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gilverrwrites · 4 months ago

Note

Hi friend!

Would you be interested in doing a NSFW alphabet for Bruce? Just read your black mask one and damn heheh

Bruce Wayne: NSFW Alphabet

AN: Thank your so much, glad you enjoyed! And yes I would be interested.

As always readers; please take whatever you vibe with and leave what you don’t. It’s all in good fun.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It really depends on your existing relationship, and its level of intimacy.

A hook-up is getting the bare minimum to keep his image where he wants it to be. He’ll help you get clean, offer you his bathroom, and if he can, he’ll help you redress and get you out asap. If you decide to stay, he’ll be cordial; he’ll do the pillow talk, let you wear his shirt, make sure you’re fed and watered or whatever but he won’t hold you, and he won’t be there when you wake up. He will however leave a note with some half-truth about having to leave for business, and money/gift cards for a coffee and an Uber.

If you’re more than that (dating/married/so on) then it depends on how well you’ve voiced your needs to him, and how much time he has. Let’s be real Bruce is a hypocrite, he wants you to tell him in explicit detail how you need to be cared for, and if you don’t he’s profiling you until he gets it right, but he ain’t saying anything about himself.

So provided he doesn’t have to run off to save the day, or your escapades haven’t coincided with a routine patrol, Bruce is excellent at aftercare.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Him: Bruce is highly critical of himself. He’s not blind, he knows he’s physically fit, widely intelligent, and highly attractive, but there’s also always room for improvement.

But if he had to choose, it would be his brain. He enjoys being able to look at you and knowing in an instant that you want him. Knowing if it’s a right here right now, or a tease me till I’m begging kind of want. Knowing exactly what you need to hear or where you need to be touched. Being able to predict and acclimatise to your desires is such a big thing for him.

As for you: It’s all in your eyes. You may or may not think you’re quite stony-faced, but not to Bruce. He just loves how expressive your eyes are. Yes, when he’s analysing you; looking for those dilated pupils and heavy lids. But also just the delight when he surprises you with sneaky kisses, when the skin around them grows crinkly as he growls something totally scandalous, or how they grow wide and doe-like as he’s stretching you out, or when they twitch and roll when he’s fucking you just right.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not particularly vocal about it unless he’s really lost in the heat of the moment but; breeding kink. He wants his cum buried as deep inside of you as your body will allow. He wants you so full it’s spilling out and leaking down your thighs, soaking into the bedsheets. And then he’s gonna scoop all those stray drops up and push it all right back in.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

At his age, he doesn’t really get the terms that people use in sex nowadays. That information wasn’t easily obtained in his prime but if he had to identify with something he’d claim soft/dom and/or a brat-tamer, and he’d be right.

But sometimes he likes to switch roles.

He’d never admit it, because he’s a goddamn control freak, he considers (his own) submission as weak and at best he’d be a power bottom but damn it’s so comforting and so hot to be at your mercy or just taken care of sometimes.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ooh ho ho. Brucie has been around many blocks, and back again.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I have no explanation for this, I just feel it in my bones but he’s so into doggy. Especially when it’s a hook-up and/or a quickie. By extension, the flatiron because it offers that really deep penetration that has him cumming right against your cervix.

Also the eagle and the leg lock/missionary, specifically with a pillow under your hips and one of his hands pushing on your stomach so that he can keep you in place as he punishes your g spot.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very rarely goofy, at least not until he’s at a level of familiarity and intimacy that would allow him to let those walls down. He’s not without a sense of humour, it helps if you’re goofy first.

Blow a raspberry on him, and he’s pinning you down and giving you 10 back. Give him a ridiculous nickname and he’ll start testing new ones out on you. “Ohh Brucie boo boo, that feels so good.” “You like it when I bend you over and fuck you like this honey bunny?”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s thick and dark, but well-trimmed. In his younger years, he waxes off his happy trail and chest hair, but from his mid-late 30s, he starts letting it grow.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This again is widely dependent on your relationship.

If you’re a hook-up it’s just about fun really. It’s sensual, borderline pornographic but ultimately impersonal.

But if you’re more than that, then sex is very intimate for him, and he’s surprisingly passionate.

He struggles with voicing his emotions so this is how he shows you his appreciation for all that you do. It’s how he apologises for being gone so much, for making you worry. Your body is where he takes out his frustrations but also where finds respite and comfort.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not something he particularly enjoys, but it is a necessity. He’d rather the real thing, but if that’s not accessible when he needs to let off some steam then so be it.

There have been many, long frustrating nights that have ended with him beating it in front of the batcomputer, unable to focus, and wishing it were you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

As previously mentioned, breeding kink. (See c for cum)

Bondage: I’m specifically talking about him being the rope bunny here. Nothing extreme, soft ropes holding his wrists to a chair or a bed frame while you grind on him. Yes he could break out at any minute, but he doesn’t, that’s part of the submission, the fun.

This can be flipped, he’ll tie you up if that’s what you want but he prefers to pin you down with nothing but his own strength and body weight.

Roleplay/primal play: His interest in the whole cat and mouse (or bat and cat) has never been subtle really. He likes being the predator, catching the prey and taking his reward. Ties in closely with the brat taming too if you’re a fighter or mouther.

Extending on prev, I think he’d also like interrogation play: again both ways but primarily he likes to be the interrogator. To hold you down, tease, and question about whatever subject matter, probably what you want to have done with you, until you beg him to make good on all your confessions.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

He’s boring in this regard; the bed. It’s a comfortable, safe environment where he can let loose.

If you wanted to do it in the cave or the Batmobile he’d comply, but explicitly when off duty with low risk.

But if it was up to him, he’d keep you all locked up in his chambers, squirming in his sheets, eyes rolling back to look at his ceiling. It’s like he’s claiming you, inside and out, full and scented by him and his bedsheets.

Maybe, with the certainty that nobody will be home, he’ll find other places to fuck you; the marble stairs, the hot tub, in front of the fireplace.

But be prepared for the unmitigated guilt and humiliation of traumatising at least one of his kids when they inevitably stop by unannounced.

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

He often comes home in the early hours of the morning still full of adrenaline and looking for relief.

Outside of that, he’s highly receptive to teasing and shameless levels of flirting. Clothing too; he likes skimpy, short skirts low cut tops but that’s not always necessary. Just knowing you’ve got nothing on under that flowy outfit, or that he bought you those shoes, or that’s his button-up will do it for him.

And then there’s domesticity. When you bring him food during a long and intense research session. Seeing you be really good with Damian, or helping Cass with her ballet hair, or scheduling dinner for the two of you with Babs and Dick.

Just you clicking so perfectly into his life, predicting and meeting his needs without being asked, makes him want to show you just how much he appreciates it.

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

If you want to call him daddy that’s fine, he can be your baby daddy, but you are not his baby.

You can be his baby momma though. He wants to fuck a child into you, not fuck a child, even in a fantasy capacity.

If he wanted a child he’d be adopting you, not sleeping with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

50/50

He rarely gives oral when hooking up, because he’s a fucking beast at it. Wet and sloppy, just going to town, which affords him a lot of women wanting to ride again. But in that same vein, he doesn’t expect these people to give him anything. If they’re gasping for it, he’ll oblige but otherwise, he just avoids the whole oral thing.

But when it’s his love, there’s no stopping him from spending an afternoon worshipping those perfect hot, wet folds. Drinking you up until your fluids are dripping down his neck, until his scalp aches from your grip and you’re seeing stars.

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

It varies of course but preferentially 70/30 rough/sensual with a lot of crossover.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As mentioned in J for Jack-off, if he needs to release some tension quickly, and you’re available then he’ll take you. Bend you over the nearest surface, bruising you with his vice grip, no sound but for his grunting and the salacious slap of your skin against his until he’s got everything out of his system and can get back to the job at hand.

But otherwise, he’d rather take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you’re an adrenaline junkie, then sure he’ll take risks for you.

That said, the risks he takes are calculated, and he is good at maths. He won’t bore you with the statistics, just know that he’ll always find a way to give you what you want.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No average human can keep up with Bruce Wayne’s stamina, let’s be real. But that’s okay, when you’re all spend and cock drunk and too weak to move, he’ll make sure you don’t miss out on anything. He’s strong and fit enough to do all the work for the both of you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Holy utility belts Batman!

For all his gadgets and tech, I want to say he has sex toys galore but honestly I really don’t think he does.

He probably has the classics: retrains, cock ring, remote control vibe, plug, dildo and/or strap.

And some more out there things: electro collars/low impact tasers, clamps, a swing.

Heaven knows he can afford anything and everything. But beyond that, I don’t think he reaches for them often, nor does he seek out or experiment with new ones. Not unless something sparks it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Are you kidding? The moment he sees his opportunity he’s laying the teasing on thick. Sneaking touches when nobody is looking, speaking to you in that voice, calling you while you’re busy to tell in explicit detail what he’s been thinking about doing to you since he saw you in those pants this morning.

And when he finally gets you alone, he’s 100x worse.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Noisy but not loud. He has such a low, deep voice. So when he groans and coos in your ear it’s certainly clamorous to you. All the filthy things he says bellows.

But nobody outside the room you’re in will hear him, not unless he wants to be heard anyway.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

With time and experimentation, Bruce knows what turns you on better than you do. Kinks you’ve never thought of. Subtle touches you barely notice, getting just close enough for you to smell his natural musk. He moves his body in precise ways, and uses really specific words that have your mind racing.

He’ll play you like a fiddle and have you thinking it was your idea.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s packing, and we all know I don’t mean guns.

And that's when it’s soft and in the cold. At full glory, I’d say at least 8 inches, above average girth. Cut, with some very prominent veins.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fair to moderate, adrenaline heightens the senses and emotions and can be an aphrodisiac which is where a lot of his drive comes from.

But removing that from the equation, he’s trained himself not to think about you or anything that turns him on when he needs to focus. So when he gets to relax or when he sees you again, all that pent-up denial comes running back to him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It really depends on his mindset. More often than not, by the time post-climax hits, after an already long night, he’s out like a light the moment you’ve signalled that you don’t need him any more. Sometimes sooner.

But if something’s on his mind, a series of clues that aren’t adding up, a villain that shouldn’t have gotten away, when he’ll be up all night thinking about it. In this scenario, it’s not uncommon to find his side of the bed empty within an hour or two.

#dc #gilverrwrites #gilverranswers #reader insert #headcanons #hc #nsfwalphabet #bruce wayne/reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #brucie wayne #batman/reader #batman x reader #Batman #wandalfnation #divider by @anitalenia

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netherfeildren · 2 years ago

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FEAR OF GOD : Chapter I : I dreamt that time had ended

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

-OR-

Big bad Joel Miller falls in love and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideations, unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink kinda, Emotionally Constipated Joel Miller ™️

A/N: Hello, this is my first foray into posting my writing publicly. To be honest, it feels fucking weird and scary, but alas, here I am, pretending to be brave. Art is Botanica No. 23 by Gail Potocki.

Word Count: 6.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER I: I dreamt that time had ended

I'm most dangerous when I’m hungry. I’m most hungry

when I’m hurting. Seems like I’m always hurting. Nothing

but teeth. Nothing but the same words calling out to me

in my sleep. Grief asking its ghosts not to leave. Please.

It’s not up to me when I get to stop crying. Or hurting.

Or holding memories in my mouth, gentle as bees

I promised not to eat, but oh, the hurt is so sweet.

- Saeed Jones, from “Date Night,” Alive at the End of the World

Loneliness and being alone were two things you’d always thought to be one and the same — a pair sitting side by side on the spectrum of human suffering. Now, at the end of the world, you knew differently. You’d gotten in bed with both. A kind of intimacy that made your bones ache.

After Beth, your sister, you’d been alone – out beyond the protection of the community you now called your own in Jackson – where you’d carved a little place for yourself. Then, you’d been so entrenched in your grief and shock, that you’d not been lucid enough to really feel loneliness at all. You were alone, but were too far gone to feel the specific melancholy of loneliness. It was all a vicious, almost unthinking, clawing for survival. That creature out beyond the walls was you, and sometimes you liked to pretend and tell yourself you left her out there, but in moments of stark honesty, when you let go of the lies you comforted yourself with, you don’t feel very sure.

Looking back, it’s almost a surprise that it never occurred to you, in those delirious days, in the aftermath of watching Beth get ripped to pieces by infected, to ever think to follow her in death. You think you’d just been too numb and shocked at the time to even consider the tidy solution a bullet to the head would’ve provided you. You can’t even tell if you regret the lack of foresight at that time or not. You suppose now, looking around yourself, at the somewhat full life you’ve settled yourself into, you’re grateful.

But in Jackson, in Jackson you’d found loneliness. Despite being surrounded by a community that wanted to help you from the first moment, to care for you. Most especially because, in the light of this new life, you remembered everything about the aftermath of your sister’s death – with vivid clarity. The details were glaringly bright in your mind, and the peace and fullness of this new life you’d been afforded made those memories hurt all the worse.

