#rt writing

[bioshoook]

There's Beasts and Then There's Prey

summary: Dave's about to find out that if you fuck with one of the Dogs then you fuck with the whole pack. word count: 2,569

Finding a bar in this city is like trying to get a ticket while driving on the Los Santos Freeway. Easy.

The tricky part is finding a bar that has more than one good light bulb in the whole joint and that doesn't smell too much like stale beer and piss.

Though they all call Los Santos their home, and have done so for numerous years, Michael's the most familiar with the city and its many creature comforts. He was the one to originally find their headquarters in an abandoned dog shelter and he was the one to find this bar a few months ago. It was one of the bars that had more of a relaxed air to it, more fitting for shooting the shit than the energized air of a club or the darker, uneasy atmosphere of one of the seedier bars they frequented to discuss business.

For about an hour the four of them trade talk over a few drinks before taking their conversation to the nearby vacant pool table.

A few rounds in and a guy that Joe can't remember the name of; Dave? Dan? Donny maybe? joins them. He states that he’s a decent player and he doesn’t have many people to call friends in the city at the moment. Dan seems chill enough, he’s not triggering any alarm bells in their heads, looks to be just some middle-aged dude out on the town for the night.

The pack has no problem playing nice with others, as long as they don’t start any shit with them.

They joke about the word ‘pack’, tossing it around flippantly and saying it's just used to follow their gimmick, but even though Joe has only been in with the Mad Dogs crew for a year now he really does feel like that’s what this group is. A pack. In all of his criminal history he's never had anyone he's trusted to have his back more than the three men surrounding the pool table.

Michael, their muscle and lead (read only) demolitions expert, tosses back the last of his beer before lining up his cue.

“This is the one boys, can feel it in my bones,” Michael says, all confidence in the stance he takes on.

He sends the cue ball rolling and breaks apart the rack of striped and solid colored balls, the clack of them hitting each other filling the air of their tucked away corner. The pool balls scatter across the green felt of the pool table, dispersed by the momentum of the cue ball. Although Michael sends them all rolling, not a single one makes it into one of the pockets bordering the table.

“Fuck,” Michael mutters under his breath.

“Not bad, not bad, but let me show you how it's really done,” Trevor says cheekily. The frontman and leader of their crew drapes his body over the pool table before smoothly lining up with his stick in a fluid motion. He takes a few seconds to relax before sending the cue ball in a way that gets two stripes to roll into the corner of the table, dropping into the pocket below one after the other. He ends up knocking two more balls into their pockets before he finally misses a shot, ending his turn.

“Show off,” Michael comments with a grin. Trevor just shrugs his shoulders with a smirk on his face that gets a chuckle out of Alfredo.

Alfredo has chosen to opt out of the game this time, which Joe counts as a win in itself seeing as their marksman is entirely too steady when it comes to his hands and his aim. Don’t get him wrong, Joe’s grateful for it when it comes to keeping people off their backs in a deal or keeping a steady eye on them from above, but he absolutely rinsed the rest of them in the last round they played. Joe's $100 bill is currently sitting comfy in the pocket of Fredo's jeans and he doubts he'll be getting that back. Should’ve known better, he should've thrown in a $20 instead.

Donny laughs easily at Trevor's coy gesture. “Good one, man.”

“So, you from around here Dave?” Michael asks as the other man lines up his shot.

Dave. So that's his name.

A solid blue ball rolls and banks off of the left side of the table before sinking into a corner pocket.

“Actually I’m from out of state. Just moved down here with the wife a couple weeks ago,” Dave replies.

“Oh yeah? What - you just saw all the shit that happens here on the news and decided to move here?” Michael asks jokingly.

Dave laughs in response and goes on to explain how they ended up moving here because of a transfer in his wife’s location for her job.

“I mean, it’s good that she got a promotion and all, we need the money, but I feel like she’s holding it over my head now. I’m the one who has to pick up the kids and cook dinner and all the shit she should be doing. And- and- she makes more money than me now. What the hell is up with that?”

Joe cuts his eyes towards Dave, noticing the eyebrows that Michael raises behind him as the man leans over the table to make his next shot.

Read the rest on AO3!

[jomeimei421]

Felt a bit nostalgic watching RT shut down…Here are the og faves again for old times sake 💙

[lovegasmic]

Making satoru squirt and him making fem reader squirt. I'm dying for some switch content

⭒ mdni. mutual overstimulation, whiney Satoru my beloved. ( i had to pause writing at least 5 times to scream in my pillow ) please read the first two tags lmao

“b-baby, p-plea-se, I can’t, not anymore, a-ah!” Satoru sobs quite loudly to be honest, his eyes are glossy and filled with tears, the rim of them slightly reddened and matching the color of his bitten lips from endless hours of overstimulation. you’ve probably sucked the strength out of him through his dick, since his hands weakly push against your forehead in a failed attempt to keep you away from his throbbing length, “j-just pull it out, ah-a!”

