#why does the legion wear skirts

[volertile]

i love u vulpiss 🙏

vulpes inculta sketch because new vegas has me in its grip again

[moodymisty]

What each Primach would do after marrying their beloved

Lion El'Jonson: Hi, wife. I'll be your knight in shining armour but I'll forget about you 3 min into the marriage

Fulgrim: Helllooo!! Welcome to the party 🥳🥳 Make sure to bicker with my other wives for me so I can't feel insecure anymore and I'll get my daily validation

Perturabo: Get wife (impossible). Wife pretty. Iron Within, Iron Without. Wife feels good. Iron Within, Iron Without again. Become emotionally and physically dependent to wife. Life good.

Jaghatai Khan: zzzzzzzzzz-PANG ⚡⚡⚡🏍️🏍️ HI DARLING. FEEL FREE TO BECOME FRIENDS WITH ALL MY OTHER 358.947.283 WIVES (also tomorrow will be Missionary Monday, get ready 😈)

Leman Russ: WIFEEEE 🥹🥹🥹 love you soooooooooo much. You smelllllll so gooooood. Why don't you spread those le-

Rogal Dorn: Wife, let me tell you about Multi-Scale Computational Modeling of Anisotropic Thermo-Mechanical Behavior in Functionally Graded Materials for Advanced Aerospace Structural Applications.

Konrad Curze: Woman. Make bebe with woman. LITTLE ABOMINATIONS??? Woman is set for life after popping out some Night Lords :D

Sanguinius: Hello wife 🥰🥰 How is my pookie dookie wookie lookie iookie uookie oookie qookie sookie dookie bookie pookie nookie mookie hookie gookie zookie xookie lookie jookie aookie fookie wookie cutie pie honey baby apple pie with whipper cream on top my sweetie honey money baby cutie pookie so cute so perfect my love my husband my wife my beloved my only love my baby my babe my bby my boyfriend my girlfriend my everything my sweetest pie my cutest smartest pie ever most amazing and prettiest and handsomest ever so cute so handsome and beautiful my pookie bear my little baby petite tiny baby bear pookie sookie wookie muffin with chocolate on top and cherries so cute pookie bear love you mwah bark so cute love you forever my first love my true love my soulmate my only reason to live you cutie little pie hehe im little shy petite girlie pop cutest person i know so cute so beautiful my only mine only no one elses my darling mi amor dear love pookie bear love you honey boney love you to the moon and back mwah uwu (he says this after leaving her anemic)

Ferrus Manus: I live harmoniously with my love. I love her and I respect her. I am completely devoted and loyal to her, as she is with me. I am hers and she is mine. (wife in the background struggles to walk, her clothes being disheveled and she is out of breath)

Angron: SHE IS MY WIFE! YOU GOT THAT? MY WIFE! She's damn cute, okay? CUDDLY, EVEN! AND SHE... she leaves me the milk bottle in the fridge, alright?! SHE DOES THAT FOR ME! I LOVE HER SO DAMN MUCH, AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT! 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬😡😡😡🤬😡😡🤬😡

Roboute Guilliman: I so very regrettably regret that I haven't ran away earlier into my life. As I am married now with a child coming on the way, my biggest and grandest wish was to own myself a farm. I want to teach my children the simpler ways. I want them to play with wooden toys, ride horses out of the womb and to, all around, run around my farms. I want to take care of many crops, especially the mighty cabbage (pun, pun). As for my darling wife, I shall love very much and plow her back every two to four years. *Looks towards his wife, who's a little bit afraid*. We must at least have 6 children, mustn't we?

Mortarion: Today I saw my wife's ankle. She was wearing sandals with a very long skirt and it slipped out while she walked. Nevertheless, I came on a Nurgling.

Magnus: My wife? *Psychically enters her mind, while she is in the another room, and sexually overstimulate her, making her scream in ecstasy* She's doing great!

Horus Lupercal: My wife's a housewife. Because she's housing my kids! *Horus slaps his knee, laughing at his joke. The Mournival is disappointed in their Father, the Legion Mother is waddling around pregnant with their 12th kid.*

Lorgar Aurelian: (what did I cook)

Lorgar, wild-eyed and disheveled, paces back and forth, his voice rising and falling in feverish tones. His eyes are fixated on an unseen figure, trembling with a mix of adoration and desperation.

"She is divine! Do you hear me? DIVINE! Her light, it burns away the lies of this wretched universe! A goddess, yes, a goddess! How can they not see? HOW?!

Her eyes, like the twin suns of a lost paradise, see through the veils of reality! Her voice—her voice!—it is the hymn of creation itself! I am but a worm, a pitiful creature crawling in the dirt, but SHE, she has lifted me up! Blessed me with her radiance! Blessed me with HER TOUCH!

I kneel before her, broken, unworthy! The very stars tremble in her presence! They whisper her name, but Iam the chosen! I see her! I worship her! I... I... I LOVE HER! No! Not love—reverence, adoration, worship! I will burn worlds for her! Tear apart the heavens!

I am HERS. BODY, MIND, AND SOUL. HER PRIEST, HER PROPHET, HER LOVER. My faith in her is unbreakable, my devotion absolute. She is a GODDESS, My goddess, and I am lost in her divinity. FOREVER."

Lorgar collapses to his knees, clutching at his head, a broken laugh escaping his lips.

"Goddess... my goddess... please... take me... consume me... make me yours..."

Vulkan: I like my wife :3. She's very pretty. My sons like her too.

Corvus Corax: I am glad my wife's this kind. Nobody would understand me but her. Because I am in Spain without the S 😔😔

Alpharius and Omegon: My wife? Nah. Our wife. *USSR anthem begins*

LSJDKFLJSDFKJSDF-

I have no words, so many of these made me wheeze uncontrollably. Sanguinius, Horus, Mortarion and Alpharius were a highlight.

[pickalilywrites]

AOT actors AU. The entire cast at the awards show for the 10+ categories the Final Chapters and series were nominated for.

ty for requesting :)

yet to come

scouting legion. marley warriors. actors au. 3272 words.