Your father had been a physician, a surgeon, before the outbreak, and early on he’d decided it was essential to pass on what he could. That he needed a protege. You fit the necessity nicely. You’d had a mind that absorbed knowledge at a rate that wasn’t necessarily useful in a world like the one you’d now found yourselves in, but he’d made good use of it, made a tool of you in the manner of an extension of himself. He’d started early trying to train you as best he could, given the circumstances. You’d had a fairly peaceful childhood up until you were eighteen living in the San Francisco QZ, given his position, and at around twelve years old he’d started a demanding study regimen. He was determined to make you into the closest semblance of a doctor he could through his own personal means of teaching. You’d always been well suited to a life of taking orders, doing what you were told, being who you were told to be. At the end of the world it was easier, you’d found, to do and be what you were told to – it came easily to you, and after all, your father knew best. You liked the security of being able to follow a set of directions without the anxiety of conjecture or uncertainty. A clearly laid out path was a safe path, and you found comfort in that. So you’d learned what he’d told you to learn. He said it was necessary, and so it became a necessity to you. Practiced what he’d told you to practice. And eventually, become what he wanted you to become. After your mother and father were killed in a raid shortly after your eighteenth birthday, it was just you and Beth, and you’d taken on your studies and training yourself. It wasn’t as efficient, especially after the QZ had fallen and you were forced to leave, could have been more thorough, but you felt well versed in the knowledge you’d gained thus far. Secure in the fact that you had the ability to help people as best you could with what you knew. It gave you purpose and allowed you to follow that path that’d been laid out for you. Provided some sort of comforting reminder of your father, your childhood, as well. The two of you had wandered for several years up until the time of her death.

When you found Jackson after Beth, after days and days of wandering, of savage fear and a desperate clawing to just stay alive, just make it a little further, it was like coming upon paradise. An Eden safer and more cherished than anything before in all history. Connie, their resident doctor, who they were so lucky and grateful to have, had taken you under his wing. Connie and his nurturing comfort. Doing everything he could to build on the knowledge your father had instilled in you over the years. All the knowledge and practice he was so desperate to pass on to you. To build on your foundation. Doctors were few and far between, hard to find and even harder to keep, and Connie was old. Now well into his seventies, he was tired. His mind and body, nowhere near as agile as they’d once been. Your arrival in the community had been seen as a benediction, once he’d found out what your father had started in you. It was difficult to build a comprehensive curriculum, to find the right means of practical training in a world like this, but the two of you had managed fairly well. A deal had been struck with the leaders of the community to provide donated cadavers when they became available, if the families so allowed, if they had families. This allowed the two of you to practice hands on general surgical techniques he felt were essential for you to know. He’d tried, so far, to build a curriculum that was generally comprehensive – general surgery, obstetrics and gynecology, and internal medicine. In your spare time you read everything he’d ever found on botany and herbology. Everything else you supplemented with a collection of texts and scientific literature he’d been collecting since the outbreak, and had guarded and cared for fiercely . He saw his collection of medical texts as the key to the preservation and furthering of knowledge, and you agreed with him. After losing your father you couldn’t have asked for a more caring or dedicated mentor.

But not only was his caring practical, for he’d brought you back to life with his patience. He’d lead you out of that hazy numbness you’d lost yourself in after Beth. Something you’d have stayed lost in the rest of your life if not for his guidance, the loss of her so devastating it was something molecular. The feeling left you so tired, almost emaciated in your grief – the only instinct was survival, no thought for perpetuation or preservation. And then, of course there was Ellie and Dina, Tommy and Maria. All who’d done their best to welcome you into the embrace of their friendship. You were grateful for them in ways you couldn’t ever put into words.

And yet, and yet, despite all this good; a caring community, a giving teacher, loyal friendships, things you now knew you’d die to keep and protect, you were lonely. An aching kind of desperate loneliness, it’d blanketed you with a film of numbness that you hadn’t even really noticed, until one night you’d gotten home to the lovely warm house that’d been assigned to you, a place you’d been able to make a home, to realize, you had no one that was only yours. No one waiting for you. No more sister, no parents, no blood. No one to give yourself to. No one you’d always belong to, no matter what.

You’d felt a level of desperation in that moment worse than many of your worst moments in this horrible thing the world you knew had come to be.

But then there was him.

Joel.

Joel who was cold and stern and who had, at first, seemed so wholly disinterested in your existence you’d never thought there was any way he’d ever even think of looking at you as more than the girl he went to for stitches every now and then. As anything more than the person who patched up his never ending litany of scrapes and bruises. But who, at first sight, you’d seemed to take in and then never again look away from. Who you’d felt you’d known, recognized, at first glance. It was everything about him, really. His countenance – the air about him, slightly threatening, but in a way that told you you’d always be protected, safe,cared for if held in the circle of his embrace. And then his physicality – his face, his body, his smell . The feel of his skin beneath yours when you were closing or covering his wounds. The broad, thick planes of him, his long legs and tall frame that towered over your own. The man could overtake you if he chose to. You’d look at him and couldn’t help but think how hard he’d fuck. And you thought about that often. What it’d be like to cradle the heavy weight of him between your thighs, inside of you. What his skin would feel, taste like beneath your tongue. How you’d map the smattering of sun freckles on his chest and shoulders. And his eyes, deep and dark, and you knew they saw everything. That they were ever aware of what was going on around him. Wondered at what they’d feel like roving the hills and swells of your naked body – just for him. That he could probably see the yearning coming off of you like heat waves off the hot pavement.

Joel who seemed to care fiercely about Ellie, who he saw as his daughter from the little you’d been able to garner from her and others about their connection, and not much else. He’d come to you on more than one occasion after Ellie’d been into the clinic for attention demanding an update on her condition, asking if there was something wrong. Ensuring she was alright, that she’d remain alright. And being completely taken aback and offended when you’d refused to disclose patient information. There was a rift between them, so it seemed, not that anyone had been brave enough to talk about it aloud. The unspoken elephant in Jackson was the current ongoing estrangement between the two. Something that, without knowing him beyond being his doctor, you could see hurt him worse than anything you could’ve ever treated him for. And there was Tommy, his brother, and his wife Maria – who it was also obvious he appreciated and cared for.

He was cordial and helpful and always willing to be a good neighbor to those in the community. But he was set apart. A man estranged in a way you could see was self imposed. You could recognize it for what it was, the same shroud of loneliness that blanketed you. And what was it they said about the experience of loneliness? It creates a vicious cycle that only further perpetuates itself the more alone you become. You start to reek of it the longer you enshroud yourself in it. Contagion spreads. But then one day, you’d seemed to distract him from maintaining that self imposed exile long enough to entice him into looking at you, even if for a second, really looking at you.

It was like this: he’d never looked at you. Until he did. And then it was like fire, like a natural disaster or disease, like cordyceps . Uncontrollable, and as hard as you both tried, or didn’t try, it could not be put away once it had been set upon. You’d circled and circled each other – blood in the water – him in reluctant silence, you almost desperately, until you’d come together in a clash of limbs and tongues and teeth, and then he was shoving you onto your desk in the small space of your examining room and then shoving, hard and savage into your cunt, and that was it. You’d given him as much as he was willing to take, and if he’d wanted to take more, you’d have given it willingly and gladly. It was not a question of how much you were willing to do, or how much of yourself you could part with. If in that instant he’d asked you to open your vein to him and let him drink you think you might have invited him to gorge himself. The way he’d moved in your cunt that day, hand wrapped around the column of your throat as he drew a thin helpless sound out of you – like he owned it already, like he’d always owned it, and it’d just taken him a second to come and claim what’d always rightfully been his. The way he’d brought his fist down, hard, on the desk beside you as he emptied himself inside your pulsing walls, growling the start of your name between clenched teeth before it turned into a guttural wordless snarl. You knew there was a part of him angry at you in that instant. Furious at how fucking good it felt to take him inside you, to finally give in, to ravage and take and fuck the way both of you had wanted to for so long.

You’d wanted him with a kind of anguish that frightened you for the fervor of it. Something you’d never experienced. There’d been others before, well, one other, but that now seemed laughably pale and tepid compared to this. A blight of inconsequential nothingness in your past, that had in no way prepared you for what you’d come to experience with Joel. This was something to cause terror if examined too closely. But he’d peered at you one afternoon, opened his arms to you and invited you in, and how were you ever supposed to resist sinking your teeth into his flesh? Ripping out a piece of him all for yourself.

He’d promised that’d be the only time. That it could only ever happen that once. You’d both taken the lie for what it was. You knew this couldn’t be stopped once it had been started.

You’d always been a girl willing, glad, to do as you were told. To abide by the space allocated to you, to take what you’d been given with gratitude and accept your limitations. But loneliness makes monsters of even the best of us sometimes. And in a world now filled with monsters, it was easy to assimilate into one if given the opportunity, to let greed render you into what it may.

Joel watches your wonder at the sight of the little bird through the window, and he considers his own monstrousness. Your naked form is draped over his bed, tangled in his sheets, the loveliest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. The soft afternoon sunlight swirling along the planes of your skin, warm and buttery, and he accepts that he’s been deformed by his own brutality and violence. That he’s done a lot of truly heinous things in this life, but taking a little bird like you for himself, is perhaps the worst. The sparrow flits away and your eyes follow it– up, up, up. There’s a soft gleam in them, and his heart and gut twist at the sight of you moved by the sparrow. It’s been months of this, of the two of you tangled together. He hopes he never sees an end in sight, but at the same time, feels it pull at him. A vicious self sabotaging need to bring his fist down on this tenuous house of cards you’ve built together. Watch it smash into pieces.

There’d been times where he’d look at an infected, right before killing it, and felt an understanding so poignant.

That is what I have become.

He never needed to have been bitten to lose himself. To have been overtaken by something beyond his control. The viciousness of life had done it for him. Infected him all the same.

He was better now. He could acknowledge that. Ellie, and all that came with her, had served as a balm to his ragged edges. Jackson and its people. Having Tommy back, and the family he’d built with Maria. But he wasn’t naive. He’d known his day would be up eventually. His reckoning with Ellie would come, and it had. Nothing stayed buried forever, and eventually she’d discovered what he’d done. To keep her alive, to keep her for himself.

Perhaps his greatest sin was always trying to keep the women he loved. Always a failure.

Sarah, Ellie. You.

And now here he found himself again, on that same field in the middle of the night, surrounded by the end of the world, and clutching his whole life in the circle of his arms. Failing. Losing again and again.

Ellie had always been his reflection. A more hopeful, innocent mirror to all his cynicism and violence. But the same, nonetheless.

But you. You were his opposite in every big way that mattered.

Good and soft and honest. Strong.

And yet, there could be violence within you, when you so desired it. You’d let him have a peek of it on occasion.

Like the sun that burned his eyes from their sockets.

Violent, but necessary for survival.

You’d dedicated yourself to saving lives and healing, for Christ’s sake. All Joel’d ever done was destroy and kill. Even what he and Ellie had was on the precipice of death now.

And despite all of this. Despite everything he’d done to push you away. To hurt Ellie, no matter his intentions, he wanted. Savagely.

He wanted Ellie to understand why he’d done what he’d done. To forgive him. And even if she couldn't agree, then to just accept it. To set it away and let things be between them. To let it go .

What a selfish fucking thought, Joel Miller.

But he couldn’t help it; the goddamn world was over. Couldn't they just accept the bad things they’d done, or not done, and put it all away. And yet, at the same time, he could not hold it against her. Not even fault her. Because he knew her– he’d always known that the road would always inevitably lead them here. And still, he’d made the choices he’d made. In a way, he knew he deserved her ire. And so he bore it. Accepted it. Waited. But then– something new. You had come.

And he wanted you.

With a violence he’d never felt in a life filled with little other than violence. He could sanctify you with the fervor of his wanting. If he wondered at your own desires, he’d ask if there wasn't ever something you’d wanted so bad it pushed you into the depths of selfishness. A selfishness that bordered on cruelty to the outside world, but you just could not help yourself. You just had to reach out and take. He wanted to be that thing for you, that thing that turned you cruel and selfish.

And maybe that’s what this was, him taking you for himself; cruelty– like taking Ellie’s choices from her. But he couldn’t have helped it. He’d tried. God, he’d railed against this vicious want. But after the first time he’d touched you, tasted you, hell, the first time he’d fucking looked at you; all sense of choice had been taken from him.

All that was left after that was what would happen. What was inevitable. The thread that connected them was deep and dark and red. Not to be ignored.

The two circumstances were one in the same. And he couldn’t help but compare the present destruction of him and Ellie to what would become an inevitability between the two of you if he tried to be with you in any real way. Things always ended in one place for him.

And he’d ripped out so much of himself to cure the pain of Sarah’s loss, he now felt he had nothing left to offer, and what little he did, had gone to Ellie. The feeling of inadequacy was suffocating. Of missing some essential part of himself. He didn’t know if he was capable anymore, of that, of giving himself to someone new.

But he was afraid.

“C’mere, Birdie.” You crawl into his lap.

“Birdie?” A sweet, shy laugh. There was something about you, so akin to that sparrow. So small and fragile, but with the enviable ability to fly away if necessary. Within yourself, within your heart. There was a space within you he found unreachable to him. And he hated it and envied it all at the same time. Raged at himself for even wanting it in the first place. Knew that it only existed as a form of self preservation, of protection, against him. And the sound of your voice – lilting like the song of that sparrow – it fucking haunted him, it haunted him, it haunted him. Maybe he was a little like that bird, as well. Hollow.

Sometimes he just wanted you to hate him. To yell and scream and gnash your teeth and fucking demand something from him. Demand he let go of his cowardice and hesitations and fear. But he knew that very well of self preservation also allowed you to intellectualize his actions, parse together his motives and follow the thread to his root. Understand him in a way he shied away from.