“how many so far?” you giggle, pulling his cock out between your lips with a loud pop and getting in return a grateful sigh out of your boyfriend, one that doesn’t last long as your palm comes to rub circular motions on his tip, smearing the remaining cum all over the swollen flesh.

“d-dunno... ngh! haa, it’s too much!” he chokes on his own sobs, arching against the couch backrest so his heaving chest glistens with sweat under the living room lightbulb, his thighs squeeze your sides tightly, kicking and fighting the intense mixture of pain and pleasure running through his flustered pale body from the tip of his cock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend so worked up and overstimulated, all whiney —more than usual if you had to admit— but he looked absolutely cute begging for mercy.

“just one more, c’mon, and i’ll let you go” you smirk pressing your lips to the underside of his messy cock, feeling the veins throb under your tongue and palm warm up from where it continues to rub on his tip.

“n-no! stop please, feels weird!” Satoru begs, his body curving so he hovers over your body, so close to your face you’re able to watch his eyes open wide in shock, panting loudly and holding onto your hair for support barely seconds away from half screaming and shooting a translucent and diluted cum-like liquid in hard jets that landed on your face and the floor.

“wha—” you mutter back, staring in surprise at how your boyfriend’s body flops back against the couch, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon, “Satoru... did you just squirt? ” it comes out as a giggle, still dumbfounded from what just happened.

he doesn’t reply, and you’re a bit worried that he might have fainted, deciding to sit on his lap and observe his unfocused eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Toru?” you softly slap his cheek, biting back a grin “are you dead?”

your boyfriend is a box of surprises, that’s for sure, but something that never failed to amaze you, even though you’re well aware of, is his incredible strength and stamina, yes, he might look all brain fried right now, but you should have expected for him to flip you over in the blink of an eye, pushing you underneath his body and spread on the couch with one leg over the backrest and the other bent so far it almost touched your ear.

“i told you to stop” Satoru growls, hands hooking under your thighs, positively bending you in half with his fattening cock dangerously close to your dripping cunt.

you laugh breathlessly, pushing the damp hair out of his eyes and slicking it back to watch how his bright blue eyes are now slightly darkened and almost disappearing around his blown out pupils, “please..., that was so fucking hot”

“we’ll see if you say the same after I make you squirt and beg” his voice is erratic, deeper and a bit dangerous, barely giving you time to process his words before he’s plunging deep into your pussy with a broken moan, he might act all dominant now, but the way his thighs shook and cock twitch told another story.

“don’t exaggerate! it wasn’t t-that ba-ah!” you get to mutter, cut by Satoru’s hard and precise thrusts inside your sopping wet cunt, moving in frenzy while choked out sobs came out of his mouth, drunk in the feeling of your tight hole squeezing him.

“so good, oh my fucking god!” your boyfriend moans, caging your body underneath his by pressing almost his whole weight on top of you, allowing only his hips to fuck into you with a loud wet sound from where his balls slam against your slick coated ass, barely rising before he’s back deep inside your walls, continuously slamming directly against your g-spot.

“S-satoru, i’m sorry alright, b-but please! slow down!” you cry out, begs falling on deaf ears as the man thrusts never falter, continuously driving you insane, and himself into the border of crying from fucking his overstimulated sensitive cock inside your pretty pussy.

“ah, ah! i’m gonna cum again” he sobs, ignoring your screams and nails digging on his back, and instead wrapping his arms around your thighs, bending you in half as he mounted you with whines and whimpers coming out of his lips, “uh, feels amazing, i’m going insane” is the last thing Satoru says before digging his teeth in your neck and cumming drily inside your pussy, the position causing his cock to bump and twitch directly against your g-spot and forcing your own orgasm out.

a loud beep rang in your ears at the same time your eyes clouded, unaware of the force of your own squirt gushing out and dropping from Satoru’s toned chest and flushed cock, you couldn’t hear a sound, but were certain you screamed quite loudly, only a couple of minutes after, once he knew you were a bit more lucid Satoru dared exhale a soft “payback” directly against your ear.

[yinyangle]

just a streamer and his clingy twitch chat who watches everything he does

been thinking abt rt a lot recently. and rttopia chat is my favourite little guy of all time. this felt natural.