“Everyone please welcome the one, the only, Mikasa Ackerman to the red carpet!” Eren Jaeger exclaims. He does an exaggerated, sweeping bow, as Mikasa steps onto the carpet and the cameras flash. His smile grows even bigger when he lifts his head up to see Mikasa roll her eyes at him.  

“Do you have to do that every time we get on the carpet?” Mikasa asks with a laugh. 

“Of course, I do. Bear with it this time. It’s the last time we’ll be on the carpet for Attack on Titan. You should savor this moment,” Eren replies. He gets back up on his feet, not bothering to dust off his suit or smooth out the wrinkles. Instead, he eagerly offers an arm to Mikasa who takes it with a gracious smile.  

A little further down the carpet is Armin Arlert in a sky blue suit embroidered with ocean waves at the bottom of his blazer. He smiles nervously at the camera, still not used to the attention even though he’s been a celebrity for years. He looks relieved when Mikasa and Eren join him, his shoulders relaxing and his smile genuine once Eren throws an arm around him. 

“Arlert, you should have worn something that would have shown off your tattoo,” Eren complains. Eren gestures towards his chest where his tattoo is — three flying birds away — just right above where his heart is. The dark lines of the tattoo are easily seen beneath the sheer fabric of his dark green shirt. Mikasa has a matching tattoo just above her collarbone. 

“Ah, it’s difficult to show people anyway. It’s on my back,” Armin mumbles, his face flushed. After the last episode of Attack on Titan was filmed, the three main actors went to a tattoo parlor and got the tattoos as a symbol of their bond together after spending nearly a decade filming together. While Mikasa and Eren had gotten the tattoos in places that would be easy to display, Armin chose a place on his body that would be a little more subtle. 

“It’s fine. It was meant to be discreet anyway. Stop teasing him,” Mikasa says, squeezing Eren’s bicep. 

Sasha gazes at the trio enviously. “Why didn’t they invite us to get matching tattoos? Weren’t we all a squad together?”  

“Fake friends, all of them,” Connie huffs in agreement. 

“You guys can just get tattoos without them,” Jean points out, but Sasha and Connie shoot him glares that say they disagree.  

“Then they wouldn’t be matching!” Sasha points out. She swishes the skirt of her green gown, a frown on her face. “I just got a tattoo of a potato to remember the show by.”  

“I got a potato tattoo, too!” Connie says excitedly. He tugs up his shirt a few inches to show Sasha a lumpy potato that had been inked on his hip bone. He ignores the curious flashes from photographers. There are celebrities with worse photos.  

“Wow, that’s amazing! We both got the same tattoos,” Sasha marvels. She looks at the tattoo on Connie’s hip and compares it to the potato that she had tattooed on her bicep, a look of genuine wonder on her face.  

Connie and Sasha then turn to look at Jean at the same time, both wearing mischievous expressions on their faces. After working with them for several years, Jean knows that he’s not going to like whatever they’re going to suggest to him.  

“No, absolutely not,” Jean says with a shake of his head before they can even speak. “I am not getting a tattoo of a potato just so we can match!”  

“Please, Jean, please!” the two beg, chasing after him when he starts to run away.  

“Wow, it must be fun being young,” Erwin chuckles. He had never been a flashy dresser, but he looks dazzling in his black suit. As always, he wears a bolo tie, the same one that his character wore on the show. After the show had ended, Erwin had been given the commander’s bolo tie as a memento. 

Hanji pops up from Erwin’s side, a grin on their face. “Hey, it’s not like you’re old to begin with,” Hanji tells him.  

Moblit shows up beside Hanji, exasperated and slightly out of breath. He has one hand on Hanji’s elbow even though he knows he’ll be unable to stop Hanji from running off. “Hanji, you need to slow down so that people can take photos!” 

“Oh, they’ve taken photos of me before,” Hanji says with a wave of a hand. They gesture towards Erwin. “They’re not excited about me anyway. They’re more excited for Commander Eyebrows here. Wouldn’t you say he’s the most popular commander from the series?” 

“I don’t know about that,” Erwin chuckles. “I’m not the one nominated for an award tonight.”  

“Oh, it’s only for a supporting actor. It’s not like I’ll win anyway. There are a lot of other great nominees up for contention,” Hanji says with a laugh.  

“But what if you do win? Wouldn’t it be a waste if they didn’t get a single photo of you?” Moblit asks. He tugs at the sleeve of Hanji’s blazer helplessly, trying to get them to turn and face at least one camera. 

Hanji looks over at Moblit and decides to take pity on their long-time costar. They throw an arm over Moblit and wave at a camera cheerfully. “Alright, let’s take a photo for old times sake. I don’t care so much about immortalizing this night on the slim chance that I do win, but I’ll regret not having a photo of us together. Who knows when the next time we’ll work together will be?”  

“You’re usually not this sentimental,” Moblit mumbles, the tips of his ears turning bright red as Hanji laughs and pulls him in even closer.  

There's a ruckus at the red carpet entrance where celebrities are still arriving. Ymir is announcing Historia’s arrival loudly and proudly, waving their arms to capture the attention of every photographer at the ceremony. She’s much more theatrical in announcing Historia’s arrival than Eren was about Mikasa’s.  

“Everyone, your queen has arrived!” Ymir shouts. She reaches into the front pocket of her blazer and throws a handful of confetti into the air. As it rains down, she pulls a party streamer from her pocket and blows into it. 

“Ymir, you’re being embarrassing,” Historia scolds, but she’s laughing as she says it. She lets Ymir take her by the hand and doesn’t bother suppressing a smile when Ymir lifts her hand and kisses her fingers. Although she acts otherwise, she adores receiving this type of attention from Ymir.  

“Well, what are you doing? Hurry up and take your photos!” Ymir says to the photographers, but they don’t have to be told twice. 

Historia has always been a popular celebrity to photograph at red carpet events. She’s rarely left out of “best dressed” lists, and she looks absolutely ethereal tonight. Her hair is done up in an elegant bun and a sparkling tiara sits on top of her head. She wears a beautiful white gown, its long train trailing behind her along with the matching white cape that drapes around her shoulders. As she poses for the camera, a regal smile on her face, Ymir helps to fix her train when she changes into a different pose.  

