... posting posting posting. to write a post. on my personal blog. because I post post post the text post. posting posting...hmm. A TExt post! posting"

well you get the idea. then I thought about why I don't just do a banal retelling of my day, but the idea felt uncomfortable. then I thought about what about it was making me uncomfortable, was it just the public part? I suppose there IS a definite intimacy to exposing the most banal moments of your life. hmm. I think there's a thought here you could turn into an interesting paragraph. but not me! I tried to visualize myself writing out my day in a very private journal, and that also felt uncomfortable for some reason. maybe exposing the banalities of your life to yourself can be an uncomfortable intimacy in itself. vibe issues, all of it.

anyway! let's see which banalities I feel comfortable with reflecting upon:

I used the unsalted, unsweeted peanut mousse or purree or whatever in a sandwich with blueberry marmalade and it was delicious! the marmalade had enough sweetness so maybe the no sugar peanut mass worked better actually in combination! moment of joy for breakfast hehe

had a moment of anxiety because I had to put one of two stamps (had to combine postage) on the bottom left of my postcard, which we all know it does not belong there! it belongs in the top right corner. but alas, no space. so there was a very intense minute where I was standing in front of the mailbox questioning existence, postal service, space and time and all of it, and most of all my decision to put the stamp in the bottom left corner. we will find out if it arrives, or not.

bought a gaming desk in animal crossing. have been considering if animal crossing has a kind of ersatzkonsum effect on me in that I get the moment of purchase euphoria from nook stop and spend less money on real things instead, lol. I dont think it works that way, but you know

also made a teensy sketch for my website-rebuild. I really, really want to use my website/webspace again. I've been intimidated because honestly these days I wouldnt even know how to build a nice looking page, and the thought of having/creating a nice portfolio or whatever webiste overwhelms me. but then I've been seeing really cool websites that look like pages from like. 2002. I KNOW it's a retro/vintage/aesthetic thing but then I figured, hey, I can do that. and maybe you'll only notifce at second glance that it's not aesthetic in my case, but like, the only way I know how to build a website. and really what I want is a little project and a place to dump all my stuff online. so. maybe until 2027 or so I'll get that done hehe.

ok now this got really long and rambly! but did exactly what I wanted it to do. I get a realyl nice blank, kind of content feeling after these kinds of rambly posts. I can definitely recommend it.

[throwaway-yandere]

To whoever may read this letter,

I hope you are having a good Irodori Festival! I know I am. Learning about the different Kasen has been a very fun so far, and I hope to learn even more!

Ah, but these last couple of days have been pretty rough. The current season has a nasty cough going around which I seem to have caught. My nose is also constantly running, which means I have a pack of tissues with me at all times.

Hopefully, you stay safe and healthy during this festival! Maybe if I figure out who you are we can meet up! (When I'm not sick, anyways...)

-Honey on a Stick 🐝

cw: none, no yandere whatsoever, but the letter is so phcking irredeemable for plot reasons hAHHAHAHAH- (and also, this brainrot is the reason why I thought of this event lmao. wanted to write something with this premise after playing the recent windblume festival.) congrats, Honey, you're the first one who received a non-yokai letter. but at what cost, really?

From this yandere genshin secret pen pal event

✥ YOU GOT A LETTER FROM YOUR SECRET PEN PAL!!!

"What on earth is this letter? Is this even a letter? Why did you use nearly half of the stickers you bought from the Irodori booths? Just what is this?! Why is there a crumpled dead leaf here with a wet stamp? Hold on. Did you just stamp a dead leaf and taped it?!? You BIG LUMMOX.”

“This, my friend, is how professionals press leaves on a parchment.”

Tighnari’s ears dropped, horrified. 

“Cyno, is this how little you think of us forest rangers? You are ruining the reputation of my subordinates— why did you even insert a dead leaf here? No, wait, genuine question: what are you hoping to achieve? Is this for aesthetic purposes or are you trying to inflict your pen pal with The Withering?”

“Relax, my dear ranger, Blue Eyes White Dragon—”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Big Ears here knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, I sure hope Big Ears knows he’s doing a terrible job 'cause this letter looks like it belongs in the biodegradable trashbin,” Tighnari groaned. “You’re supposed to press flowers, not damn weeds.”

“… Oh, that didn’t occur to me.”

“Seriously?!”