[staranon95]

im struggling to put words to thought about the recent announcement of Rooster Teeth shutting down after 21 years. their wide variety of content was a constant companion to me throughout my time in university and was a great comfort at the beginning of the pandemic until October 2020 (iykyk)

Warner Brothers-Discovery is seriously being mismanaged as a company. with the shelving of the already made Batgirl movie, the recent shelving of Coyote v. Acme, and many other poorly made decisions content wise, im not surprised they're axing Rooster Teeth as another means of attempting to save money and earn a little more by offering up some of RT's properties

it just sucks that RWBY will likely never finish

it just sucks that so many talented, hardworking people will be losing their jobs

it just sucks that countless hours of content will likely be lost

it just sucks that this is how it ends.

[mumms-the-word]

Lady von Valancius’s Notes to Herself

Tempt not the interrogator, Spark not his jealous rage, Light not the match of his desire, Or coolly fan the flames. Bring not ‘fore him a savage feast Bereft of all but flesh, Guide not your hands to brush his skin, And lead him to the edge. Speak not to him of fantasies, Remark not on his blush, For his control is naught but glass And shatters at a touch. But should you choose to follow through, These warnings cast aside, Then afterwards remain with him, In gentle arms abide.

[rumblecrow]

( please click on the art for better quality, tumblr is being mean to me )

People might think he is the one who control times itself, kind when needed, but sometimes people dream of being killed by him in a timelines that never happenned because 'he cant help himself.'

Other mouths speaks of him being one with the space, up there in the cold dark sky. When meteors falls down and you hear the guitar string of a country music, its been known it was his doing.

Thought recently, he has been known to break both the times and the milky way arrangements in the casino because he fucked up his flush five set up.

Balatro!RT or the gamblers deity or i love making up stories from silly man gameplay.

Down here Outfit without BG because i realized it maybe too much colour :

[strwbabydoll]

a bittersweet mafiarry multipart.

Namin’ The Stars After You - 3.2k. angst.

Harry’s known for being ruthless in the way he does his job, a day job out with his girlfriend takes a horrible turn.

Bigger Than The Whole Sky - 1.1k. angst.

summary: harry’s angry at the world, himself included and he makes it everyone’s problem but there might be a light coming in the middle of his storm

Golden Like Daylight - 1.2k. fluff, light angst.

Y/N’s alive but she’s not who she used to be, Harry has to deal with the aftermath.

[theysangastheyslew]

This should all be taken with a grain of salt due to translation inaccuracies, but from what I can gather from the latest Q and A, all it says about Hange is that they are estranged from their family, she has some skill in housework but doesn't like to do it, and is the type to fly off somewhere then come home unexpectedly (akin to Eren apparently?).

Soooo basically all stuff we already learned from the character interview from years ago 🙄😒😮‍💨

Edit: Guess it also states in a character blurb that Hange is kind, beautiful, smart, stylish, and gets v embarrassed when being complimented. We been knew but still 😌

[matt0044]

Frankly, RWBY is my go-to example of men who write female characters with little to none of the usual pitfalls. Even when they may, there's one element that keeps its head well over water:

The female cast being so extensive as it is.

DireGentleman put it well here but a too common element of certain stories has been that they'll have a few or one female character amongst their sausage fest of a cast. Few of these cases are active intent on the author's part but it does speak to a "male as default" pitfall that is very much rendered invisible by a sphere of normality.

As such, you'll get female commanders in armies where the troops are all shown as male (@swan2swan made a few posts on the "female Stormtrooper" problem) for one and, for a classic example, one female character amongst an ensemble of boys.

Sometimes she's one of them and other times she's an April O'Neil to their Ninja Turtles, a normie to their extraordinary lives. Either way, there won't be much in the way of gender diversity. Especially if it's based on a toy line that subscribes to the "boys or bust" mentality that would rather kill off a profit that pivot.

But that's been dissected better in other posts...

Thankfully, RWBY was created first and foremost as an animated story project before the thought of merchendising was considered since RT wasn't super-duper confident it'd stick. Now it has firmly supplanted Red Vs. Blue as Rooster Teeth's flagship animation (the latter gearing up for its final season even).

This frees it from the shackles of heavily corporatized media that would prefer a toyetic show have a male prescense in the story or one where the female prescense is... palatable.

No character has to be the token girl who's either super bubbly and awkward or super stand-offish before the right guy comes along or rather reserve until the right guy comes along or one of the boys until the right- okay, I've made my point.

And it goes beyond the main cast as there's a smattering of girls and boys among the ensemble so it never feels like they were tacked on when the writers realizes, "Oh sh*t, forgot the estrogen," by Season Four or something.