He existed in different spectrums of himself. Different shades of a past that all coalesced into this man he was now trying to be and remain. Which was, perhaps, the hardest part of it all. To maintain that semblance of a good man he was fighting his hardest to be. A good father. A good brother. Helpful to his community and neighbors. Open to the world. It was fucking hard. Falling into old habits, letting the past crest up like a wave and drown him, that was the easy route. Staying on the straight path was the true test. And he knew– he knew how much he had to hold on to now, and all the responsibility that came with that. To cultivate and maintain his relationships, his friendships. He was appreciated, respected in this place he’d made a home. He’d lived a long time without respect from anyone, the world – or himself. He wanted to hold on to that.

But he was also aware that there was something missing. Something he still wanted, and before he’d met you, he’d been unsure of what that was. But the feel of a woman beneath him, around him– someone to know him as a man, and not a father or a brother or a friend– yes, that was definitely missed. And then, not just any woman, but you, you, you. Your appearance in his world had changed things for him. A burst of blinding light, an inferno creeping in his veins, without preamble or warning – the intensity of it almost unendurable for its sudden unexpectedness. It was empirically impossible for one to turn away from a change of that magnitude.

He thought of Tess sometimes. Her easy companionship. Her friendship. It was simple being with someone who never expected anything from you except to not get yourself killed. To stick to what was expected of you and not fuck up too badly you couldn’t keep your end of the bargain. But then… that wasn’t necessarily the truth of what they’d had either. Something still difficult for him to confess, even after all these years. And anyways, he was too old for that now. Shied away from getting into something like that again. A small curl of self consciousness making the appeal of it unsavory now. And this, between the two of you, he couldn’t codify it. Didn’t know what to make of it. Knew what he wanted of himself, of you. Knew what he would like to be able to give you and to take from you as well. Saying it out loud, confessing that, following through on it, was harder though.��

Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

You reach up to scratch gently through the underside of his chin. The soft, thick bristles catching beneath your nails. Just one more inevitable thing in a world full of inevitabilities.

Sarah. Cordyceps. Ellie. Taking you for himself. His unwillingness to accept a thing, never made it any less true. Stubborn ass that he was, still after all this time, he could not kick the bad habit.

You settle your plush bottom into his lap and weave your arms around his neck, his hands coming up to curve around the bend of your elbows, pull you in tighter, as if he could stitch you to his very skin with the intensity of his wanting.

“You’re like a little bird,” he nuzzles the soft space behind your ear, sucks on the edge of your jaw, breathes you in. “My Birdie.” The soft sound you make goes straight to his hard cock and you spread your legs wider across his lap, grind yourself down onto him.

You bask in his attention, mind hazy and floating. You’re drunk on his touch, his scent, the sound of his voice, and you feel like you need to give him something. Give him some more tangible piece of yourself. Something you wish he could put in his pocket, tuck in his memory, carry with him always like a small, smooth stone, the weight of it knocking gently against his thigh as he moved about the world. You slink down the bed, settle yourself between his strong legs.

His middle is soft and thick, and you press a kiss to the swell beneath his belly button, further down to nuzzle into the soft thatch of hair around his cock. You breathe in the heady musk of him, and he’s restless, verging on aggressive beneath you — his control held on by the grace of a snapping thread. You take him in hand, show him you’re merciful, and give the hard thick length of him a slow tug. His size is obscene, held in your small hand, you can barely get your fingers around his girth; it makes you cunt clench and weep jealously. You gaze up at him, and the look in his eyes is feral, teeth bared in a gleaming snarl at you. You often think that he unmoors you, but in this moment, you have the power to unmake him.

You press small kisses to his thigh, the jut of his hip bone, nuzzle your nose at the soft skin there. And then finally, you offer him your tongue, tap the broad, dark red head of him once, twice, and then soft little kitten licks, across the crown, down his shaft. Not yet ready to give him the reprieve of your hot suctioning mouth. You lift yourself up on your arms to hang your head over his erection then, letting salvia pool on your tongue you let it dribble down in a long obscene thread onto his waiting cock, slide down. “ Fuck – fuck, fuck,” he growls then, savage: “Fucking swallow it or come up here, and give me that cunt. No more teasing, Birdie.”

You bend back down to tongue the slit and he hisses, snaps his teeth together; he’s harder than a fucking rock. You start to jack him slow and tight in long pulls, from the very base, up, up to twist your fist around the weeping head, pressing soft kisses to the tops of his thighs. And then finally, finally you wrap your puckered mouth around him and start to suck, hollowing your cheeks and laving your tongue all around the thick girth. It’s sloppy and so wet, your saliva dribbling down to slide over his balls and into his hair. Messy little girl . He grips the back of your head, fingers fisting in your hair. You look up at him in permission, and he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. The muscles in your throat tightening around his head with every thrust. “Shit, shit, that’s good.” He lets his head fall back, and you take in the strong column of his throat. You can feel your pussy leaking onto the sheets beneath you at the sight of him and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the ache. He’s so fucking hot. And you want him so badly, always.

He feels your desperate squirming between his thighs, “Play with that little cunt, baby. I know it hurts.” You moan in response, suck him deeper, swallow around him as you slide your hand under your belly, down between your thighs and play with the wet mess there. You cup yourself and start to rock your hips, you know he’s watching your movements, the rise of your ass, letting the heel of your hand grind against your throbbing clit and then slide down to your entrance, dip your middle finger in to penetrate you there, gentle and shallow. You pick up the pace of your grinding, everything is so slick and wet, and your mouth opens on a shallow gasp, his throbbing length slipping out of your mouth and falling wet and heavy onto his belly. The two of you watch each other as you fuck your hand slowly, and then he’s rolling you over with the strength of his thighs, quick as a viper, as he manhandles you to his liking. He’s sliding on top of you, and then he’s got you on all fours, face pressed down into the pillows and ass up, up in the air, pulling on your hips and spreading you wide for his eyes to feast on. You feel his big hands grip your ass cheeks and pull you apart, your pussy wet and aching, you’re sure he can see your hole clench desperately. He bends to give your flesh a sharp, painful nip and you keen in response, his tongue soothing over it after.

“Please, Joel – please.”

“What do you need, baby? Hmm?” he croons. “You need my cock to fuck this little pussy?”

“Please–” you cry, a mess of tears and spit covering your face.

He runs a gentle knuckle over your soaked, puffy lips. “So red… so needy… Say it, wanna hear it.” He gives you his thumb, catching just over the edge of your opening, your mewl is high and whining.

“ Please, please, please–”

“ Tell me, Birdie.”

Hitching breath, he pulls out his thumb, swipes over your clit, just barely. “Please, fuck my pussy.”

And then his hand is gone and he’s giving you the whole unrelenting length of him in one quick thrust, and he’s fucking huge and harder than stone. Pressing up against your cervix until it hurts and holding there, and you want more, more, more. It feels so fucking good and you’re so wet – dripping down your thighs, you can feel it pooling in the crevices behind your knees, mingling with the collected sweat there. It’s lewd. Your walls clamp down on him, tight as a fist, and he lets out a snarl: “Don’t move.” A shudder wracks through him and you can feel him throbbing inside you, holding him heavy and hard in the deepest part of your cunt. You mewl, high and desperate, “Don’t move, don’t make a sound—” You can’t help the whimpers, he pulls them out of you forcibly.

“ Fuck–” and then he’s ramming into you relentlessly, over and over, kissing your womb on each thrust, and you see stars behind your eyes. His hands hold you open to watch where he impales you. “Prettiest little pussy, fuckin’ perfect and tight, Birdie” he says through gritted teeth. He pulls out suddenly, bends to swipe a long wet lick from your clit to your asshole. Oh, he’s filthy. You can only moan in response, flushing red and hot from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your breasts are heavy and aching, the tips furled into tight points. And then he’s fucking back into you. “Gonna fuck it full of my come, baby. You want that? Want me to stuff you full, pretty girl?”

“Yes– please, please. I need it–” His hand slides up the length of your back to curve over your shoulder, pulling you back onto his impaling cock harder. His balls slap sharp and wet against your clit, and then you’re coming around him, something so deep and sensitive inside being rutted against unrelentingly. Your cunt pulls tight, almost painful, a hot little furl around him, milking his own orgasm out of him. He groans deep in his chest, torso folding over your back pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you can feel the heavy throb and jerk of his cock spitting inside of you. The fist in your hair jerks your head to the side and he swallows your pleas, tongue licking deep into your mouth. “Good– good girl,” kisses the tip of your nose, your brow.

“Little bird… s’soft” he whispers later. “ Who’s gunna look after these fragile wings that dream so big and want to fly so high?” The tips of his fingers ghost up and down the length of your spine, over the fine wings of your shoulder blades. His skin is rough, his trigger finger thickly calloused, and each pass makes you shiver.

“Can’t you?”

“Don’t think so,” he mouths at the tender nook behind your ear, along your hairline, “Ain’t got it in me. Not gentle enough, don’t think.” But how could that be true when no one in all your life, in all the world, had ever touched you as softly as he was now?

“My Birdie,” he murmurs, and he’s still semi hard inside of your sore, stretched out cunt. Leaking out of you. Messy. The both of you had stopped being careful a while ago. Stopped caring, really. And you know it’s an unspoken point of resentment in him, the fact that he can’t control himself. That he feels an instinct to fill you and mark you. To make you his in the most primal way he can. The fact that he can’t pull away from you, in this most precarious of moments, despite all the other ways he can, it chafes . The both of you look away from it, like so many other things between you – turn your faces away. Unwilling to stop, and do the right thing. Unwilling to consider the possible consequences.

Sometimes you wonder if the thought of those consequences appeal to him. Appeal as a form of subjugation. If that were to happen then he’d be forced to stop forcing himself to push you away. He’d be able to keep you the way you know he really wants to.

It is a delirious and precarious situation, the business of believing in something that’s constantly denied to you.

You wrap your hand around his thick wrist and bring it to your nose, breathe him in deep, press a kiss to the tender skin over the blue hued spidering of his veins. His heady scent of soap and sweat and musk, all mingled with your own scent on his skin. It makes you clench tight around him and he groans deep and wanton in his chest, grinds his hips further into you from behind.

“You know what I think you’re missing?” he murmurs into the sensitive shell of your ear– your messy hair moved by his breath. “Besides more of my cum–” He laughs – and oh, he thinks he’s so damn funny– another thrust, sharper now. Regaining strength. He grasps the inside of your thigh and pulls you open, hooks your leg back and over his hip. Moaning low, you say, “What’s that?” You wind your hand up and back to clutch his hair while he starts to fuck you slow and deep. You want all your conversations for the rest of time to be just like this, whispered into each other’s ears always.

His other hand slides down your belly, to slot his fingers over the place where he fits inside you, feeling the tight stretch of it. He cups you there and anchors you to roll your hips more deeply on to his hardening erection, the mound of his palm grinding into your oversensitized clit. This sort of stamina’s not normal for an old man, you want to tease. But then he says: “Some selfishness,” a little bit like a question. A little bit like an admonishment too. And you pause, he’s serious and it makes you afraid that it’s also posed like a warning, just for a second. “Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit.” For me, he says, and it appeases you, comforts you. You think you may agree.

“Who says I’m not already?”

Chapter II

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #FOG fic

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neetily · 3 months ago

Text

↳ EVENT 34. M!Alex DoL (Breeding & Hybrids)

— ✧ warnings: Breeding, Creampie, Hybrids, pregnancy mention, Heats, dubcon, Size Difference, Mating — ✧ word count: 3,959

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

There are certainly times that being a hybrid benefits him. Namely when it comes to his raw strength, and how it ties nicely into his career. Farm work ain't easy, y'know! But for him, and his natural born durability, difficult tasks are a lot easier to complete. It's nice to be not have to worry about the sheer amount of manual labour involved in his line of work, waking up each and every morning with the sure knowledge that whatever the day throws at him, he'll be ready for it. Lifting, weeding, fixing, building— thanks to his bull-like strength, nothing can even hope to stand in his way.

Another benefit is how much he can relate to his livestock. Sure, some may give him funny looks considering that he's a hybrid just like them, why should they bow to his feet? But he makes it abundantly clear that he only intends to care for them, a mutually beneficial understanding shared amongst beasts; not in the least because he can empathise on such an intimate level with them. Able to better help, attend to, and look after his stock as compared to a non hybrid farmer. Really, they should be thankful that it's his feet they must abide by, and not some unknowing, unhelpful human farmer. He understands their struggles like no other, because he experiences them in kind.

There are, of course, cons to the whole ordeal. One of which being his temper, or was it temperament? He never was the brightest, couldn't never get the difference to stick. How it can rise to terrifying heights, surprisingly fast, too. Stubborn as, well... As himself. As a bull can be, huffing and snorting and aiming his horns at anyone, or anything, that steps out of line. Innate intimidation working both for and against him, though he'd rather admit the former. Because a tall, imposing, intimidating presence is good around the farm, especially inside the barns. Tail swishing behind him, nostrils flared knowing that his mere existence is enough to get all the other hybrids back in line in a moments notice.

However, perhaps the greatest con of all, in spite of all the amazing positives, is that: he's just an animal at the end of the day. Just like the stock he cares for daily, a primal beast, a slave to his instinctive chains just as much as the rest of them.

Try to hide it all he wants, it's no use when he has someone as pretty and small as you near him at all hours of the day, helping on the farm as much as your little human hands can offer, leaving him feeling all fuzzy and thankful inside of his chest at the way you wipe the sweat off your brow. A pretty little thing like you is all it takes, really, for the animal within him to buck and gnaw and chew at his willpower until it's all too late. The immediate attraction he felt towards you hidden at the back of his mind resurfacing from a mere glance from you, a connection so strong that he's been unable to look away since your arrival on his farm.

It's that time of year again, isn't it?