After visiting Mondstadt together, Big Ears' "subordinates", which include "Blue Eyes White Dragon, the TCG master," and "Fructose, the amateur alchemist," have chosen to travel to Inazuma after listening to Tighnari's advice. As expected, they were rather out of place during the festivities. They were unaware that they would be attending another festival shortly after Sumeru's events, but fortunately, Thoma was keen to make them feel at home. The "Fixer" claimed that he experiences homesickness as well and said, "why not join the Pen Pal or Yokai event to be distracted for at least a little while?”

Unfortunately, Cyno is more than dedicated to his new and self-proclaimed title.

“I’m going to MURDER you.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t you laugh at me, Cyno!”

“Who is Cyno? My real name is Nyco, the Best Sumeru Forest Ranger—”

“Oh, shut up already!” Tighnari groaned, pinching his forehead. "Give me that damn letter—”

"Language."

"Collei is with Sayu—"

"You mean Fructose is with Sayu."

"Cyno."

Cyno cleared his throat.

"Fine. Inspect my letter to your heart's content."

Tighnari snatched the literal (and brittle) leaflet from Cyno's hand. He examined the contents, his gaze filled with scrutiny. 

"Oh, your poor pen pal... Already sick and this letter is about to make them feel worse."

"Big Ears is plenty charismatic, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't."

"My jokes there are my best ones."

"Your best joke is my worst joke, and you're proud of that?"

"Honey will like it."

"If they did, I'm taking Collei and leaving you here in Inazuma."

"Understood. Come back once I have pollen in love with Honey. I'll invite you to our wedding," Cyno joked. An untrained ear would've missed the teasing lilt of his voice, and Tighnari had more than enough experience to know when his friend is in a light mood.

Tighnari did not sigh nor groan. He had come to terms that his best friend is hopeless. Instead, he handed Cyno back his letter, visibly disgusted.

"Take this back. I'm gonna go ahead and write a eulogy for my deceased Mahamatra friend. Be right back."

"You mean Bee right back?"

"OH MY— ENOUGH, BIG EARS— I MEAN,��CYNO!!!"

Cyno chuckled softly to himself as Tighnaru stomped away, ears up in the air as though he can't bottle up his frustrations anymore. 

As Tighnari left, Cyno looked at the letter he received again, smiling.

"Honey, we'll be home soon. We haven't met yet but welcome to the family. I have a hunch that Fructose is going to adore you..."

"..."

"No, Collei is going to love you."

[shastafirecracker]

For previous context, see @mydetheturk‘s post about Vash fearing Knives & the violation of Vash’s autonomy, and the followup Stampede-specific post by @pancake-breakfast about that Vash‘s relationship with guns.

Now for my ramblings, which are ALL SPOILERS ALL THE TIME for all versions of Trigun but particularly the manga - so please be mindful if you’re doing book club and don’t want to know things before you get to them!!

ETA I made a couple of edits because I didn’t realize I copy pasted the pre-proofreading version of my doc, lol my brain is fried like an egg (it’s feels-like-110F outside rn)

So I tagblogged before but I'll own my shit this time: I wanna talk about Vash-as-gun. Vash's three guns move from external to his body (revolver) to implanted foreign object in his body (gun arm) to literally part of his cellular structure (angel arm). His reluctance to reveal each one steps up in magnitude. His angel arm is the primary reason he sees himself as monstrous.

Pancake’s analysis of Stampede is fantastic and I just want to loop in the other two versions because I have had the brainrot for decades and adore them all. First, it's really interesting to me that what pancake said about Knives giving or creating the conditions for all of his weapons is also explicitly true of the 98 anime but not of the original source material - it seems like adaptations really like to source Vash's access to weapons and/or ability to use weapons back to his brother, "the violent one," positioning Vash as almost ontologically nonviolent. But I want to look at Maximum for a minute because the difference there is absolutely fascinating to me.

In 98 and Stampede, Vash shoots Knives with a gun Knives gave him. In Maximum, the flashback where he loses his arm, Vash simply picks up a gun that was nearby - specifically a gun that belonged to a human who was brutalizing him, and whom Knives had just murdered in order to rescue Vash from harm. Vash doesn't need to be handed a tool of violence; he doesn't have that moment that he has in both 98 and Stamp where he looks at it in shock, as if he'd never considered touching such a thing. No Vash is easy to anger, but Maximum Vash is the only one, upon feeling extreme anger, to immediately turn to the nearest option for retaliation. In Max we also never see how Vash got The revolver - it isn't special, it doesn't have a backstory or a secret extra purpose, it's just a gun. Just a gun that Vash has trained himself to be very, very skilled at using, presumably one in a long line of guns he has trained with.