If anything, Jaune is the token girl but genderflipped. He has healing powers. He has an arc but it all ultimately comes back to the main girls for the bigger plotlines. He's often the normal one that balks at the eccentricities of the girls and their shenanegins.

I mean... HE GREW UP WITH MANY SISTERS AND NO BROTHERS. Does that cliche not ring a bell.

Basically... Jaune is what I feel is the Sakura Haruno of RWBY if I may be so bold.

[rwby-confess]

Confession #550

[maggotknight]

Rogue Trader Giving Thanks-Week

It is Thanksgiving week in Ameraland. In tandem with @holylustration 's Dopamine Week, I would like to propose a Giving Thanks week 💖

Send, asks anon or not, telling your fellow rogue traders how much you appreciate what they bring to the space!

and

Reblog this post with a shout-out to your favorite piece of Rouge Trader art. Let's daisy chain all the amazing things the Warhammer 40,000: Rogue Trader space has created!

[miitopiaenjoyer]

I feel like Chat would be the type to say some pretty wild stuff when startled. Depending on the situation, I bet they'd either A) yell out the first random message that comes to their hivemind brain, B) yell out all of the messages at once in a horrible, indecipherable stream of gibberish, or C) mash together parts of a bunch of different messages to form a completely new sentence that no one actually said in the first place. I'm sure option C usually just results in absolute nonsense, but on the rare occasions that it doesn't, I bet it's REALLY funny, which is what made me draw this comic, lmao. Poor Magical John probably scares them most often, and has to deal with this regularly without any context.

Transcript under the cut! I know the chat messages are a bit hard to read since I wrote them so small, not to mention all of Magical John's extra letters, so not the best for readability, haha. In hindsight, probably should've used two pages for this comic... Anyway, enjoy! :)

[TRANSCRIPT:]

PANEL ONE:

Magical John: Hey, Chat-

Chat: (STARTLE!)

PANEL TWO:

Chat's internal monologue of messages appears, with some words underlined in purple (marked in this transcript with purple text):

Message 1: WE'RE GONNA HAVE TO KILL HIM

Message 2: WHY did he do that I'm going to SCREAM

Message 3: I have to go die of a heart attack now brb

Message 4: So hungry... Dad plz let us eat :FEED:

Message 5: YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME SKJHJKL

Message 6: WHY NOW YOU BASTARD

Chat: (Slow turn~)

PANEL THREE:

Chat, repeating the underlined words: We're going to eat you now.

PANEL FOUR:

Magical John: ... Huh?

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

banging my head against the wall while i say: "relatability is not the be all end all of writing a character. saying that you don't find a character relatable/you wouldn't have made the same choices does not mean something is poorly written. you actually should go out of your way to engage with media about people who are fundamentally different from you because it helps you learn about others."

[avalost]

If I had a nickel for every time a romance interest in a videogame came to my character and said "I'm coming with you because I'm investigating cult activity in your territory" I'd have two nickels. And given what the first nickel turned out to be, I start to really wonder about that second nickel...

[nadas-dirthalen]

The first time Heliora really *felt* like a Rogue Trader?

:)))))) What better time than the end of act 1, my liege!

In all seriousness, I think that Heliora has experienced a lot of the hedonism of the Rogue Trader life before, during her ~Crime Lord Origin~. Therefore, the moment things feel markedly different is when she starts deciding the lives of billions.

(Asks are here, if you want to join in on the fun!)

“How many could stand to be evacuated?” Abelard clears his throat uneasily. “Your Ladyship—” “How many?” Heliora’s pacing on the bridge, at the base of the stairwell that leads to her throne. Every time she loops back, she looks out the windows. Forces herself to see a world swathed in violet. Rykad Minoris. Billions of people. Shit.

The Vox Master, Vigdis, intervenes. “The nobles you rescued at the starport have given the coordinates of shelters where we can find surviving aristocrats and their families. As for Sargeant Malgar’s troops, they will help to control the crowds of frightened commoners and prevent shuttles from being—”

“Oh, fuck that,” Heliora growls, hands balled to fists at her sides. Every inch of her hurts, fresh out of a fight. There’s no patience left in her for sympathy for good-for-nothing, sheltering, cowardly—

“Lord Captain,” Abelard cuts in, firmer. She turns on a heel to glare daggers at him and finds six-odd sets of eyes staring back—not at her face, but at her leg, and the fabric that she now understands is soaked against her thigh.

So she took a bullet. It grazed her, nothing more. Heinrix pulled what flesh he could together on the shuttle, and then—

“Fine,” she relents, sneering, and stays still long enough for an already-summoned chirurgeon to bend at her feet.