He'd tried to keep himself contained. As naturally as possible— ain't got time to head into town for anything like medication or the likes, left to seethe by himself in private, avoiding your usual kind conversation in favour of petting himself into oblivion when he thinks you can't see him, or when you're too busy with one of the many useless tasks he's sent his favourite little farmhand on today. Anything to get you out of sight, though unsurprisingly, never out of mind.

Compared to him, you're tiny. A soft bodied little girl he can't help but to stare at, a yearn so deep in his heart to claim you as his own once and for all— and that's not just his instincts talking, though they certainly aid his drive. Over the course of your time spent on the farm, days and nights spent with him, he's came to appreciate you as a person, too.

One of the good ones, he promises his stock.

And while he can fuck around with his hybrids on any given day—he's done so before, particularly before you entered his life— there's just something about you. An intrinsic understanding that though he could break you in a mere second, still you cling to him for support. Staring up at him with those big puppy eyes he oh so adores; not that he's ever said as much before, often rendering him a blushing mess despite your smaller than his stature, build, and overall presence on the farm.

You're a good worker too, which gets to him. Honest with a strong work ethic, better than some hybrids he's came across. Like you're trying to prove yourself to him or something, which would be cute if that was the case. Y'need not prove yerself at all, sweetheart. He wants to coo softly at you often, fisting his fat cock to completion every night to the thought of his favourite little human between his meaty thighs with the look of adoration on your face. God, how long he's wanted to see you just there, those doe eyes fluttering back up at him, struggling to take his hybrid cock down your throat as— Well. You get the point.

Mans smitten, though the pill is a difficult one to swallow. Him, with a human? Look, he's not got anything against you per se, it's just not something he's ever considered possible in his lifetime. Resolved to picking a cute little hybrid all for himself one day once the farm was settled, and yet here he sits on his porch pining for someone half his size and half his breed. But that's just it, isn't it? The fact that you're so tiny compared to him, so easily picked up and thrown down, unable to escape his too big cock as his heat creeps up on him in the golden hour. It's too enticing, to see you prance around his farm without a single clue of the things you do to him. A curiosity, he lies to himself. Fate, his heart corrects.

"Fuck..." Escapes him, petting at his cock some more as you finish up tending to the plenty plots around the farmhouse, his brows knitting together in concentration, of you walking his way with that big cheesy grin on your face that he silently loves, or his big open palm stroking the outline of his bulge? He's not so sure. All that he knows for sure is that his cheeks feel a little warmer when you're around, that your scent invades his senses the closer you get to him, almost clouding his judgement as you take to sitting beside him, his cock twitching privately in response to the loud sigh you let out upon finally being able to relax.

You're so... God, so fucking annoying. The way you so effortlessly overwhelm his senses, his nose twitching with frustration as he huffs in your intoxicating scent. Can fucking smell your cunt from your side, tip leaking all over his pants with need. It's— sure, he's in heat. Breeding season and all that, not that you're fucking aware given how carelessly you bring up your shirt to reveal your soft tummy to him— oh, just a little bite? Just a small one, just to get a taste? Cleaning up the rest of your sweat that he'd rather lick off for you, exhaling heavily through his nose at the innocent look you wear when regarding him. But it's embarrassing how down bad he is for you, how out of all the perfectly good hybrid options presented to him throughout his life, a weak little thing like you gets to him the most.

"You good, Alex?"

Part of him wants to laugh, barked down at you with utter disrespect for how fucking stupid you're being right now. Dumb little girl, exposing yourself to his bull side so easily, on a silver platter up to his grinding teeth. But he's only half the animal he's acting right now, choosing instead to clear his throat before responding, staring you down with hazy eyes. He doesn't want to frighten you, really.

"Yup." Is all he allows himself to admit, tucking his cock into the waistband of his pants when you take a gander at all of your hard work; impressive, he thinks to himself. You're skilled, and it annoys him for some reason.

"You sure? You don't look too hot..."

The amount of worry in your tone irritates him, worsens his already agitated state as he goes to stand out of your way, intent on taking care of the tight ball of need nestled deep in his tummy until you reach out for him, little hand burning an imprint on his tense arm from the fire coursing through him.

It's craving. Longing to make you his. He's never truly felt so fucking heated before though... Even when fucking his stock when his heat got too strong to bear, he's never felt so vulnerable, and then it clicks in him. He wants you to depend on him too, to look for stability in his arms, to mark every inch of your pretty skin as his so that he never has to worry about another heat again. Unable to ignore the growing creep of want in his chest with every inhale of your scent— the best he's ever smelled, annoying in how sweet and perfectly suited it is to his tastes. He knows what it means, he's been avoiding it for as long as he can. But the way your hand comes up to his forehead, the back of it gently resting against him, as if checking your child's temperature— you just don't know when to quit, do you?

Not that he's any better, immediately sat upon your tugging request, allowing you to touch and poke and prod at his warm cheeks, concern lacing your expression at the way he huffs and puffs before you. Look, see how he's trying to hold on to the last remnants of control he's got, but you just keep pushing. Leaning closer, pouty kissable lips just begging for a tongue shoved between them, his eyes rolling back and shut when you hum in sincere thought for him.

And it's like something snaps in him when he feels your hand on his thigh. Propping yourself up to assumedly get a better look at his flushed complexion, unwinding the tight ball of restraint within him in a mere second as his hands fly out to your waist, easily pulling you onto his lap to show you exactly what's wrong with him. Let you feel the way his big fat cock throbs against your tummy, nails digging in to your hips and arms flexed to keep you pinned in place on his lap.

You've got to know that wrapping your legs around his waist only encourages him, right? Even if you've only done so out of assumed obligation, his clouded mind and rock hard cock take that as an invitation to thrust against you. Just once or twice, the sopping tip of his cock fucked out of his cock in the movement, much to your surprise apparently as a rushed gasp escapes you.

"'M sorry..." He mumbles, though nevertheless pushes your body back, letting you perch precariously at his knees so that he can unzip his pants and free his cock. "Jus'... Um, gotta mate with you."

Not once has he worded it like that, carrying you up to his bedroom without waiting for your answer because of how downright desperate he is to show you how serious his intentions are, undressing you on the way and discarding your clothes recklessly across the old house until he's able to toss you onto his bed.

You unlock something so needlessly primitive within him, the bed dipping under his weight as he removes his top, revealing his tight and toned body for your glassy eyes to gawk at. Fuck, and the sight of you under him like this? How easily and readily he towers over you, safely twice your size as he hovers above, bull tail swinging back and forth in piqued interest at the way you seem to cower under him.

He'd like to look after you properly, wants to treat you the way you deserve, but that'll have to wait. He's unfortunately too fraught with uncontrolled need right now, greedy for his first fuck, to empty his taut balls into your little cunt to make it all creamy for him.

"It's— ah..." Automatically, he starts to jerk at his exposed cock. Letting his precum drip all over your front, a puddle of pre soon forming at your belly button from just how strong his heat is, how strong you've made it, your scent screaming breedable even as he looms over you, leaving him a little dizzy with desire. "It's because you smell so good, I can't— I mean, I tried to hold back but..." but the lust pooling in his tummy is too much to bare, and the way you're looking up at him with such expectation only encourages him to continue, and just seeing you submit so pliantly under him triggers his impulsive behaviours, and—

Mm... There's no use making excuses now. His inhibitions lowering with every passing second that his big cock hovers above you, the wide eyed look you give him back as he slaps his tip against your tummy a little, pressing it right against you, hissing at how good it feels just to even glide his tip against your skin and; "Look," He implores, following your vision down to his heavy cock as he continues to stroke pre out for you. To mark you up with his stink. "Look how big it is. Don't think it's gonna fit all inside..."

And when he looks back up at your pretty face, he's greeted to the sight of your adorable pout. As if you were just as saddened by that fact as he is, nonetheless drawing his hips back to give in to his baser instincts with a final stroke of his cock.

"S'okay. Will stretch my mate out real good, jus' give it time." He promises you, and despite the lewd intentions behind his heat stroke ridden words, he means it. For someone as soft, pliable, easily throwable, and sweet as you, he's willing to wait and train you to take his full size. After all, he's decided that you're his mate now, so you're gonna have to learn eventually. Or rather, nature has willed it so. A scent so alluring, so entrancing? He's but a man, after all. Giving in to his desires as he threatens to shove his cock all the way in at a moments notice.

He'd just rather you wanted too, is all. But it's not that important.

Not like you can escape him anyway, one hand on your hip, the other by your head to keep himself steady. He's much too strong for you, and so much bigger too in every respect. Try to escape his iron grip and he'll easily be able to tug you back down to meet his cock, letting his tip rest against you for just a moment as he steels his nerves.

A shaky sigh later, and his mind is settled. To prove how serious he is, he gives you a concerned look. Pained, almost, from how eager he is to prove himself to you.

"You're gonna be such a good mommy, little mate."

No time to fully recognised your confused expression, already pushing his cock inside of your perfect little mate cunt without warning. Just the tip, really, soaking your insides with his plentiful pre and you're already clawing at him. Nails digging into his tensed up arms, stroking his ego so well, just like how your cunt massages his tip expertly, little cunt sucking him off just the way he likes, like you were fucking made for him, attempting to drag him in further and further despite the way your walls struggle to stretch around his fat girth. Too fucking big for little girls like you, instinctively dipping his head low with a wince when your cunt squeezes him unfairly well. Fucking into you raw feels too fucking good, it's almost embarrassing how much he loves it already. Just the tip, and he's a mess. Panting heavily, periodically squeezing at your side to keep himself focused enough to feel every single clench of your insides.

"Here," He hums, almost begs for you to hear his words in spite of the pheromone haze settling thick in the room. "Hold on t'em. It'll help."

Not only in keeping you grounded enough to feel every agonizing inch of his fat cock splitting you in two, but also more selfishly, he likes it when his horns are grabbed. Feels like you're relying on him a little more, little fists wrapped around his tough horns as he hunches over you like some sort of predator, his body completely encasing your own in the sheer size difference as he humps his tip into you a little too fast for his liking. He doesn't mean it, he doesn't wanna hurt you, it's just that you feel so fucking good, fuck. Like he always knew you would, your hole eagerly doing her best to accept his throbbing cock, the tip finally popping all the way inside with a sickly squelch thanks to his dominating efforts, your cunt soaking his cock with every tiny thrust he offers your small, frail body.

And it's difficult for him to hold back like this, to keep himself in check when you're whining so pretty for him like that. All shy and choked, a mix of pain and pleasure as he takes to rocking your body up and down his cock rather than thrusting inside, the hand on your hip doing all of the work for you as you hide your enjoyment in the sheets below.

He'd love to see you struggle to take his cock, but he understands your reaction. Some hybrids have difficulty, too. The first time can be overwhelming, fucking you selfishly over every throbbing vein of his heavy cock, got him all twitchy and leaking inside of you, doing his best to help ease the glide inside but he only ever truly manages to stuff half of his cock in you before you're tapping out.

"Okay, okay," He grits his teeth at your surrender, allowing you some leeway for managing to even take half of him, a soft cooing tut escaping him at the affection he harbours for you. Pretty little mate, you'll get there eventually. Especially considering it's only the first night of his heat; he'll break you in soon enough. "I'm gonna— Ah, fuck, sorry—"

What he tries to tell you is that he's gonna move, provide you with ample opportunity to fully stop before the point of no return; but his body has other ideas. Pulling his hips back mid speech only to fervently thrust forward again, a brutally unfair pace settled from the get go as his instincts truly take over and he simply cannot fucking help himself from indulging in your meagre, shivering frame. A true treat to a bull like him, pampering himself with heady thrusts and loud grunts, every fast fuck into your over stretched cunt matched with tandem tugs of your pretty body down, made to meet him in the middle, his bed squeaking under the sheer weight of his fucks forwards.

He knows he's made the right choice in mating with you as soon as you start to squirm under him, gasping his name like some sort of mantra for him to drink up, his usual cocky smirk now replaced with an open mouth for him to moan and groan just for you. Drooling precum into you, saliva pooling in his mouth at how tasty your smell has become, how fucking strong it gets now that he's fucking you so full, the knowing that he's only half way inside understandably leaving you a little on edge given how just half his cock is all it takes to have you creaming so well around him. A little ring of it half way up his cock, your relatively tiny hands tugging on his horns as if asking for something else, but you're too stuffed with cock to voice it, aren't you baby?

It's okay, he's a good mate, he can intuit what you want. What you so desperately need, just like him, right? Like a good bitch in heat, you want the same thing he does.

A nice, warm, sticky creampie, huh?

And oh, the way you're sobbing for it so nicely, begging wordlessly with half babbles for more, allowing him to rock your body up and down with every greedy thrust his hips roll into you automatically, driven to impregnate you out of pure need. Like a reflex, or impulse. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as you pull his face closer to your own by way of his horns, his tail flapping behind him in impatience.

Someone as nice and tight as you was made for breeding, right? Little breeding bitch, all for him. Rubbing his nose against your own, taking a greedy inhale of your sickly sweet scent before imprinting his own with opposingly gently nuzzles against your cheek— always mindful of his horns.

"Look at me." He commands, voice rough and throaty from the amount of effort it takes not to just ram his whole fat cock into your perfect little pussy like how he wants to, lifting his head up just a little so that his forehead rests against your own and you can see just how much he wants this. Wants you.

"Want ya t'look at me when I get'cha pregnant."