A few actors from the first season observe a limo pulling up at the red carpet. There are only a few more minutes before the awards ceremony begins, but Levi Ackerman exits the car with an untroubled expression on his face. He’s usually on time, but tonight seems to be an exception. With the same unbothered expression, he walks to the other side of the car and holds open the door for another passenger to get out.  

“Hey, Petra! You’re late!” Auruo calls from the red carpet, waving Petra and Levi over.  

“I got a flat tire! Levi had to give me a ride,” Petra says with a grin. She and Levi fix her train before she takes the arm Levi offers and allows him to lead her down the carpet to meet the rest of the actors that made up the original Squad Levi, as the fans so affectionately call them.  

“Are you sure you two didn’t plan to show up together?” Gunther asks, eyeing Petra and Levi suspiciously. “You two look awfully cozy.”  

“No, we planned it. I absolutely gave Petra’s a car a flat tire and made sure she would call me so we could carpool to the awards ceremony,” Levi says. His expression doesn’t change and his tone remains flat the entire time he’s speaking, so it’s difficult to tell if he’s joking.  

“I honestly wouldn’t put it past you,” Eld chuckles. He takes a look at Petra’s emerald gown and then at Levi’s outfit. “You guys are even matching.”  

“Us?” Petra says, looking over at Levi in surprise. She laughs and then pinches the cape that hangs on one shoulder of Levi’s suit. It’s a dark green velvet that’s almost black with golden feathers embroidered on the other shoulder and collar of the suit. “These aren’t even the same shade.”  

“Well, you do look good together, a little too good for two people who didn’t intend to come to the awards show together,” Gunther says, stroking his chin exaggeratedly.  

Some of the ushers are gesturing for the celebrities to hurry up and enter the building so that the ceremony can start even as the photographers beg the stars to stay so that they can take one more photo. 

“We’d better go better they lock us out of the building,” Eld says. 

“As if they’d ever lock the Captain out,” Auruo sniffs, strolling after Eld at an easygoing pace. 

“The show ended months ago. How long are you going to keep calling me that?” Levi sighs. 

“Forever,” Auruo says solemnly. 

“You’ll always be our captain, Captain,” Petra teases and gives Levi’s arm a squeeze.  

𓆰⭑𓂃๋࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Annie doesn’t bother sitting up in her seat or looking nice. She’s leaning on her armrest, her cheek resting against her hand as she looks on with a bored expression. It’s been a while since she’s attended an awards show as an Attack on Titan cast member since she had pretty much been shoved into a basement after season one. She thought that her return in the final few episodes would mean something more than sitting through a four-hour long awards show where they weren’t even winning any awards. 

“Hey,” Annie whispers, poking Bertholdt in the side so that he jumps in surprise. She raises an eyebrow at him when he looks down at her, a startled expression still on his face. “Can you hunch over more so that you cover me? I hate seeing articles about I have a ‘bad attitude.’”  

“I-I’m not really sure,” Bertholdt stammers, but his shoulders are already slouching and he’s sitting in a way that is sure to block Annie from anyone who might be trying to get a photo of her from the side. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Annie? It’s the last awards show we’ll ever go to for Attack on Titan.”  

“Losing’s not as exciting the eighth time around,” Annie replies, and Bertholdt lets out a nervous laugh. She examines her nails that have been painted an icy, glittery white to match her dress. There’s a slight blue hue to the sparkling tulle of her dress that almost makes it look like crystal when it shines underneath the bright lights. She frowns when she sees Bertholdt’s back straightening out of habit. She reaches out suddenly, clutching his arm in a vicelike grip. “If you cover me, I’ll buy you a cake after this.”  

“You know you can’t bribe Bertholdt like that,” Reiner says with a grin as he leans over Annie’s other side. He’s not nearly as tall as Bertholdt is, but he is much bigger than Annie and can shield her from the other side easily. “You can bribe me like that, though.”  

“Two cakes,” Annie says, her back to Reiner. She holds two fingers up in Bertholdt’s blushing face. “I’ll give you two cakes if you cover me.”  

“You don’t have to give me anything,” Bertholdt mumbles, slumping back down as Annie smiles for the first time that night. 

Pieck observes the trio in front of her amusedly. She turns to Porco and gives him an alluring smile. “Should I bribe you, too? Do you want cakes, Pokko?”  

“Bribe me for what? Do you even want anything?” Porco asks. Like Annie, he’s never been one for awards ceremonies, but he doesn’t care half as much as what the press says about his lack of enthusiasm or the eventual “Porco bored as hell” memes that will inevitably pop up on the internet the next morning.  

Pieck reaches out to poke him in the cheek. “I want you to eat cake. You look sooo cute when your cheeks are full. It’s adorable,” she coos.  

“You don’t have to bribe me to eat. We can just eat together,” Porco sighs. “Preferably in a place less stuffy than this.”  

“But don’t I look amazing in this dress?” Pieck asks with a playful flutter of her eyelashes, swishing the skirt of her silver-blue gown.  

“Stop fishing for compliments. Everyone knows you look amazing in everything,” Porco replies, and Pieck giggles in response.  

A singer — some up-and-coming popstar that Porco can’t recall the name of — is announcing the nominees for Best Drama, one of the ten categories that Attack on Titan is up for. The cast is only half-listening now, most of them over awards ceremony after attending them for nearly a decade. Many of the cast members are giggling over alcohol and gossiping in between award speeches. After losing so many of the awards they had been nominated for, they didn’t have high hopes for the remainder of the night, so it’s a surprise when Attack on Titan is called as the winner. 

“We won? We won!” Sasha says. She’s the first to react, jumping down excitedly and pulling Jean and Connie up with her. She doesn’t even mind that she’s spilled her drink on the floor.  

“Come on, come on!” Eren laughs. At first, he leads Armin and Mikasa up the steps of the stage with him, but he gestures the rest of the cast members to follow him as well. He notices the minor cast members remaining in the audience, and he gestures even more exaggeratedly for everyone to get up on the stage. “Come on, everyone! Everyone should be up here! We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for everyone!” 

It’s the first time the entire cast of Attack on Titan has been gathered on one stage. Given the large cast size, it’s a tight squeeze to fit everyone, but they manage it. 