“Thanks to you,” Vigdis continues, watching the others and Heliora in turn, “we have salvaged many shuttles from the starport that we can now use.”

Heliora tries—and fails—not to see different tendrils of shadow behind her eyes. Ones that wrapped around a ship older, more worn, than this one.

It was one thing to run from it, alone; to mourn, alone, when it blew apart and scattered like a thousand tiny comets behind her shuttle.

It’s another thing entirely to—

“Damn it all to the Void,” she hisses through clenched teeth. A jab in her thigh is followed instantly by the icy-hot flood of combat stimm through her artery.

Across from her, stood between Cassia and Idira, Heinrix’s eye twitches. A look away, and his features manage to smooth over.

Heliora’s fingernails indent painfully into her palms while the chirurgeon works to close her wound. “We could—have the pilots extract all of the commoners who’ve not yet converted to the Final Dawn. There could be time.”

Even the ones who called for rescue wear grief plain on their faces now.

It’s Heinrix—who, unrepentant, called for destruction—that decides to speak, shifting like he considers a step toward Heliora before he straightens. “Any delay caused by loading and transporting the ship will cost us precious time. Do not deceive yourself, Heliora—”

“Your Ladyship,” Abelard interjects.

“—if you indulge your vanity—”

“Vanity?!” Heliora snaps, cutting the rest into silence. An unbecoming noise leaves her as, below, skin is fused to skin. “Look me in the eye and call it that again.”

It hadn’t been vanity, before. If this—this attempt, at least—is vanity, perhaps it should have been vanity those years ago. Maybe vanity stood a chance in the Void of accomplishing more than fuck-all.

Heinrix’s gaze stays fixed to hers, unflinching, his irises like two dark, cold pools. His voice remains perfectly, infuriatingly level. “You will doom billions to eternal torment at the hands of the Archenemy. The transformation process will soon become irreversible and our sole weapon against it useless. The energy released by the bombardment could stoke the warp energies. I’ve never witnessed the aftermath of bombing a daemon world before… but there is enough evidence of such attempts for me to say with confidence that you do not want to see it.”

Heliora stands in place a moment, chest heaving with angry, labored breath. There are a hundred innocent faces clawing at the edges of her mind, demanding she see them again. All of them, examples of what could have—might have—been spared, if she’d gone to the lengths required, if she’d had an army at her back or any Throne-forsaken resource at her disposal.

But she’d watched a ship burn, flames engulfing the same violet swarm that clouds Rykad Minoris now, and recited those hundred names every night, knowing it wouldn’t have made a difference. That even in her cowardice, she’d barely run in time.

It would have been worse. She told herself as much to soothe the nightmares that followed. It was right to invite what she had—who she had—to burn it all away back then.

She was right.

“Very well,” she sneers, venom in every note, “Let’s do it your way. Only because it is narrowly—narrowly—better than…”

She doesn’t finish the thought. No one needs her to.

The world hazes over as she gives the order. It has to, or her mouth won’t shape the command to end the lives of billions in a blink.

She barely registers the polite incline of the Interrogator’s head, his usual stoicism retaking his features. “The right choice, Lord Captain. May the sacred Exterminatus cleanse this vale of corruption.”

All she sees are the ghosts of a bad call made years ago. Then, it was easier to deny herself the guilt—she was running from something already in motion, no option but to sell out everyone she’d ever loved hope their deaths were quick—and tell herself the nightmares were grief, nothing more.

This is a choice entirely of her making, that comes to fruition with her ship's weaponry. She forces herself to ascend the steps to bear witness to the fallout, even before Abelard suggests as much, still-aching leg be damned.

The throne she sinks into, suddenly, is hers alone. A weight settles over Heliora that has nothing to do with the shadow of Theodora that still haunts and stalks this ship.

She forces her back straight, her chin up. This horror is hers to own.

It is mercy. It is mercy, earned in gore. It’s better than they would have had; it’s better they die still somewhat themselves.

The blast bursts white-hot from the reactor, then blooms orange in a rumbling wave over Rykad Minoris’ surface. Heliora barely lets herself blink, dead set on absorbing every second of carnage. Every millimeter the light expands in her view is another thousand lives lost; every ten, as many as ever were on that old ship she outran.

It’s mercy, she tells herself with teeth grit, fists curled. Mercy, to end them all swiftly.

Practical, that the Inquisition pawn on board is right—not the cruel twist of fate it feels like, that he of all people stands in agreement with her.

He doesn’t know why the thought burns, and she’ll be damned if she lets it show on her face for all to see.

It’s not her place to show much at all on her face anymore.