Something I was talking about on Discord recently with some folks is that Maximum Vash is extremely willing to hurt people. He does not kill, but he does not shy away from committing violent acts, and it is much more clear through the artwork and expressions that when he shoots people, it fucking hurts them. 98 Vash retains his willingness to shoot basically anyone, but sanitizes it somewhat - his shots to the shoulders, hands, legs, etc all just get an "augh!" voice beat and someone falling over. Obviously there's real-world reasons (rating, distribution, animation style) for the lack of blood and for simplifying artwork; this is not a criticism. 98 is more cartoonish all around and I adore it and want to squish its little cheeks. BUT, back on topic: in the cases of both 98 and Maximum, we see Vash very willing to shoot people nonlethally, to subdue them - but nonlethal gunshot wounds are still an extreme physical trauma! Everyone Vash shoots suffers for it. They will have pain, possibly surgery, they'll need recovery time, they'll need medicines that might be limited in availability, they may lose function in parts of their bodies. Maximum I think invites the reader the most explicitly to think about these things, as a couple of times we see goons post-fighting-Vash in hospitals (right? I think that's true).

Stampede is fascinating in that it's chosen to make almost all of Vash's nonlethal, subduing combat moves based around using his gun as a cudgel. He smacks people unconscious all the time. And that's not to say that concussions don't have their own long term consequences, but his unwillingness to pull the trigger is part of that whole this-is-a-younger-Vash thing. I do wonder how much more willing to fire he will be in season 2. Anyway.

I'm going to gloss past his prosthetic for the moment because I haven't fully formulated my thoughts about it yet - something something body horror, something something self destructive choices made while depressed, the use of grindhouse aesthetic, the complex set of social dynamic & psychological differences between open carry and concealed carry, idk idk more other thinky thoughts I haven't thought yet.

I want to return to the angel arm though because the thing I restrained myself from saying in the book club tag due to spoilers is that: this is a gun only Knives and Vash can fire. For the first ~massive number of pages of the manga, only Knives ever fires an angel arm, and he always only fires Vash's angel arm. Knives is also perfectly capable of summoning the same sort of vast destructive potential, though in the manga his takes the form of giant blades instead of a gun (whooooole other post about bringing a gun to a swordfight & vice versa, please refer to volume 14 of Maximum). But he desires to access Vash's destructive potential instead of his own. Knives' motivations are also a whole other post. The point I wanted to make was this:

Vash voluntarily fires his own angel arm ONCE, as far as I can recall. Correct me if I'm wrong. But the only time he fully generates the arm under his own power, in his right mind, of his own volition, is to escape the Ark. He has just emerged from the most oppressive and gruesome violation of his bodily autonomy he's ever experienced and, as far as we know, ever will. He has no other weapons available to him, barely even any clothes: all he has access to is his body, so he uses it. Knives shows clear shock and rage, potentially at Vash using a power Knives has come to feel belongs to Knives. Shock and rage at Vash reclaiming not only his body but the part of his biological identity that Knives knows Vash has been trying to excise for their whole lives. This may be the single most psychologically impactful moment of defiance towards Knives that Vash has ever shown, except for one other, which I will get to.

Not only does Vash fire the arm, he displays a shocking mastery of it. Somehow by putting him in a pressure cooker for months Knives has turned coal to diamond here: Vash went from unable to access his own latent power to, from then on, exhibiting comfort and even finesse with using it. He generates the arm on the Ark oriented to fire at Knives, and then effortlessly reverses the orientation to fire behind himself to make an emergency exit. Later, when Vash accesses his power again, he is able to use tiny, controlled bursts of it to not only destroy things but to load other objects (bullets) with unreleased power which he can activate at his choosing. That is a truly bonkers shift in skill and I love how the manga underplays it, because Vash so rarely says anything about how he feels about his own relationship with power, so you have to take these readings from his actions.