“Why did you have to stand next to me?” Levi grumbles. 

“Don’t be so cold, Levi. I thought we had gotten closer after filming together for so long,” Zeke grins. He scoots in even closer to Levi and throws an arm around the scowling actor’s shoulders. 

“Close, my ass,” Levi says under his breath.  

Even the members of the child cast — Gabi, Falco, Udo, and Zofia — are on the stage. Having only been a part of the last few seasons, they aren’t quite as used to awards ceremonies and are caught up in the glamour of it. Pieck and Porco have to put their arms around them, holding them back so that they don’t bounce around stage like pinballs.  

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” the children cheer. 

The award — a trophy shaped like an angel with is arms extended as it holds a crystal orb — is nestled carefully in Eren’s arms. He waits for the audience and cast members to quiet down before he leans down and begins to speak. 

“It’s been a long, long journey, but an unforgettable one,” Eren says with a gracious smile. In the corner of his eye, he sees Armin wiping away tears and he can’t help but laugh a little. “I don’t think anyone could have predicted the success that Attack on Titan would have when it first started. It has been an absolute blessing to be able to work with such an amazing cast and crew for the past decade, but it’s been an even greater blessing to have shared this experience with all the fans who have shown us nothing but love throughout our journey. Thank you to the writer for being able to share this story with the world, and thank you to the director and crew members for helping us bring this story to life. Because of Attack on Titan, we’re able to have memories to treasure for the rest of our lives, and it’s an honor to be recognized tonight.”  

Eren and the rest of the cast bow as the audience erupts into applause.  

𓆰⭑𓂃๋࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

“Are you guys going to the afterparty?” Reiner asks. He points at each member that had made up the Warriors. “Afterparty? Afterparty? Afterparty?” 

“Afterparty!” Pieck agrees cheerfully, touching her index finger to Reiner’s.  

“Is it at Pixis’ again? He’s pretty spry for his age,” Porco muses.  

“Can we come, too?” Gabi asks excitedly. 

“I’m afraid not, Gabi. It’s an adult party with some no-no juice,” Reiner replies. He pats Gabi on the head sympathetically.  

“Why can’t you just say alcohol like a normal person?” Porco grumbles.  

“How about we have another afterparty tomorrow that everyone can go to?” Pieck suggests. She bends down so that she’s eye level with the rest of the children. “Maybe we can go to an amusement park altogether.” 

“With everyone everyone?” Gabi asks, her eyes widening. Her excitement has been reignited.  

“Yep, with everyone everyone,” Pieck says. 

“Everyone, we’re going to an amusement park!” Gabi cheers even though no formal arrangements have been made, but her friends are already jumping up and down and celebrating with her.  

Annie sidles up to Bertholdt. She tends to attach herself to his side, but it’s unclear whether it’s because his large frame easily hides her from any prying eyes or if it’s because she actually enjoys his company. It could be a mix of both.  

“Do you know what the catering situation will be at Pixis’?” Annie asks. 

“Ah, I think he usually leaves that up to Nicolo,” Bertholdt says. 

Annie nods, her lips pursed as she mulls over Bertholdt’s answer. She typically passes on cast parties, but she does enjoy good food. It just so happens that Nicolo probably has the best taste out of the cast. Finally, she tells Bertholdt, “I think I’ll go this time.”  

“R-really? That’s great!” Bertholdt stammers in surprise. 

Eren smiles fondly at his fellow costars as they get ready to leave the awards ceremony. He’s not the type to cry, but even he’s getting a little tearful at the sight. “It’s really the last time we’ll be gathered like this, huh?”  

“Well, not really,” Armin says. His eyes are still red from crying, but he offers Eren a comforting smile. “I think we’ll still see each other for years to come.” 

Mikasa takes Eren’s hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “You said it during your speech, didn’t you? We made amazing memories together, but I don’t think we’re done yet. We still have many more to come.”  

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eren smiles amidst his tears. He squeezes Mikasa’s hand back. He’s thankful for all the years that they’ve spent together and even more thankful for the time they have yet to come.  

[tiktaalic]

best encapsulation of taylor swift doing sexuality for dolls is. a lot of the tour outfits actually. but my point is. the midnights leotard imo a gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous piece of clothing i love the color of it i love the lines to it i think it's a wonderful wardrobe piece but i don't think she's like. hot in it. but there are legions (some) gay women and men who are like. This outfit makes me want to fuck her so bad it makes me look stupid this is the hottest the form of a woman has ever looked. this is the good girl faith in a tight little skirt aspect. of taylor swift. that is very normal and at level and makes her Just Some Guy. and is why i understand with 100% clarity of vision why people are like. you stan? and for THAT? . because. its a woman. its a factory build of a normal woman who is trying to look sexy. and since it is a factor build of a normal woman who is trying to look sexy it's very. nothing. and in her day to day she is a factory build of a normal woman who shops at target. which is also very. nothing. however. Sometimes. taylor swift goes I am crazy I am insane i run all of my relationships like the navy I am 5'11 and have upper arm strength and bring a real I need everyone to do what i say vibe. and its like. wait a minute. there's a personality in there. and it's of a crazy woman. tell me more. about this inner world, taylor swift, who is doing a pastiche of daydream james dean look in your eyes. what i am trying to say. the point i am endlessly circling. lover leotard not hot. intro to the man she does while she happens to be wearing th e lover leotard. hot. but it's a trick. it's a trick she is pulling on me and me only. with her wiles. while the trick that is being played on everyone else. is the leotard

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Barristan II (summary)

His gut feels twisted from nervousness as he rides through the gates. He knows that the feeling will go away when time slows down in the chaos of battle. Dany's horse is easily outpacing the lads and the rest of the cavalry; Barristan is pleased because he intends to outrun the Widower and strike the first blow. The Yunkai'i are totally unprepared and Barristan closes in on the Harridan, the largest of the trebuchets. The stormcrows take up the cry, "Daario!" and "Stormcrows, fly!"

Don't be surprised when, later on in the story, Daario kills the guy who shouted his name.

+.+.+

Barristan thinks that he will never again doubt the valor of sellswords.

Didn't this guy go to war against the Golden Company?