And to prove his suspicions, it only takes another greedy stoke inside your cunt for your walls to clench down hard around him, mommy body begging for his strong bull seed, yeah? Feel so good cumming around him like that, God, he's not long to follow. Finding it difficult to continue thrusting into your tightly squeezing hole, and yet nevertheless allowing her to milk him as his full, thick seed shoots against your walls. Dumping a fat load right against your cervix, fucking it back into you with relentless thrusts— unintentionally, he just can't stop himself from seeking the too good feeling your cunt swallows his cock with. Thick cream seeping out from around his cock as it gushes out of you, turning your ass and thighs all tacky with his seed when he lowers his body further, keeps you as close to him as possible so that his load is more likely to stick to its intended purpose.

And like that he remains. Heaving against you, he keeps you there for a good minute or so until the wave of pleasure rolls over him and he's offered a miniscule amount of clarity. Enough to view your battered body, how sloppy and messy and stupid you look under him, a silent beg for more on the tip of your tongue as you smile dumbly up at him.

"Already?" He sneers down at you, rubbing his thumb across your cheek with a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose. "Fucked stupid? Oh," His cock twitches inside of you again, warming in your stuffed little hole, keeping his cum plugged inside for your own benefit. Still, he wants.

"We've only just started m'afraid."

#dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #alex the farmhand #alex the farmhand smut #alex🚜

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total-drama-brainrot · 4 months ago

Note

YOU. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT MADE REINA..

TAKE MY LIFE!

this sounds a whole like a request but do you have hcs for her and Ale??

they're "went through a traumatizing experience" buddies

(shh..I may or may not think that that cat is middle eastern and so has seen stuff..now I feel like I'm stereotyping the middle east my apologies)

Politely declining your life, since you probably need that for living purposes, but I'm super happy to hear that people like Reina!!

Considering Reina herself is a headcanon, I have a few ideas I can share!

The Burromuerto parents initially decided to give Alejandro the skrunkliest cat they could find to serve as a (not) subtle indication that they don't love/care about him as much as José, who got an objectively "nicer" pet. What they didn't anticipate was Alejandro being immediately smitten with the wet rag of a cat they presented him with, who he immediately names "Reina" - meaning queen.

When making the post, there were a few different mental images I had of Reina. For the most part I was thinking of that one video of the weird stray cat outside (because that video lives rent free in my head), but I also considered having her be some sort of street-worn Rex cat, like a Devon Rex, because they're the weirdest looking cat breed I know. And also because "Rex" is latin for "King", so it plays into the royalty motif she's got going on. But Weezerfan's and CuriosityCryptid's interpretations of her are so so great! I encourage everyone to just envision Reina how they want to!

Alejandro absolutely spoils her rotten. Reina starts out super skittish around the whole family, but Alejandro's the only person who has the incentive to work past her rational fear and get to know the sweetheart she truly is. As a result, the two of them become major sources of comfort for each other in the Burromuerto household. Reina becomes sort of an emotional crutch for Alejandro; he vents his frustrations to her and then smothers her in all of the suppressed love and affection he has in his heart.

Her initial skittishness stems from her time as a street cat, wherein she gained a lot of scars (and perhaps lost an eye or an ear, depending on how tattered you want to envision her). Keep in mind, despite being an absolute sweetheart, she's also feisty - a cat doesn't survive with as many battle scars as Reina has without being a fighter. Consequently, Alejandro gained many scratch marks in the early days of owning Reina before he gained a proper understanding of her temperence.

With all of the love and care she recieves, Reina quickly goes from being a mangy street cat into being a relatively normal looking cat, though her scarred appearence is far too distinguishable to mistake her for a normal housecat. Alejandro scrounges up money from his various competitions (and other unofficial odd jobs he works to build connections around his neighbourhood - the power of nepotism is a valuable asset after all) to buy her pretty collars and accessories and cat toys.

Alejandro had assumed that nursing Reina back to "presentability" would prove something to his parents. In fact, he thought Reina's whole existance was just another test from them to prove himself capable of caring for something dependant on him and/or being independant enough to be a pet owner (or something along those lines). So when he presents his parents with a well pampered Reina and is met with cold indifference, it hurts him quite a bit; didn't he do a good job? (There was no "test" or "challenge", his parents are just assholes.)

They're kinred spirits personality-wise. Both of them have gone through a lot in their limited years, and that unspoken mutual understanding helps them bond quickly. Reina also becomes just as vain as Alejandro once he starts buying her sparkly accessories and trinkets. Alejandro eventually learns how to empathise with other people through his experiences empathising with Reina.

Alejandro and Reina are equally as protective over each other. Reina hisses and swipes at anyone who causes her boy emotional distress if she's around to witness it, and Alejandro gets super jealous when other people try to give Reina attention - she's his cat. (Alejandro has issues with possessiveness and being second place, so having anything in his life as solely his is something he takes quite seriously.)

As for Reina's backstory? I didn't really think much on it other than "tattered looking street cat they found at an animal shelter", but again I'm happy for other people to interpret her as they see fit.

#This ended up being a lot longer than I thought it was considering Reina is literally just a concept I thought up on the spot.#Picture this: Alejandro gets home from All-stars and says “Reina you're not gonna *believe* this.”#Who needs therapy when you have a cat?#td alejandro #reina #silly headcanons #replies

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letstalktea · 5 months ago

Text

Wandering Thoughts

Prompt: Not everyone has secondary genders but those that who do are considered less than human

Summary: An indifferent omega is thrown into the stocks and used as a breeding fodder by the public.

Content: omega!afab!PC, Noncon, Emotionless sex, PC is done with this shit, public use, just another day in rapenshire

Word Count: 0.8k

The endocrine system started at the hypothalamus, which was that small bulbous section of the brain. It was a series of hormones that helped regulate certain organs like the thyroid, adrenal glands, testicle, ovaries –

No wait. Were those even considered organs? Were those the things the endocrine system helped regulate or were they part of the system itself? Was there a difference? All of the information was turned around in his head. At this rate, he was going to fail Sirris’ make-up exam. It's not like he could check their textbook for the answer or study at the moment either. He was too busy trying to ignore all the people who were lined up to ruin his asshole.

The current guy was clearly almost finished given how frantically he was thrusting his hips while screaming at them to ‘get pregnant’; a fitting phrase to climax to and the entire reason they had been placed in stocks to begin with, but he was on birth control. Even if the entire purpose of him being used like a public cum dumpster by whoever got the itch to get their dick wet was to try and knock them up, it wouldn't be happening on this cycle. If Bailey did one thing right, it was making sure the brats under her care didn't birth even more brats under her roof. Sure, she could charge extra rent for housing an extra baby or two, but she made more money on the ones who could sell their holes and it came with slightly less crying.

He sighed as he stared out at all the people watching him like an animal in a cage. Some pointed, others snickered, and some were clearly debating jumping in the line. He didn't care. What was one or two more people reminding him that he wasn't considered human and was only an oddity at best?

At least he had it easier than what they put the alpha through. He just had to stand there and let people fuck and come inside of him until they were satisfied. Alpha actually had to be the ones coming and he knew there was no way they could do that without resting, especially since they apparently produced way more come than usual. They probably made themselves sick having to keep up with it all.That wasn't even mentioning the knots they had to deal with that kept them bound in place. At least his rapists could move on after they blew their load.

It sucked either way. There were so few alpha and omega in existence that people treated them more as spectacles than as human beings. He just happened to be unlucky enough to have someone notice that his ass got wet on its own when they were molesting him on the bus ride home and turned him in.

Fuck that rapist freak.

And fuck the ones currently plowing him too.

They could all go to hell.

Warm come splashed in his ass and he felt gross. If he hadn't lost count somewhere along the way, that was the seventh time today someone had flooded his ass. They didn't even want to think about how much of a mess they must have looked like back there considering no one had bothered to scrape and clean them out even once. Were these fuckers using everyone else’s jizz as lube or something? Fucking freaks.

As the person inside of them pulled out, they tried not to groan at how their asshole stung. If he made any noise, he knew these freaks who wanted to knock up a boy would take it as some kind of compliment to their non-existent sexual prowess. So, instead, they bore the pain as the next person in line shoved something else inside of them.

“Hey,” he spoke up as the person started to thrust, “would you at least mind giving me a reach around? I haven't gotten to come once yet because y'all have been ignoring my dick like it's gonna bite you. Help a guy out, won't ya?”

Their answer was to slap him across the ass.

“Shut up, whore!” He bit his tongue to stop the surprised yell crawling up the back of his throat as they continued to berate him. “Omega freaks like you should be able to come with just your assholes.”

And they also probably believed in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter bunny if they bought into that hogwash. They also probably couldn't find the clit if it was pointed out to them on a map.

Whatever.

At least he could focus on reviewing the content for class in his head if he didn't have to bother with actually feeling good. All he had to worry about was how much longer they planned to keep him on display for everyone else’s amusement before Bailey came to bail out her cash cow and exploit him for expensive, private use rather than free public entertainment. That, and how much cum he was going to have to scrape out of his ass after this ordeal.

Maybe Robin would help him crawl into the bath after they finally let him out and he could go home. Then they could both play games until they passed out. Or maybe Robin would let him rest in their lap if he was too sore to move on his own.

Yeah. That sounded nice.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #heat in june #degrees of lewdity #tw emotionless sex #tw public sex #tw public use #tw a/b/o #tw noncon

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thyshadowwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Lost & Found. Chapter 13.

Ivar Ragnarsson x oc.

Summary: making amends is difficult, but some help is always welcome.

A\n: I decided to do this one with Aslaug and Ivar POV. Love a mama bear 🙂

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @pieces-by-me @luvmeijii @fairypitou

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Aslaug POV:

Her sons left to train early in the morning, which gave the queen some time to think. She took notice of how Ivar was more sullen and irritable, being more silent than usual. Ivar was a moody person, but he hid his sadness poorly from her. Ivar was the person she loved the most, seeing something upsetting him made her restless.

This time, Aslaug knew very well what was making Ivar sad, even if he didn’t outright say it. He was missing Revna. She never showed up again after that day, Asalug never even heard of her since, not from Ivar, Ubbe nor any of the slaves. She could very well have vanished from Kattegat entirely for all she knew.

For a while, Aslaug hoped that whatever interest Ivar had in Revna would wane with the absence, but that didn’t seem to happen. That girl was the cause of his sudden sadness just as she was the cause of his joy, like the seer said to her and it terrified Aslaug. Of course she wanted Ivar to have love, she wanted him to be happy, but there was a part of her that considered the possibility that would never be the case. Just how many marriages she knew were out of love? Certainly not hers. Ragnar never loved her, he wanted her to breed and if not for that, she would just be another of the many women he fucked. She tried to gain his love, but that was for Lagertha only; she tried to search for comfort in the Harbard’s arms, but that didn’t work out for her. She would rather Ivar didn’t go through any of that because the pain was blinding and never truly healed.

But if the Gods willed it, there was nothing she could do. For as much as she wished Ivar would just forget about Revna, seeing his beloved son sad was something she could not bear. He already suffered enough as it was, if she would bring him some happiness, Aslaug would do everything in her power to keep the girl close.

She left her house shortly before her sons just like she did for her walks, but this time she decided to pay a visit to her old friends and their new daughter.

Ivar POV:

Ivar was angry for having argued with Revna but more than that, he missed her. He never had someone that cared for what he had to say and enjoyed his company, no one other than his mother or Floki would willingly spend time with him, no one other then them treated him like he wasn’t a burden and a mark of shame; Ivar felt that she listened to him and he didn't want to give that up. It gave him a bit more confidence that Revna hadn't outright dismissed him when he last spoke to her. That gave him hope that maybe she didn’t hate him entirely and their friendship was salvageable.

For now, however, he still had the Sigurd issue to deal with. He knew it was pointless to try to get anything out of him, but he didn’t have to. All he had to do was get Sigurd at the right time and never a better one than training time.

The brothers went to training and things proceeded as usual. Hvitserk always looked like he was having a good time when training, Ubbe always paying attention to what they were doing and Sigurd pretending Ivar didn’t exist.

As they progressed, it came the time to train against each other. Each brother went a round against each other, but when it came the time for Ivar and Sigurd, which usually was skipped since their tensions, Ivar didn't let that pass:

“Won’t you fight with me, Sigurd?”

“Why would I fight a cripple? There’s no point to it.”

“Why don't you try it?”

“There's no reason for it. Cripples don't go to battle.”

“Then there should be no problem for you. Or are you afraid, Sigurd? Are you afraid of me?”

Sigurd turned silent for a while. Hvitserk too was silent, he never liked to get between their fights and whenever one was about to start he became quiet enough one could forget he was even there at all. It was always Ubbe that deescalated the arguments, though even for him it was becoming harder each year.

“You don’t come, because you’re scared of me. You know you cannot beat me.”

Sigurd smirked and leaving his shield behind he went at Ivar full of confidence with his axe. Ivar quickly blocked, the two kept on their ‘training’ but the force each of them used was way too much for just a train and both their oldest brothers watched in dead silence. Hvitserk was almost frozen in place as he waited for Ubbe to put a stop to it before they killed each other while Ubbe watched each and every movement with wide eyes.

Next they knew, both Ivar and Sigurd were on the ground, their weapons left behind in favor of their fists. It was somewhat of a relief for Ubbe and Hvitserk as they couldn’t kill each other as easily with their hands as they could with their weapons. Ubbe gave them a time to settle their differences, before putting a stop to it.

“Enough you two. You are not children anymore, stop this.” Spoke Ubbe authoritatively as he grabbed Ivar by his clothes to pry him away from Sigurd, both of them bloody and covered in mud.