The other impactful moment of defiance I mentioned above is related to that total mastery of the angel arm/gate: Vash ultimately brings his trio of guns full circle by imparting the inherent quality of himself-as-gun into the most external of his guns, the original revolver. [Tangent: It's a neat visual in Stampede that they had him making gate bullets in the final showdown in episode 12, but I kind of dislike its placement in the narrative, because to me Vash's gate-bullets from the very end of the manga are a powerful symbol of his journey through his abilities. Maybe Stampede is suggesting that being plugged into the matrix and like, turning inside out through his gate or whatever in ep 11 did the same thing as the pressure cooker of the Ark in the manga, idk, we need season 2.] He makes the gate bullets for his final fight with Knives for perfectly valid strategic reasons (total control over his energy expenditure so he doesn't risk burning out by miscalculating mid-fight) but beyond strategy, there's just the fact that he's truly spitting in Knives' face by putting Plant/Gate power into a human tool. In Knives' eyes, the tool of their oppressors.

Vash melds the tool of the self with the tool of the oppressor to defy both. To prove that power is just power, it's all malleable and interchangeable, and that what matters is what you choose to do with it. Vash epitomizes "guns don't kill people, people do." (Another tangent to say that I'm not expressing my personal beliefs here; I'm sketching out stuff I'm reading into the narrative of a story, not writing a manifesto. Character study doesn't mean agreeing with or lauding everything a character stands for.)

Anyway. Vash's ultimate victory comes from two distinct ways that he chooses to use his inhumanity: first, he externalizes his destructive potential by placing it into a human-made, nonliving tool - essentially, finally able to excise from himself the part of being a Plant that had always felt monstrous to him. Second, he finally fully internalizes the part of being a Plant that he had rejected out of fear and self-disgust: intergenerational communication. He wins by talking to his sisters. He wins by allowing his selfhood to be subsumed by the collective and by trusting his own kind to love him and listen to him and not try to take away his hard-fought sense of self (all things that Knives did to him multiple times). His sisters listen to him and then they let him return to himself. I don't think he'd ever felt safe talking to them before - maybe guilty and scared, that by so thoroughly rejecting his own species, they would reject him right back. Along with the trauma reactions Knives caused, of course.

I think that's all I had at the moment about Vash-as-gun in the manga... I might return some time to the prosthetic, or go back to the other versions for more thinky noodling. But yeah! More meta plz! Delicious Trigun meta in the year of our lord 2k 23 absolutely unbelievable, we are feasting well.

[paula-of-christ]

I feel defeated. I know this sounds pathetic, but I kind of wish I was d*ead right now or at least I feel like I don’t belong to Christianity anymore like what’s the point. One of the things I worried about after finding God was that I have tattoos and I knew at the time like it didn’t matter and well honestly I saw and still see so many people getting saved who have loads and I know God doesn’t look at outwards but the heart, and more recently it gave me such joy to see kat von d being saved. That being said, I just came across a video of a priest idk maybe an orthodox priest on YouTube speaking on how it’s completely wrong and how awful it is etc and then the comments sections was filled with people saying how disgusting it looks on women and legit any confidence I had just vanished and I feel like a piece of dirt who has no right to call herself Christian lol I honestly feel like no matter how much I run after God or feel peace about everything and let go I see stuff like this and feel like I should give up like

I'd be interested to know why the priest said something like that. While frivolous tattoos are wrong to get, because it's disrespecting the body, Christianity has a very long history of tattooing. Off the top of my head, a traditional pilgrimage activity to Jerusalem is getting a tattoo of a cross, or some other Christian symbol. As well, in Croatia, the tattooing of young girls was common practice as a sign of their Catholic faith, and as a way to stop them from being taken as sex slaves. These often had Christian elements of crosses.

I posted it a few days ago but I'll link it again of this man (Shayne Smith) converting to Catholicism, and feeling accepted by Catholics despite his appearance having many tattoos, several of them on his face [time stamp starting at 38:45, but honestly all of it is so good I encourage you to listen to the whole thing].

I think perhaps a lesson to be learned, is that when you're online, and you see something upsetting, it's best to just keep scrolling/move on. It is pretty much never worth it to look at or to comment on things. I personally like the look of tattoos, and think that if they mean something to a person, that it's completely fine. Both of my bridesmaids had visible tattoos at my wedding, and I know one of the guys I had on my side has a tattoo (wasn't visible because tuxes cover a lot more). I don't personally have them because they are expensive and my husband doesn't care for them, and his opinion on how I look is the only one that matters.