+.+.+

There are only thirty yards between the horse and the Yunkai'i legions by the time any defense is mounted. The air fills with arrows. A squire for the stormcrows is killed, and a bolt pierces Barristan's shield. There are three horn blasts and the pitfighters emerge from the gate behind them.

Barristan's responsible for that squire's death. I'm keeping count.

Nothing abnormal about those horn blasts. We're still waiting.

+.+.+

Barristan glances back to see the pitfighters. There are about two hundred of them, but they make enough noise for two thousand. One woman stands out, wearing nothing but greaves, sandals, a chainmail skirt, and a python. Barristan is a bit shocked and, watching her breasts bouncing around, thinks that this day is sure to be her last. The pitfighters are mostly shouting "Loraq!" and "Hizdar!" but some do call out "Danaerys!" Larraq is hit in the chest with an arrow, bringing Barristan’s attention forward, but the squire keeps the banners held high and shakes it off.

Why is there always a distracting half-naked woman?

+.+.+

The unsullied begin marching through the gates, and Barristan sees that the Yunkai'i have missed their chance to effectively launch a counterattack. As he watches more of the slave legions get slaughtered, mostly those who were chained together and could not retreat, he wonders where the sellsword companies like the treacherous Second Sons have gone. The unsullied finish lining up outside the gates, implacable even when one of their own number falls with a crossbow bolt to the neck.

It feels like regardless of the outcome of this battle, it's the slaves who will lose. I wonder if that's by design.

In case you missed the Tyrion chapter, Brown Ben Plumm and his Second Sons currently have cold feet, and are carefully considering their options for switching sides. Again. (You laugh, but watch, she'll let them.)

On a different note, now that the Unsullied have marched through the gates, Daenerys' entire army, with the exception of the Brazen Beasts, is positioned outside the walls of Meereen. Meanwhile, the Shavepate has the sole authority to lock the gates at his discretion. How did we get here? How does this even happen? The last time Daenerys was in Meereen, this guy was unemployed. It's truly remarkable.

+.+.+

Tumco draws Barristan's attention to the bay, asking "Why are there so many ships?" Barristan remembers that yesterday there were twenty, but now there are thrice that many. His heart sinks when he reasons that the ships from Volantis must have arrived, but then sees that some of the ships are crashing together. He asks Tumco, whose young eyes can see more clearly, to identify the banners. Tumco says "Squids, big squids. Like in the Basilisk Isles, where sometimes they drag whole ships down." Barristan replies, "Where I'm from, we call them krakens."

Rejoice, for the true savior has arrived!

I'm guessing those Volantis ships aren't too far behind Vicky, so this relief won't last long.

+.+.+

Realizing that the Greyjoys have arrived, his first thought is "Has Balon joined with Joffrey, or the Starks?" But he realizes that he's heard that Balon is dead, and wonders if this has something to do with the Balon's son, the boy who was a ward of the Starks. He sees that ironmen are coming ashore, fighting the Yunkish, and says, surprised, "They are on our side!" The sellswords did not come to meet his charge because they were already preoccupied with the ironborn!

No, only the television show sends half-dead Theon and Asha to Meereen, despite the fact that they're supposed to be captured, and freezing to death in a remote northern village. Sorry Barry, Daenerys is getting the The Bad Greyjoys, as God intended.

Really not following his line of thinking with that Joffrey or the Starks thought.

+.+.+

He sees that ironmen are coming ashore, fighting the Yunkish, and says, surprised, "They are on our side!" The sellswords did not come to meet his charge because they were already preoccupied with the ironborn! Barristan is almost gleeful. "It's like Baelor Breakspear and Prince Maekar, the hammer and the anvil. We have them! We have them!"

If these books have taught me anything, it's that this level of overconfidence is always swiftly punished.

Leave it up to Barry to suck off some dead Targaryens in the middle of battle. If you would like to know more about this Baelor hammer and Maekar anvil - um, why?

Final thoughts:

The Barristan Selmy chapters may have concluded, but rest assured that my intense hatred for him will persist for eternity.

One more Meereen, guys. You're doing great.

Next chapter: Tyrion II

-> return to menu <-

[newvegascowboy]

10, 17, 18, 24, 34, 39, and 60 for Red, Cecelia, Lafayette, and Killian. Hier sind Kekse (gave you lots because you said you were bored).

Thank you!! Most under a cut for length

10. What langauges do they speak?

Red - English, Legion Latin (being different than classical latin as Legion latin is much more of a living langauge and i imagine some aspects of it have been warped by ~30 years of imperfect teaching materials and tutors). Red also speaks a little spanish - enough to get by, but their accent is atrocious.

Cato - english and latin; various code langauges that he developed

Killian - english and sign language

Cecelia - english and a handful of spanish, some latin

Lafayette - just english

17. Do they have a day job/how do they make a living?

Red - After returning to the mojave, Red still occasionally does courier work, but mostly they work on a ranch they buy, located just outside Goodsprings. They ranch various animals, some brahmin, some bighorners. The majority of their time is spent working with horses. A great deal of money was stashed away before the secons battle of hoover dam that Red collects upon their return, so they don't necessarily need to work - they just enjoy it.

Cecelia - After the second battle, Cecelia remains in the mojave with a handful of followers. She goes to work at an outpost/settlement away from vegas, where she works as a doctor.

Cato - following the defeat of the Legion, Cato remains to assist Cecelia and the followers. He works mainly as a guard, occasionally going out to root out the legion remnants in the mojave.

Killian - when he isnt traveling collecting and selling scrap, he goes from settlement to settlement to check their defenses and work construction.

Lafayette - Lafayette grew up on a ranch, so she's very comfortable with manual labor. She enjoys the work.

18. Do they have any disabilities, mutations, or implants / enhancements? Do they have any chronic illnesses?

Red - oh boy. Red's got a lot of these LOL.

I consider Red to be minorly mutated; higher muscle density and able to function in high heat for longer than a non mutated human. Their body can tolerate a much higher internal temperature/fever than normal.

Red has a bum knee from being thrown from a horse sometime in their 20s. They're mostly deaf in their left ear, and after being shot in the head, blind in their left eye. They later receive a cybernetic prosthetic eye from the think tank, along with the artificial heart and spine.