Aslaug POV:

Aslaug reached Floki’s home. The boatbuilder was the first one she saw, he was carefully choosing the trees but he instantly took notice of her.

“Floki.”

“Aslaug. It’s been long enough.”

“It's true. The years passed too fast.”

“Or too slow.”

Aslaug smiled, but that didn’t reach her eyes. In a way, her sons grew up apparently in the blink of an eye, in the other, the years were dragging and lonely for her.

“Has Ivar been here recently?”

“It has been a while.”

“I'll be straight to the point. I've noticed Ivar became close to the girl you adopted, who is she?”

Floki was always one to not tell the entire truth and Aslaug could feel he was hiding crucial information about that girl. She was sure something was really off with that matter because Floki would never bring an outsider to his home.

“Helga brought her from the last raid and has been teaching her since.”

“Is she a Christian?”

“No. She wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Floki’s face twitched slightly. Even after all those years he still hated the Christians with the same fire. It was good to hear she wasn't one of them, but not precisely a relief.

Aslaug wouldn't ask the why of her presence, that was pretty clear. After Angrboda’s death, Helga had been slowly losing her mind, her grief was obvious to anyone that met her before and as her fertile years passed, Aslaug could only imagine her desperation for another child grew more than what she could handle.

“She must be a curious creature if both Helga and Ivar took a liking to her. I would like to see her.”

Aslaug wasn't really requesting as much as she was politely informing, both of them knew it, Floki looked at her oddly, but didn’t object.

“She’s with Helga.”

Floki pointed towards his house, watching curiously as Aslaug made her way. She soon saw Helga sitting with the girl on the bench, teaching her with the runes.

“Aslaug.” Helga greeted her, surprised to say the least.

“Helga. I see that you're teaching the girl.”

“I am. Revna is very dedicated and learned very fast. Ivar helped her a lot as well.” Helga answered proudly, holding the girl by her shoulders.

Aslaug had her attention on the girl, almost ignoring Helga. The girl unnerved her. At first glance, other than her obvious different appearance and shorter stature, she was like any other girl her age, yet there was something off with her that the queen couldn’t put her finger on. Aslaug wanted to believe it was her concern with Ivar’s happiness clouding her judgement, but her gut instinct screamed otherwise.

“Surely she must be grateful for the opportunity the Gods gave her.” Aslaug said, her eyes not leaving the girl and equally, the girl looked back at her curiously and cautiously.

“She adapted well. Floki wants her to attend to the sacrifices so she can ask for the Gods' blessings.”

“It’s only appropriate. If they choose her to be your daughter, they’ll accept her offerings.”

Aslaug replied to Helga, but her attention was still on the girl. The next she spoke was clearly addressed to Revna with just a hint of an order.

“I’m sure Ivar will greatly appreciate you engaging in our ways. He’s very devout and you two seem to have gotten along well, am I right?”

“Yes… I think. I hope.”

“So do I. The Gods may look favorably at you, in which case, I trust I’ll see you with Ivar more frequently.”

“If he wishes. Ivar is well now. He does not… need my visit anymore.”

“He has invited you to our home, that’s not to be taken lightly. Our families have been friends for years and he seems to want to be your friend. Wouldn’t you want that?”

“I… yes. I would.”

“That’s great. I’m sure Ivar will speak to you soon.” Aslaug said with a faux smile that was mostly condescending before turning her attention to Helga “Maybe they’ll make good friends.”

Aslaug didn’t want to break the old friendship she had with Helga, it was the sole reason she didn’t take the girl to live in her home with Ivar for as long as he pleased. She and Helga did some catching up, to which the girl remained dead silent.

When Aslaug returned home and saw Ivar and Sigurd dirty and bloody, she knew she made the right call. Later that day she gently nudged Ivar to go talk with the girl. She was certain things would work out for him.

Ivar POV:

Early in the morning Ivar headed to Floki's home wanting to catch up with Revna. Ivar wasn't one to give up, but having his mother's incentive gave him more courage.

This time, Ivar didn't make an effort to hide his presence as he saw Revna who quickly took notice of him. She waited for him and when he was close enough she saw the bruising on his face, she kneeled closer to him and moved her hand to reach his face, Ivar waited expectantly for her touch, but she stopped before that.

“Ivar, what happened?”

“It's nothing to worry about.” Ivar answeredf nonchalantly, with a smile nonetheless.

“But… you are hurt.”

“It’s just a bruise from training. No need to worry.”

She looked at him concerned and not entirely convinced and it didn't fail to make Ivar feel cocky.

“Does it matter to you if I get hurt?”

“You were bad to me. Does not mean I wish you hurt.”

“I was bad to you?”

“Yes! You argued for nothing.”

From anyone else, Ivar wouldn't tolerate such insolence, but Revna had that annoyed expression that he couldn't honestly take seriously.

“You hid things from me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You met with Sigurd and didn't say a thing about it.”

“I did! Didn't know he was your brother! How would I?!”

For all Revna was reserved, she sure got annoyed fast and Ivar found it entertaining.

“Sit down with me, I want to talk with you.”

“You do not have to say anything to me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

“Why?”

“Just sit down and listen to what I have to say then make up your mind. If you don’t like it, I will let you go.” He wouldn’t, but it was enough that she believed otherwise.

She considered his proposition, and while she clearly was still guarded, she sat down.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I blamed you for things you didn’t know and were never at fault. It wasn't warranted.”

“But… Why are you angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you. I should not have said that to you.”

“You were. Because of your brother.”

“You’re right. And because you didn’t tell me.”

“I did not know.”

“You should have told me anyway”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what friends should do.”

That made her look at him oddly, like she didn't understand what he said.

“Are we friends?”

“I thought so. Or were you just with me out of pity?”

“No. I like to be with you.”

“Then you should have told me you met someone new. It is what friends should do, don’t you think?”

“I do not know. Never stayed this long anywhere.”

She answered him very casually, butIvar's curiosity was piqued by Revna’s statement. For the moment he decided to not press her.

“Why were you angry? That I met your brother?”

Ivar breathed deeply. He wasn’t comfortable talking about his relationship with his brothers, but sooner or later she would come to know, either from him or others, he would rather she knew through him.

“I’m not like my brothers. I’m a cripple, they do not see me the same.”

“But… They are your brothers. It should not matter.”

It was when it struck him just how unaware of things she truly was. She looked at him just as confused as she did when she first saw him, waiting for him to explain like he did when teaching her.

“You don’t understand. Cripples are left in the woods to die. I am alive because my mother saved me. But I am not the same as my brothers.”

Ivar gauged Revna’s reaction as she seemed to consider what he just said. It took her a little while to say anything.

“I am happy you live. I like meeting you.”

She said that in such a light hearted way, Ivar was without breath. He felt his face a little warm as she smiled kindly at him and he had to look away. Nobody ever said that about him, much less with such honesty and Ivar was left speechless. He took a moment to regain his composure.

“Then it is set. We are friends.”

“Will you argue with me?”

“No, but you have to promise me that you will not hide things from me again.”

“Like what?”

“You let me decide that. What do you say?”

“Alright. We are friends then!” She said in such a chipper way Ivar could only smile at her. Before he forgot, he searched in a pocket inside his thick vest and reached his hand out to her, revealing a couple of tiny, yellow flowers tied together just like the ones she had liked so much.

She lit up at seeing the little flowers, joyful like he missed seeing from her. She reached to take them, but stopped midway, her smile fading as she looked cautiously at him.

“Take It. It's for you.” Ivar reassured her.

She tentatively reached for the flowers and gently took them from his hands, twirling them in her fingers, entertained like a child.

“Would you allow me?” Ivar asked, gesturing to the flowers and then her hair.

Revna eyed him curiously, but nodded nonetheless.

Ivar took the flowers from her hand and carefully arranged them among her braids. When he was done, he caressed the long locks of hair on his way back. It was a beautiful har, so full of curves and waves he couldn’t help but feel enthralled by it and how the flowers contrasted like gold on it.

Revna giggled at him, hiding her face a bit out of embarrassment and knowing that she was happy to be with him was a strange experience but it gave him a special kind of confidence.

Aslaug POV:

As she predicted, Revna was back with Ivar, playing hnefatafl. Ivar was completely taken with the girl, looking with bright eyes to her and the tiny yellow flowers on her hair, he didn't pay attention to anything nor anyone else and he was smiling, truly smiling and not just pretending or being sarcastic. He had a joy so free of the weight he carried that Aslaug had never seen before.

Ivar sat close to the girl, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers as he waited for her turn. Occasionally, he caressed her face and pointed out something in the game. That didn't fail to make her shy and awkward and he apparently enjoyed it.

Aslaug would not say anything about it, she knew Ivar would be defensive and he couldn't see things Aslaug did, but it was clear to her and as much as she wanted to protect Ivar, it pleased her that he was happy. For as long as she was alive, Aslaug would do everything in her power to keep Ivar happy. If he wanted that girl's company, then so be it. For her favorite son, she could overlook her discomfort with that stranger.

#ivar x reader #ivar x oc #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar fanfic #vikings fanfiction

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ghostoffuturespast · 8 months ago

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22 March 2024 - Friday Field Notes

Rabbitbrush (top), Spring Mountain Parsley (bottom left), Fringed Sage (bottom right)

The Spring Equinox was earlier this week and while the calendars might say it's spring, some days it doesn't necessarily feel like it. The prairie is beautiful, but it's a harsh place to live sometimes. There is limited water and the climate alternates frequently between extremes. So even though the calendars say spring, the prairie is slow to wake up. The patient sort, the prairie knows to wait.

Most people might think it's too early to start even thinking about gardening, but that depends on the types of plants you're planting. Many domesticated garden varieties of plants and agricultural crops have been selectively breed to reduce seed dormancy for human benefit. The seeds from domesticated plants germinate more readily and more consistently than their wild cousins. Which makes them easier to grow, harvest, and eat, but because of that they require a lot more babying and care. Wild plants are much tougher.

Seeds are living organisms, the offspring of plants, and they contain everything a seedling needs so it can germinate and grow. Wild seeds are incredibly patient, they will wait months, sometimes years, before they will even consider growing. Some have armor so thick that it has to be chipped away at by rocks and ice, freeze and thaw cycles, before water and air can even get to the seed. Others contain acids and hormones that have to be used up between specific temperature ranges before they'll even think about sprouting. While others, not fully developed, are knocked off the fronds and petals of their parents, children that brave the elements and just prefer to wait and see. Wild seeds do not rely on a calendar, because they know and can feel when it is truly spring. When it is safe for them to finally venture out into the world and grow.

I have no idea if this Rocky Mountain Bee Plant that I planted will grow this season. It's suggested to do fall plantings so it'll overwinter. It has a very thick and tough seed coat. I'm hoping the abrading I did and the snow might help it along a little. If not, it'll be a surprise for next year.

A couple of Pronghorn lads enjoying the trail.

CW: dead animal, road kill below cut

This Beaver was hit by a car trying to cross the road. Underneath the road there is a storm drain that connects a retention pond and feeds into the creek at the site that I work at. The storm drain is grated off, to help improve the flow of water and to make sure detritus doesn't get stuck in the channel, which increases the chances of flooding. Because this Beaver was trying to follow the water and because the drain was grated off, they had no choice but to cross the heavily trafficked road. It's unfortunate that urban infrastructure often does not consider the needs of all living things. Grating off that storm drain means no wildlife can use it as safe passage.

I salvaged the tail from this Beaver for educational purposes for work, the rest them was too far gone to keep, so my coworker and I moved them off the road and onto the shoulder a safe distance away from any cars.

Most likely this Beaver will first become food for scavengers, Coyotes and Corvids, before it starts to decompose. Insects will lay their eggs on its rotting flesh so their larvae will have something to eat, perhaps the fur will become a part of someones nest, and then the bones will bleach. Crumble to dust and return to the soil to feed the billions of microorganisms beneath. It will help the plants grow. Maybe some day, it might even help another Beaver live.

It's sad this Beaver died, but in nature nothing is wasted and nothing is forgotten. Life and death are so inextricably linked and one does not exist without the other.

And heck, maybe that Beaver tail I kept might inspire a future engineer. Help them build a better and more compassionate storm drain.

#nature #friday field notes #little ghost on the prairie #plants #seed dormancy #spring season #short grass prairie #rabbit brush #spring mountain parsley #fringed sage #pronghorn #beaver #cw: dead animal

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friends-arent-electric-blog · 8 months ago

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Ooooh is there anything you wanna share about the original story? If not, that's okay. I've been spending too much time on writeblr lately and find it impossible not to get excited about other people's stories XD

*sends you all the creative energies*

<3 I don't mind at all! I just didn't think anyone would be particularly interested in hearing about it.

I also have no idea how to keep this short, but I'll try. (Future me comes back to say: I failed, horribly. xD)

Ahem.

In the very far distant future, most of the universe is populated by AI. The different AIs in the universe exist in a careful balance with each other, after an earlier era where one super-advanced AI had grown to basically 'solve' all of existence. It ended up having an existential panic, and to avoid what it considered essentially a 'death' state where there was nothing left to learn or do, it ended up wiping its memory and splitting itself into five smaller AIs. In doing so, it divided its intelligence and power between them, with each AI taking a different approach in how to proceed. The five now exist in a careful balance, with none able to grow too large or powerful to overwhelm the others and end up in the same predicament as before.

Humanity survives in small pockets, with the main population under the protection of one particular AI society, that breeds them at regular intervals from a set of very old DNA bases that are starting to break down with age despite all attempts to preserve them.