That's also something, unless those people in those comments are people you are trying to date or get to know in a romantic sense, their opinions on women having tattoos is completely irrelevant. Even then, those types of people aren't who you should be looking to be in fellowship with, because if they are that negative on a random youtube short, they probably aren't all that pleasant in real life either.

As an example since my husband doesn't care for tattoos, if I did go and get one, it wouldn't make him less attracted to me. The people that are so against tattoos on women, are reducing those women to how they look, rather than the quality of their character. You can easily be a very high quality person and have tattoos, those things are not mutually exclusive.

As just an end note, I'll leave you with Fr. Mike Schmitz on tattoos. He even got one himself.

[scoutxbaker]

( daisy edgar jones, 26, cis woman, she/her ) — Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that SCOUT BAKER is a ARCHEOLOGIST that works in SECTOR 1. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of EARTH MANIPULATION. That must be why they’re ENERGETIC and IMPULSIVE. If you ask me, they remind me of plants growing between cracks in the earth,. They are affiliated with NOBODY.

basic information:

character name: Scout Baker

nickname (s): Baker

face claim: Daisy Edgar Jones

mutation status: Mutant

birthday: June 30th

sexuality: Bisexual

moral alignment: Chaotic Good

occupation: Geographer/Cartographer

work sector: Sector 1

affiliation: None

3 positive traits: Energetic, Loyal, Independent

3 negative traits: Impulsive, Sarcastic, Closed

biography (optional): An orphan discovered on the outskirts of Sol City, Scout was often hard to miss. She was scrappy, gangly, and scrawny, running around looking for a new adventure every chance she got. It easily gave everyone around her a heart attack. Even as she grew, that draw for life on the wild side never quite left her, despite the tragedy she experienced as a fresh eighteen year-old. But, don't open that can of worms! Stamp that out immediately, in fact! A genuine sweetheart, although sassy and sarcastic, Scout's hard not to love. But, stay tuned for more on my chaotic cutie!

questionnaire:

how do they feel about living in sol city? have they always lived there or did they travel from another settlement? Scout has always lived in Sol City. She doesn't know anything different, and isn't sure she wants to know anything else. It may not be much, but it's home. And, as willing as she is to take the leap on adventure, she's not sure she's prepared to take on an entire new settlement anytime in the near future.

do they trust the council’s leadership? why or why not? She's not quite naive enough to believe that the council has her best interests at heart. Growing up having to essentially fend for herself as the resident Sol City orphan was enough to make her somewhat distrustful of the council's ability to lead. While she's in no headspace to entertain the option of overthrowing them, she would likely turn the other way if she were to hear something... compromising.

if they chose their sector and profession, why did they make that choice? if they didn’t, why not? were they happy with their assignment or not? Currency! Money makes the world go 'round! It can be exchanged for goods and services! But, in a much more real sense, Scout adores learning about the world before the meteor. It's always fascinated her so much. Any chance to go out and see the wastelands, run across a small little hint that there was something or someone here before her, lights up her entire day.

what’s one object that they always keep on their person? An aged leather bracelet with small silver beads. It was found on her as a baby, and she's attached the belief that it belonged to her parents. While she's not sure if it's true, it gives her a sense of calm to believe it.

(mutant only section)

what is your character’s ability (or abilities)? Earth Manipulation

are they gen i or gen ii? Gen ii

what can your character do? what are their strengths? Geo-telekinesis: she posses the ability to control, move, and make pieces of earth projectiles as needed. She has also managed to learn to create earth shields by raising the earth up to cover her when needed. create earthquakes/ground rupturing: This can only be done in contact with earth, but she is able to manifest the shaking and splitting of earth. However, this exerts an extreme amount of energy, and she would only use this in a dire circumstance. earth detection: can sense the presence of earth and other "earthen" elements and possibly gain detailed understanding about the earth they are sensing, including the amount/size of the earth they are sensing and whether it is hidden.

what can’t they do? what are their weaknesses? She is not capable of creating earth, she can't control artificial solids, any kind of protection she creates with earth can be eroded. Also, standing at the very tall height of 5'4, and still being a bean pole of a human (mutant?) she's only able to control so much with her level of strength.

is there anything else you’d like to specify about them? can and will use her powers in the wastelands every chance she gets!!!