Cecelia - also minorly mutated, since she's a lowkey psyker. She can predict shots in a fight, and tends to know the status of certain people without being able to see them. She can suffer from pretty severe migraines that knock her out for days at a time as a result.

Killian - From all his numerous injuries, Killian suffers chronic pain. It's part of why he uses psycho and med-x. He also has the usual joint pain just from being In His 40s

Lafayette - Lafayette got kicked in the head by a horse as a kid. This resulted in a form of epilepsy.

24. Do they have a romantic partner or partners?

Red - Red has lots of whirlwind and failed romances. I toy with shipping them with both Cato and Lafayette.

Cecelia - Cecelia was married to a man named Will and rhe marriage ended when he was killed. I enjoy the idea of shipping her with Julie Farkas (and oc ship with your Sweetjane)

Cato - None other than potential shipping with Red. I can also see him with Cecelia.

Killian - formerly Nora; they were separated before the war and then she was killed. No other ships (except oc ship with sweetjane)

Lafayette - none other than potential shipping with Red

34. What armor/clothing do they typically wear?

Red - Blue cotton shirt with denim jeans/chaps and a long leather duster/bandolier. Red very rarely wears actual armor (usually only as disguise).

Cecelia - long, loose shirts and belted skirts or pants. Combat boots. Big hat. Occasionally a lab coat.

Cato - typically Legionary garb with articulated leather armor on his left arm. After he leaves the Legion, he transitions into sturdy work clothes, leather armor. He's kind of uncomfortable and unused to new clothes but he wants to fit in.

Killian - usually tanktops and cargo pants. Sometimes sweaters and sweats if he wants to be comfy. If he's really serious, he wears leather armor painted in the Minutemen colors.

Lafayette - collared shirts, sturdy ranch pants or overalls. Sunglasses and scarves. She has some NCR armor she wears if she needs to, but the colors are scrubbed off.

39. What is their favorite song?

Oh lord. Im terrible at picking favorites. Genre instead lmao.

Red- red doesn't have a favorite, but they have a most hated which is Big Iron. They like anything they can play on guitar.

Cecelia- she likes things that are fast and hard and loud.

Cato- Cato doesn't really listen to music.

Killian- killian listens to like. Dad rock. Soft rock. And classical.

Lafayette- country western, bluegrass.

60. Are they religious/spiritual?

Red - Red is catholic every Sunday. Not necessarily out of genuine belief in christianity, but because Red thinka everyone needs to believe in something. Regardless, they carry a rosary and hold it whenever theyre feeling particularly thoughtful.

Cecelia - Cecelia is somewhat jaded. She's not necessarily spiritual. She thinks that what she knows for certain is more important than any potential god or heaven.

Cato - Cato wants to believe in something, but the last time he believed in something it burned him. He doesn't know if anything is worth believing in anymore.

Killian - killian grew up with religious parents and got married in a Lutheran church, but he doesn't really care too much about spirituality. He does believe in hell, and thinks he's going there when he dies, but that's a problem for him then.

Lafayette - Lafayette is pretty agnostic. She could take it or leave it. Still, there are some things that she cant explain and doesn't know how.

[amostdelectablescribbler]

rewrote the legion’s lore for a school assignment. 1,300 words of nerd.

My cellphone rang, “Joey, my man, how you doin’?”

“Hey Frank, howzit?” I sat up on my bed, 

“Yeah, dude, we’re going out tonight, get some stuff done. You wanna come with? Gang’s not the same without ya.” The sumvabitch wanted to relieve boredom by means of extreme hooliganism yet again. 

“Man, I don’t know. My parent’s are suspect-”

“To hell with our parents! My foster only ever cashes the family service checks at the bar. Julie’s don’t care what she does, neither do Susie’s. What are yours doin’?”

“Dishes downstairs, but touché. I’ll get my mask.”

“That’s the Joey I know. See you at the gas station? We’re gonna grab a few bottles of Moosehead—and one of Labatt Blue—and go up to the old Skiing lodge.” He meant steal. Frank has only ever paid for his bus to school, and to forge a ski pass. 

“See you there.”

“Lovebirds, Susie.” I nodded to each.

“That mask gives me chills, Joey, every time.” Julie peeled herself off of Frank, pulling her own mask down over her face, her hair instantly freezing solid over her shoulders.  

“Why do you call him that, Jules?” Susie drew her parka tighter, poorly-sewn patches folding and creasing. 

“Better than J-dawg. How was the southern drawl?” Julie sassed back, leaning back into Frank’s arms. 

“On-point.”

“Thanks, baby. Mwah.” And the two were in each other’s mouths again. 

“They’d make out with the masks on if they could. Julie needs some kissy lips on that thing and they’d swap paint every second of the day.”

“Mhm. Can you not use my shoulder as an armrest? I’m not that short!”

“You are tho, Suz. You so are.”

“Kiss bricks, tall dark and spooky.” She turned her head away, sulking. 

“If I could see them through this almost-blizzard…”

“You’re the only one not wearing a jacket. This is on you.”

“This hoodie has seen me through more Canadian-strength Mt. Ormond snowstorms than you have seen paint brushes. Also I meant that the bandana has frozen over my eyes.”

Susie stood on her tiptoes to wipe the ice out of his eye sockets, 

“I forgot those were your eyes.” 

I leaned down to give her an easier time, getting a poke in the eye for it. 

“And they call us lovebirds.” Frank scoffed, “So, Joey, you’re really good at smuggling stuff. You pair get the drinks, and Julie and I‘ll make a scene to distract the cashier, then we leg it. All good?”

“Almost.” Julie interjected, “We grab some wine, too.” You could hear the smile in her voice. I pinched the bridge of my nose, “Fine. Deal.” 

The gas station in all it’s neon lights and reek of diesel cut it’s visage through the horizontal snow. Suzie had slid, fallen, skinned her knees and whimpered about it. She was wearing a skirt and thin leggings, though, so it was on her. 

“Stopped bleeding?” 

“Yes.” Suzie whined.

“Good. The cash register is empty, not a soul in the place. Let’s roll.” 