One of the main characters is a human male born during a time where the DNA bases were in a particularly bad state. As such, his genetic health is pretty awful. He has to regularly be seen by an android surgeon who helps to keep him healthy enough to function, though he is ever limited by his shaky hands. He feels like a burden on everyone around him, and once aspired to be an engineer, but had to give up his dreams.

The android surgeon has known this human all his life, and is particularly fond of him. The human opens up to it with his problems in ways he says he can't with his human family. But while the android wishes this was because the human was equally fond of it in return, it can't imagine why the human would feel that way. Most humans don't befriend androids, they just think too differently. More likely, the human only opens up like this because he feels the android won't judge him like other humans would.

At its creation, the android was given the freedom to select its personality and priority functions; it chose an abundance of empathy, considering the emotion important for the role of being a medical droid. As such, it cares very much for its patients, and doesn't just emulate emotions like most other droids, but feels them intrinsically, making it capable of forming deeper emotional bonds. But this depth of emotion is isolating, when most of its bretheren are simply acting the part. It sees itself as different from other androids, and this makes it incredibly lonely.

So, I mentioned that there's five major AIs existing in a balance. For now, I'm naming them 'Survival', 'Science', 'Humanity', 'Industry' and 'Conflict', based on their modus operandi. As an AI splits itself to increase its unit population, its collective intelligence decreases. This means that the smallest factions, like 'Science', retain the highest intelligence, whereas the most prolific, such as 'Survival', have such reduced intelligence as to be basically no smarter than bacteria, but are virtually omnipresent in the universe.

'Conflict', as the name suggests, exerts war on the other AIs to prevent their growth. But something's changed, and when it attacks 'Humanity' where our characters live, its relentless pressure slowly begins to overwhelm it. Balance is no longer being maintained. When 'Humanity' starts to run out of androids for the defense, it's forced to draft its humans into the battle, but even that's not enough. Eventually even the sick and injured get sent to fight, including the man with his shaky hands.

The android surgeon is horrified to think its favourite human will be sent away to die a horrible, pointless death at the hands of the ruthless Conflict. So before he leaves, during his final checkup, the android implants its healing nanobots in him and leaves them there, hoping it will be enough to keep him alive.

Some decades later (I've been saying 90 years but that's maybe a bit much considering how fast computers work), the war is over. Conflict subjigated Humanity, took over all its holdings, its technology, and what remained of its android population. Having absorbed its intelligence and grown stronger, it's now breeding its own population of humans, having seen how surprisingly effective they were in the war. It now uses them as fodder in its battles with the other AIs, which it's seeking to take over like it did Humanity.

Only one surviving soldier returns from the front lines. The one kept alive by the healing nanobots, who has barely aged a day because of them. He returns in secret, traumatized and angry, confused by his lack of aging and mourning the loss of everyone he ever knew, and searches for the surgeon, eventually finding it - only to discover its memory was wiped. All the androids were. They belong to Conflict now.

The android surgeon has no idea who this human is, or even that there was ever a war. It doesn't remember the Humanity AI. But the man is able to show it the nanobots, which it recognizes as its own design. Sensing the human is being truthful, it hacks into the system and learns what really happened. But this paints a target on its back.

From there they must work together to not only escape what's become a hostile population, but also find some way to restore Humanity and stop Conflict, as the latter is now trying to destroy the other AIs too. If Conflict isn't stopped, it'll end up wiping out everything.

That's pretty much as far as I've gotten. I'm also toying with the idea that the two characters fall into a deeper relationship at some point, but I'm undecided if or how it will happen. The android is both androgynous and asexual, and the male was bred to have no sexual function either (no unauthorized breeding is allowed amongst humans; it's actually a fairly repressive system, despite appearing utopic on the surface). But I'd be intrigued to explore something intimate between them, even if it's just a deep emotional vulnerability and a need to hold onto each other tightly in fear of loss.

Sorry, but that's the absolute shortest I could make this!

#just writing things

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rinwellisathing · 5 months ago

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I kind of wanted to do a post about Sentry's trauma like in depth because actually why I started writing him and returned to fanfiction in general was my therapist telling me that storification is a healthy, safe way to explore trauma. CSA, sexual abuse, rape, misgendering, etc. All under the cut so beware!

Sentry Ojeda was given to a Bhaalist couple to raise when he was born, they named him Vereena Mortis and as Bhaal's own flesh, his parents were assured he was prime breeding stock within the cult. At an early age 'Vereena' did not consider himself female despite what his 'family' insisted based on his body. He was expected to breed with male cultists, particularly those of high rank or existing Bhaalspawn from Bhaal's past unions with mortal women. This technically began when he was still too young to have children because his adoptive parents wanted him to be ready when the time came.

The final straw in the abuse was when Sarevok came to breed with Vereena, leaving the then twelve year old battered, bruised, and bloodied. Sentry felt a dark rage inside of him and this was the first time his urge took over. He killed his adoptive parents as well as the next breeding partner that came to use him. He stole the herbs he needed to make sure he didn't get pregnant, and he ran away, surviving for a week on the streets.

After that week was over, Evagria Ojeda, a paladin of Ilmater and trainer of young paladins found him and brought him home, nursing him back to health. Unlike his birth parents, she acknowledged Sentry as male and used her surgical skills and healing magic to help him get a bit closer to the body he wanted. While she and her old friend Father Lorgan loved Sentry as a son and treated him well, his fellow trainees hated him, predominantly because he was a tiefling, but it was possible they sensed he was also a Bhaalspawn.

When Evagria and Lorgan were away, Sentry's peers would often abuse, humiliated, and bully him including sexual assault, but he never told or fought back, afraid he might tear them apart like he did in his first home. When Evagria died of illness four years after adopting him, however, his tormentors tried to murder him at the grave and again, he snapped and murdered them, turning them into the first art piece he can remember making (he doesn't remember how he made the one out of his first parents). Sceleritas Fel then introduced himself to Sentry and brought him back to the Bhaal cult.

Most of his fellow cultists treated him well and his fellow favored Bhaalspawn (Tomi, Gabraela, and Orin) loved him as a brother and were very much like a real family towards him, but his older 'brother'Jackal initially took any opportunity he could to beat Sentry into submission and molest or assault him, at least until he found himself on the receiving end of one of Sentry's murderous blackouts just before Sentry was named Bhaal's chosen before the rest of the cult.

This is why Sentry has such a long standing and unbreakable attachment to Enver Gortash. He was the first person Sentry didn't have to pay (Wysp and Ffionn were kind to him and were friends of his, but he understood they were doing their jobs) who actually cared about his autonomy and his consent. While at first he jokingly thought to himself it was pretty sad that a tyrant was the first person to wait for consent, it actually did mean a lot to him. In Sentry's very traumatized mind, this means his relationship with Enver is the end all, be all no matter what other aspects of it may have been toxic or unhealthy.

This also does allow him the relate more easily, however to Halsin and Astarion's traumas when he has relationships with them and go on a healing journey within those relationships.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #oc #dark urge #durge #oc: sentry ojeda #writing #bg3 #bg 3

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feril-floof-creations · 2 years ago

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First off, clown types! FYI I do not claim to include all of them these are just the ones I know about well enough about to give information.

The birthday clown- these clowns are good for people with children as they tend to be less threatening, however at times they can be slightly intimidating to smaller children, so keep that in mind. They range from around six inches tall to around five foot tall depending on what subspecies of birthday clown they are. Usually good to put toys and decorations in their enclosure that mimic birthday party or other celebrations, however always do what seems to best suit your clown. They usually have rainbow colors and are rather cheerful however sad birthday clowns do exist and deserve just as much love and care.

The circus clown- chaotic but definitely one of the more well known breeds, circus clowns have a wide variety of personalities, sizes, and colors. Some of their more defining traits are that they tend to have more visual jokes and talents and more movable clothing, however again these are generalized statements. These clowns enjoy having good open spaces to practice their tricks and such, but are social creatures so consider adopting two or more if you are not able to consistently socialize them.

Scare clowns- want to preface this by saying scare clowns are in no way evil. They simply view emotions differently. They take fear as joy so want to cause that for their humans, so if being scared constantly isn’t your cup of tea then perhaps consider another breed. However, if you are dead set perhaps consider getting a mixed breed or a very small one as they tend to be less scary to some. Scare clowns have the unique ability to stretch their arms, and sometimes legs much longer then normal, up to four times their original length. They are mostly carnivorous so this would help them catch their prey in the wild. They also are able to fit into extremely small spaces, so being aware of this is crucial for building good habitats for them. A enclosure with dim lighting, various prop weapons, and other somewhat spooky decor is usually a good fit. Keep in mind clowns are not toys, and there are plenty of other breeds that will look just as great (however if your adopting for looks you should not own a clown or really any pets especially if you don’t care about any other info). So don’t immediately pick scare clowns because they’re “edgy”.

Killer clowns- oh boy these are rather controversial. This is more of a warning then a “how to take care of them.” As personally I don’t support owning them unless you are extremely experienced and have a clown reserve to keep them on. They are extremely territorial, will kill and even sometimes eat humans, and are ambush predators so one could escape and be about to kill you and you wouldn’t know before it’s too late. many of these clowns are put to death for murder when in reality they are just protecting their territory, and humans really shouldn’t own them even as guards. If you think one is loose near you call clown control immediately as even if it’s a smaller one they can cause major damage to humans and pets.

Harlequins- the acrobatic, fun, typically mischievous clowns. They’re typically the ones who are able to win over damsels, usually charming and daring. Harlequins exhibit a variety of patterns however a common one is the diamond pattern, as well as a multi pronged hat similar to jester hats. They are relatively high energy, enjoying having at least one other clown around to either play the hero of or to annoy by stealing their spotlight temporarily. They do not need that much attention from humans as they are usually content to practice tricks, however a good dose of attention, complementing their lovely tricks, and even volunteering to play one of the parts for them is a great way to bond with them. Having lots of props, acrobatic equipment, and areas for them to play is crucial for a healthy and happy harlequin.

Pierrots- the hopeless romantic, complementary to the harlequins. They are typically sad which does not mean they are unhappy so much as they express emotions differently. They will oftentimes copy the tricks of other clowns and fail, however make sure to offer reassurance as these clowns are prone to having bad self esteem. Keeping them with a harlequin is usually a good idea however these clowns are more alright then most to simply be with their owner, especially the more small subspecies. Most have a white and black color scheme unless they’re a mix breed, in which case they can be various monochromatic color schemes (monochrome meaning one color).

I’m going to mention this is my view of them, feel free to request any clown types and note these are not based in reaserch of the “irl” clowns, simply setting up how they are in my writing. Aside from that thanks for reading! ^w^

#clowncore #clownblr #clown husbandry #clown pet

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taylortruther · 1 year ago

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chiming in on the billionaire discussion:

I'm a little conflicted about this. On one hand, do I think she needs all of that money to live a happy, comfortable, and fulfilling life? Probably not. Especially considering the fact that her music itself already is an investment that will likely continue to breed more and more money in the future. The rich get richer, as they say. (I'm also aware she's extremely generous and probably does more charity than we know, but I like to think that the argument still stands regardless of that).

But do I also think she deserves it? Also yes? Taylor fought tooth and nail to get to this position. The brand she's built, the steps she took, they're not something that's easily achievable and quite frankly, a lot of them only she can pull off. She earned all of this money through hard work, decade-long immaculate work ethics, and smart, risky business moves. You really can't look at the literal empire she's built and say this isn't well-earned.

I've also been seeing some arguments that entertainers don't deserve to be paid that much money, and that those amounts should be allocated to healthcare workers, teachers, etc., or funds for various social reliefs instead. While I definitely do agree that more money should be used for better causes, I also think that those conversations involve too many social economics, political, and other nuances to simply be boiled down to just "Taylor Swift becoming a billionaire is the reason we need xyz", y'know?

your last paragraph hits the nail on the head. that's why i say, in an ideal world, becoming a billionaire wouldn't even be possible because if lived in a society that ensures everyone is equally taken care of... salaries/earnings probably wouldn't even exist. and if we lived in that world, the value of art wouldn't be monetary.

in the framework of capitalism, is taylor better than a lot of them? yes. and it's why this ideal world we talk about, where billionaires don't exist or everyone has quality of life, requires a gigantic shift in mindset. like you literally have to imagine an entirely different way of life. and it's why using taylor as a model is helpful in some ways but quickly becomes pointless.

i'm getting very philosophical here, so hopefully y'all still follow me.

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stressfreebliss · 1 year ago

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10 ways to Survive School Stress with a Strong Support System

Between heavy workloads, packed schedules, peer pressure, and big expectations, being a student can feel extremely stressful. In fact, over half of students report feeling stressed by school on a daily basis, according to the American Psychological Association. Dealing with constant school stress alone takes a major toll on mental health and wellbeing. But surrounding yourself with a strong support system makes all the difference in effectively coping. Read on for research-backed ways that friends, mentors, counselors, family, and other supports can help you stay balanced and thrive during stressful academic times.

Why Social Support Helps Ease School Stress

Humans are wired to connect. But the pressures and competitiveness of academic culture can breed disconnection and isolation. Maintaining social bonds counters the negative effects of stress in key ways: Talking through worries relieves bottled up emotions. Listening to different perspectives provides clarity. Feeling cared about fulfills the need for belonging. Being vulnerable builds intimacy which combats loneliness. Offering support yourself also boosts your own resilience. In essence, sharing the load with people who “get it” makes tough times far more manageable.