The doors slid away from them, Julie slithering away to the alcohol isle, Susie hesitantly following, Frank flipping off the door camera, before rummaging behind the cash register for the restroom keys. 

“You two, beers. I’ll do the wine.” Julie began to peruse the selection of cheap gas station wine available to her, and Julie and I got to stuffing beer cans in our hoodies. I picked up a bottle of Labatt Blue, Canadian Pilsener, or so said the cursive label. Never knew what Pilsener was, but it sounded European, and I never could speak French. Julie shrieked, and Susie and I whipped around. A janitor had seen us, and had a mop across Julie’s neck. She was behind held upward by it against him, clawing hopelessly at the wood, kicking and scrabbling. Neither of us moved. For a long moment, nothing moved besides Julie, who was slowly weakening her resistance. The moment ended, I charged the man and Julie, smashing into them both. 

Julie went down, the man, twice her size, now, went back into Frank, dropping the mop as he was caught. Something made a wet, sharp sound. 

Frank shoved the janitor to the ground, the sawtooth back edge of a hunting knife ripping out a spurt of blood and some muscle and fat, shredded up in ribbons like limp red poutine. The janitor stayed down, only moving to draw shaky, laboured breaths. Frank immediately rushed over to Julie, struggling to get up.

“Jules, you ok?”

She rubbed her neck, breathing heavy, “I’m ok, I’m ok now.”

I heard Susie step back, my eyes transfixed on Frank, the knife, and the bleeding janitor. “Frank, did you stab that man?”

“Yeah, I did. Heard the commotion, grabbed a knife, tore the packaging off it and stuck it in him. Why?”

“I think you just killed that man, Frank.” A drop of blood fell from the knife, one of a pool forming on the ground under Frank’s boot.

“No, we killed him. It’s gonna be all of us.” 

My eyebrows raised as Julie walked over to Frank, took the knife. She raised it over her head like Micheal Myers and brought it down into the janitors back. He screamed, the knife made a terrible noise, Susie squealed, I froze. Julie used the knife to paint a red smile over Frank’s existing grin, with unmistakable deliberation.

Then they turned to me, their papier-mâché masks lifeless and callous in their bloody grins. “C’mon Joey,” their voices sweet, “We’re all gonna be a part of this.”

“That would mean I have to stab someone, doesn’t it.”

“Yah, bud.”

“We only ever did smash-&-grab, and more grab than smash. Am I a murderer?” Frank answered, “No, you’re not. You’re stabbing a corpse-”

“He’s still alive! Look! He’s still breathing, he had a name, probably had a family!”

“Even you said ‘had.’ That’s good as dead already.” Frank’s tone turned from urgent pressure to dangerous calm, “Take the knife, and put it in.” He pointed to the janitor’s still heaving, weeping side, “Put it out of it’s misery.”

My voice broke, “I don’t wanna do this, man, I can’t kill a guy-”

“Joey stab the body. Stab it or we’re done and you’re out.” Julie slinked up next to Frank, stepping on the man, more blackish blood oozing out.

“Don’t make me choose-”

Their masks didn’t hide their animosity. I stopped thinking, took the knife from Frank and took aim with shaking hands. Julie said something behind me, and I brought the knife down into the janitor’s body, the blade burying itself in the corpse’s neck, blood spraying like a fountain. The body jolted, someone screamed, either me or Susie, and the knife came out, bringing with it torn muscle. My body got up, no feeling in it. It gave the knife back to Frank, who gave it to Susie, boots splattering the blood around them, blackening and thick. 

Susie took the knife, her mask turned to me. She was pleading behind it, whimpering and choking on horrified tears. I took a step towards her, offering a  gloved hand, she shot back. The hand was covered in blood, soaked through the glove. She didn’t see her friends Joey, Frank and Julie, she saw the bloodied masks and callous hearts of three stony killers. Susie put the knife as gently as she could to the corpse’s side. Frank kicked the knife’s pommel hard, pounding it deep into the body, Susie letting go in time to keep her fingers.

“Good work, Legion. This is the most excitement anyone’s ever had in Ormond, Alberta.” And with that, Frank led us back into the black blizzard outside, “Good thing it’s Halloween so nobody ‘ll question the blood.” I choked on a laugh. 

[kostenspice]

spicy headcanons ( pt. 2 )

Any  verse  outside  DBD  /  Legion  canon,  Julie  loves  to  be  choked.  It's  a  huge  turn-on  for  her.  Wrap  your  hands  around  her  neck,  squeeze  until  she  has  to  just  slightly  fight  for  a  breath.  She  loves  that  shit.

Speaking  to  k!nks.  Pull  her  hair,  bite  her,  mark  her,  scratch  her  --  all  of  it  she  loves  it.  Julie  is  very  into  rough  sex.  If  she  isn't  sore  to  some  level  or  marked  up  then  she  didn't  go  hard  enough.  While  she  does  enjoy  soft  and  tender  moments  depending  on  who  she  is  with,  she  isn't  soft  by  nature.  

She  has  a  huge  praise  k!nk.  Call  her  a  good  girl,  tell  her  how  good  she's  doing  or  how  good  she's  being  and  she  will  stop  being  bratty  and  melt.  Its  the  best  way  to  get  her  to  behave.  

Julie  is  a  brat,  but  she  also  is  a  bottom.  There  isn't  a  dominant  bone  in  her  body.  She  can  pretend  and  act  like  she  wants  control,  but  she  really  doesn't.  However,  she  will  fight  whoever  she's  with  the  whole  way  --  just  to  be  a  brat.

Being  vocal  in  bed  is  also  a  huge  turn on.  She  is  very  vocal,  even  if  she  fights  it  sometimes  (  see  above:  being  a  brat  ).  She  likes  making  sure  her  partner  (  or  partners  )  know  how  good  they  make  her  feel.  She  also  loves  when  her  partners  are  loud,  it  means  she's  doing  a  good  job.

Her  vocabulary  goes  out  the  window.  She  can  get  rather  filthy  in  her  talk  when  she's  turned  on  to  a  certain  point.  She's  not  afraid  to  pull  out  the  language  and  she  definitely  does  not  mind  (  mild  )  degradation.  Call  her  names.  