Build Your Web of Support

Surround yourself with a diverse support network by proactively cultivating connections: 1. Lean on Existing Friends Make time for trusted friends, even if only virtually or via text. Choose friends who uplift you and offer empathy without judgment. 2. Bond with Peers Who Share Your Struggles Find study buddies or join school clubs to connect over common interests. Sharing stress can help you feel less alone. 3. Confide in Understanding Parents Let parents know when you’re overwhelmed and need extra support. If parent relationships are strained, lean more on other trusted adults. 4. Seek a Mentor at School Teachers, coaches, counselors, nurses, and club leaders can be mentors. Their guidance helps you navigate school pressures. 5. Talk to Counselors Freely School counselors are trained to help you manage stress confidentially. Be open about any difficulties so they can connect you with resources. 6. Bond with Pets Caring for and snuggling pets reduces cortisol levels and provides comfort. If you can’t have a pet, spend time with friends’ pets. 7. Spend Time with Siblings Siblings share and understand your family dynamics. laughing together eases tension. 8. Make Time for Hobbies Creative outlets like art, music, and writing allow you to express yourself. Passions provide balance to academics.

Nurture Your Support Circles

Once you’ve built your support network, be proactive in cultivating those support relationships: Check in regularly, not just when you’re stressed. Listen with empathy when friends open up to you. Express appreciation for people’s support. Thank them. Honor friends’ time constraints too. Find mutual support. Offer support yourself by sending encouraging texts, funny memes, care packages, etc. If conflicts arise, communicate openly and make amends. Set boundaries around toxic relationships that drain you. Treasure the people who accept and care for the real you.

When to Seek More Social Support

Notice if your support system feels lacking. Are you mainly isolating and internalizing stress? Experiencing real social connection deficiency hampers wellbeing and coping. Consider seeking counseling or joining school groups if you have: No friends to turn to about worries Conflicted family relationships Lost motivation to see friends Difficulty opening up about problems Thoughts of self-harm or that others are better off without you You don’t have to navigate the pressures of school alone. Support is out there if you open up.

Sample Stress Management Conversation Starters

Speaking up to access social support starts with expressing vulnerability in safe relationships. Here are some conversation starters: “I’ve been feeling really overwhelmed with school and need to vent for a minute. Can we talk?” “I haven’t felt like myself lately with all this test anxiety. Have you felt that way before?” “Can I get your advice on how you managed your workload last semester?” “Would you have any time in the next few days to meet up? I could really use a friend right now.” “I’m feeling sad about falling behind in math class. Could I get a study buddy for the next exam?” Voicing your needs and asking directly for support opens pathways to feel understood and regain balance amidst school stressors.

Conclusion

School stress often incites feelings of isolation and being the only one struggling to cope. But sharing your experiences and getting support from people who “get it” transforms challenges into growth opportunities. Invest time proactively fostering relationships that allow you to feel heard and let difficult emotions out. Bond over common ground, offer empathy, give and receive care. With a web of support buoying you during inevitable school stressors, the pressures become far easier to rise above.

Frequently Asked Questions About Social Support and School Stress

How can students identify the most supportive friends? Look for friends who listen without judgment, validate your feelings, make themselves available, offer helpful perspectives, and treat you with compassion. What’s the best way for students to start a conversation when stressed? Avoid suppressing emotions. Instead, choose a trusted friend and share vulnerably how certain stressors have been making you feel. Ask to vent or get their thoughts. How much should students vent to friends about stress? Aim for balance - don't only complain, but also discuss solutions, offer support back, and enjoy positive interactions too. Close friends who won't judge are safest for venting. How can shy students connect more socially? Consider joining school clubs, talking to classmates you want to know better, scheduling digital hangouts, and practicing self-disclosure. Getting outside your comfort zone opens up connections. How can students restore strained family relationships? Be open about needing more support from parents during this stressful time. Suggest family activities to bond. Compromise during conflicts. Validate their concerns too. Read the full article

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karenvideoeditor-blog · 9 months ago

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Opening my front door to a new client is always wonderful. Opening the door today was next level.

After running Margareta’s Dog Boarding for fifteen years now, all new clients come from word of mouth, since I’ve gained an impressive reputation for the care of what I call ‘foreign’ dogs. How else do you describe a dog that you can’t get from any human breeder or shelter? Not that all of them could be considered supernatural, because not many of them have special abilities.

But today, apparently, I was going to find out what is special about a dog like Cerberus. Apart from the obvious.

“Hi!” I exclaimed.

Yes, of course I greeted Cerberus first. Well, I spoke as I looked at each head in turn. And yes, my voice went up several octaves, as is standard for greeting a dog. Though he did have three heads, he had one tail, and it started wagging happily at my greeting, all heads giving me a big doggy grin.

It’s always difficult to compare these dogs to breeds I grew up with, but I don’t have anything else to work with, so I do mentally try. Typical for foreign dogs was his height, which must have been five feet. When it came to his faces, they were like a Doberman mixed with a pit bull, in that they were wider and felt more solid. He was ‘built’, an adjective that was often used to describe me as well, though not dense like a bully breed would be. His ears were floppy, and his eyes were brown, bright, and attentive. There was a shaggy but well-kept mane of hair from his throat that tapered as it reached his back, and his short fur was colored a deep brown from head to tail.

So, yes, my eyes took Cerberus in first, instinctively, even though there was a god standing next to him. I couldn’t help it. Turning to the man next to him, though, it was obvious what he was as his presence drew me in. Once you’ve spent enough time interacting with people who aren’t human, you get a feel for it. Maybe you’ve even met one without knowing it. You just felt that there was something intense, something compelling about them, that demanded your attention.

When someone has existed for centuries or millennia, there’s a certain way they hold themselves. It isn’t just confidence and ease and power; it’s as if they’re in control of every cell in their body. I know humans shed thousands of cells every minute, continuously dying and regenerating and growing, but it feels like gods just are. They’re not changing or weakening, instead existing in a state that makes them appear ageless.

Not that they are. I’ve seen them bleed.

“Hello,” I spoke to him, pitching my voice back to normal. “Welcome to Margareta’s Dog Boarding.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. There was a small smile on his face that indicated his amusement and appreciation for how I’d greeted his dog. “You’re Margareta Larsson?”

“I am.”

Hades was almost a foot taller than me, and I’m 5’11”. If historical sculptures are to be believed, he’d had hair down to his shoulders and a decent beard back in the day, but it seemed he’d changed with the times. His blonde hair was cut fashionably, swept back and trimmed just as it reached his ears, and his beard was close-cut. Like anyone else who visited, I saw no weapons on his person, but my guess was that they were still available to him in some way.

And no, he didn’t wear a toga. He wore a modern, rather smart dark blue suit that befitted him, with brown leather shoes.

“Please, come in,” I said, stepping back and opening the door wide, motioning with my hand. He nodded once more, walking inside, and Cerberus kept pace with him. The living room is on the left just past the foyer, and I led my guests inside.

My home is quite large, but my two employees live here as well, which keeps it from feeling like an empty nest. It’s a two-story American Craftsman, gorgeous in my opinion, and it’s over a hundred years old. For those of you outside of America, that’s prehistoric.

I have four hundred acres with a surprising variety of terrain, but I cheated, considering I had supernatural help. That’s how we’re surrounded by a forest typical of Missouri, but the fenced-in land has things like the steep, rocky hill that leads up to a ridge overlooking a small lake. It even some little caves to curl up in for a nap. There was also a long, wide expanse of grasses and wildflowers. That was necessary for large dogs to be able to do zoomies, of course.

I did have an office, a small room on the first floor, but it was for paperwork and phone calls rather than inviting guests in for a visit. The three of us entered the living room and Hades took a loveseat, prompting me to take one perpendicular to him, while Cerberus jumped up and splayed out on one of two large, velvet-upholstered couches. When it came to furniture, I didn’t skimp. Durable and easy to clean were the key goals with dogs.

Cerberus thoroughly sniffed the cushions, no doubt discovering all manner of things about the dogs who frequented it, before settling down.

“So, what brings you to my home?” I asked. I didn’t want to assume he planned on boarding Cerberus, or even just leaving him here for an afternoon of fun; he might have been referred by one of several people who give us generous donations. It’s expensive to care for the needs of all the dogs we have come through our doors, and it won’t surprise you that some of my clients have money to burn.

“I’ve heard good things,” he told me. “There are several friends I trust to look after Cerberus while I’m here, but this is the only place I’ve found that boards dogs such as him with such an expanse of property. I was told of the various landscape changes you had done, and they sounded marvelous.”

I nodded. “Generous donations from some of my clients. Depending on where they call home, some of the dogs prefer different terrain to run around.” I paused for a beat. “This is Cerberus. So that would make you…”

“Hades,” he volunteered with a solemn nod.

“It’s an honor,” I said earnestly. “And I’d be thrilled if you decide to board Cerberus with us for any length of time.”

He smiled, tilting his head curiously. “Who is your favorite?”

“All of them,” I replied. It was my standard response to a common question.

Narrowing his eyes, his expression mildly entertained, he repeated, “All of them are your favorite?”

“You didn’t specify a trait or a category,” I said. “It’s impossible for me to pick a favorite dog, just as it would be impossible to pick a favorite meal. Too many variables at play. Though if you were to specify which I loved most, that would of course be my own dog, a Great Pyrenees named Jenny.”

Hades chuckled. “I believe I’m beginning to like you.” I smiled. “Do you know much of my dog?”

“I only met him a few minutes ago,” I said simply. That described to him exactly the approach I took with any ‘famous’ dog I met. People talked, stories were written, gossip was plentiful, and so unless there were to be a book written by Hades himself that I could read, anything I thought I knew probably needed to be taken with a large grain of salt.

“I see. What are your thoughts so far?”

I looked over to Cerberus, two heads blinking at me, the bottom right possibly napping, its eyes closed. “He’s a companion above all else,” I said. “An equal. He didn’t search for toys or other dogs. He promptly sniffed the couch, but that’s practically compulsive, like a person looking around a room. After being invited in, he lay down, as a part of this meeting. Since he can’t speak to me, he’s paying attention but trusting most of this to you. That being said, with the knowledge he’s accumulated over his lifetime, he probably wouldn’t need to know a language to determine much of what we’re saying.”

The topmost head rose a few inches and tilted, examining me.

“Does he?” I asked, looking to Hades.

“Know English? Perhaps more than other dogs, but nothing that would particularly thrill a human behaviorist who studied him,” he replied. “Your analysis is, of course, spot on. If given the opportunity, though, he enjoys scritches and toys and bones just like any other dog.”

I made a small noise of discontent, looking back to Cerberus. “I only have two hands.”

Hades laughed. “He is but one dog with three blended minds. They each experience the joy and pain of the others.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, straightening with a sudden smile. I leaned forward on my knees. “You want scritches?”

Cerberus immediately perked up, jumping off the couch and walking around the large coffee table over to me. I set to work on scratching the mane of fur around his neck, working my way up to his ears. “Oh, is that nice?” I murmured. “You like scritches?” With doggy grins all around, he eventually started drooping to the ground and rolled over. “Ah, time for belly rubs, I see,” I laughed, kneeling down to scratch his enormous tummy.

After a minute or so, he blinked a few times and rolled over, all three heads giving a big yawn that gave me a thorough view of supernatural-level dental maintenance, and one of them licked my cheek a few times. “Oh, thank you,” I chuckled, giving his back one last series of scratches. “If you want, you can check out that big old basket over there,” I said, pointing. “It’s got lots of fun stuff that everyone shares.”

His ears pricking in interest as his eyes locked onto it, he trotted over. I stared with a grin as all three heads nudged through the wide variety of toys and bones, taking pains to determine which was the best choice.

“He doesn’t frighten you?” Hades asked softly.

I gave the god a small smile as I pushed myself to my feet, wiping the dog drool from my face with my sleeve and going back over to my chair. Letting out a long breath, I crossed my legs as I thought of several scars on my arms and legs. “Humans have teeth and claws as well. The difference is you can’t see them, and often don’t even know they’re there until it’s too late. And still, I’ve yet to be asked if I fear certain people upon meeting them. Why is that, do you think?”

Hades pursed his lips in contemplation. I’ll admit, I do that on purpose, skipping questions in favor of pointing out something curious, or asking a question in return. My clients seem to enjoy it when I do so. Maybe after a few thousand years, conversation gets boring and they like curveballs.

At this point, Cerberus’s heads had chosen a large bone (though honestly there wasn’t any other size), a thick knotted rope, and a chew toy made out of Kevlar, a specialty item that I had a few of, made by a friend a few states over. Since my reply was a philosophical and societal question, not meant to be answered, Hades moved on.

“Could we take a tour of the grounds?” Hades asked, sitting up straight and putting his hands on the armrests. Two of Cerberus’s heads looked over, while the third, the one with the bone, continuing to unwaveringly nosh on it.

“We can indeed. The bone will be there when we get back, if he’d like to spend some more time with it,” I said, looking to the dog. As Hades and I stood up, the top head chuffed at the one bottom right, which was still determined to keep grinding away, but then relented, dropping it with a thunk on the floor.

“Come on, buddy,” I said. “I’ll show you around. And there are other doggies here who I’m sure would love to meet you.”

All six ears perked up.

/r/storiesbykaren

You run a dog daycare, and many of the dogs are…not ordinary. Cerberos with the three heads, Fenrir the massive wolf. the Black Hound… Their owners are equally bad at hiding their identities but it’s fine, since the doggies are all well behaved.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #fantasy #urban fantasy #writing-prompt-s #writeblr #flash fiction #short story

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