Don't  fake  it  with  her,  she  can  tell  and  if  it's  faked  you're  automatically  off  her  list.  She'll  never  want  to  fuck  that  person  again.  Communication  is  key,  don't  lie  to  her.

Julie  has  a  lot  of  one  night  stands  /  fwb.  Commitment  isn't  really  a  thing  unless  she  becomes  emotionally  attached  which  doesn't  happen  often.  Sex  is  sex,  emotions  don't  have  to  be  involved  in  it  (  until  they  are  ).  And  she  will  absolutely  initiate  sex  if  she's  in  the  mood  to.

Lingerie  is  a  thing.  But  she  generally  doesn't  wear  it  under  her  clothes  because  often  enough,  she  doesn't  even  wear  a  bra  unless  she  has  to  let  alone  underwear  (  see:  skirts  and  sundresses  above  ).

julie  isn't  one  to  be  completely  hairless,  she  thinks  it  feels  a  little  odd,  but  she  does  stay  well  trimmed  and  takes  immaculate  care  of  her  grooming.  she  is  also  pierced.  she  has  a  VCH  piercing  (  vertical  clitoral  hood  )  and  usually  she  keeps  a  curved  barbell  in  it  for  stimulation  purposes  but  sometimes  if  she's  feeling  *extra*  spicy,  she  switches  it  out  for  an  actual  hoop  and  it  has  a  thin  gold  chain  that  leads  from  it  to  her  belly  ring.  she  also  has  both  nipples  pierced  and  keeps  just  simple  jewelry  in  because  she's  very  no  muss  -  no  fuss  when  it  comes  to  her  hardware.  her  tongue  barbell  isn't  very  big  either  because  she  also  has  a  ring  through  her  lower  lip  (  both  can  be  used  to  add  something  to  when  she's  going  down  on  her  partner  ).  

she  also  likes  leaving  bites  and  marks  in  very  intimate  places  (  inside  of  thighs  or  tops  of  breasts  )  so  that  they  have  a  reminder  of  her  when  they  move  and  its  sore.  she  is  very  big  on  marking  and  biting.  

also,  with  giving  oral  she  is  one  who  swallows.  spitting  is  messy  and  while  she  does  enjoy  messy  sex,  she  did  the  work  why  not  enjoy  the  reward.  and  she  is  not  afraid  to  kiss  whoever  she's  with  after  she  does  it,  in  fact  that's  a  huge  turn-on  for  her.  or  tasting  herself  on  her  partner's  fingers  or  lips.  she  will  also  give  oral  after  being  fucked,  too  if  the  opportunity  arises.  

[what-even-is-thiss]

Oblivion takes place before the imperial legion starts recruiting from the provinces sometime before the events of Skyrim, we assume during the war with the Thalmor.

So, all guards and troops in Oblivion we can find are human men from Cyrodiil. Except for one. The leader of the guard in Leyawiin is an imperial woman. And she’s a dark brotherhood target. And we know from a note we get during the quest that her mother is upset that she’s started to become more masculine as she’s gotten older and advanced in the army.

However, there are women in the blades and women who claim that they’re veterans, including beggars, seemingly retired or injured soldiers abandoned by the legion.

Women can be in positions of power, inherit power, and in fact the first empire was founded by a woman. They also run businesses, work as mercenaries, criminals, bartenders, farmers, priests, mages, and every other kind of profession you can think of.

There are women who wear pants outside of armor but they’re relatively unusual. Most of them wear dresses and skirts outside of battle. Women are more likely to be homemakers. I can’t remember an instance of a man being one, in fact, but can think of a few women who are.

It’s not exactly taboo for women to be soldiers, be masculine, or wear pants, but there does clearly appear to be a strong societal pressure against it.

What’s the thing with the pirates though? During the dark brotherhood questline you can meet a dark elf woman that works as first mate on a pirate ship and as you’re sneaking on the ship to kill her boss you can hear two of the crew arguing about whether or not it’s bad luck to have a woman on a ship and whether or not women are bad at sailing. And she is in fact the only woman in the crew. So pirates in Cyrodiil at least have a large contingent with sexist beliefs even if it’s not all of them.

So like. It’s a lot more straightforward in Cyrodiil. Which is part of why I suspected in my post about Skyrim that part of the bias towards men in the imperial legion in that game might’ve been imported culturally from Cyrodiil. Because the situation in Skyrim is much more confusing when it comes to the military question.

I’ve previously analyzed whether or not sexism exists in Skyrim and the reason I haven’t done that for Cyrodiil despite me being an Oblivion apologist is because the answer is a lot more straightforward. Yes. It’s different than most real-world sexism but yes. Especially on pirate ships.

Pirates are canonically sexist to a certain degree in Oblivion. More so than in Skyrim. Which either means the pirates got more woke in 200 years or that the culture of pirates in the south seas is different from the ones in the north seas.

[p3achysuki]

Killer ( dbd legion( frank, joey)trickster, ghostie,wraith) reactions to when they try to catch their favorite surv (s / o) as he/she jumps through the window, palette, but their pants / skirt remain in their hand. He / she runs away, but they see their pink panties with bunny pattern: 3.

a/n: sorry I didn’t write for wraith:,) I really don’t know what to write for him.

Frank Morrison(The Legion)

Oh…oh. At first he does a double take, he can’t believe that actually happened. He’s been here for so long that nothing like this has ever happened, but then again… he isn’t complaining, seeing those cute bunny print panties you have on was definitely another bonus. Once you realize why your legs suddenly feel cold you look over at Frank, you could already tell he has a smug grin underneath his mask by the way he’s leaning against the wall. You try to convince him to give back your clothings, but you could hear his tongue click. “How about you do something for me first and then I’ll give you them back?”

Joey(The Legion)

Actually freaks out because he didn’t mean do it. He SWEARS, it just happened! He catches a glimpse of those cute bunny pattern panties too, he ends up turning around so quick and mumbling an apology. He’s glad that he has a mask covering his face or else you probably would’ve seen that small smirk he did. “Uhm, can I have my pants back now?” You asked, the part of you wanted to hide in the locker and the other part of you just wanted your pants back before the others came looking for you. Joey was going to hand you your pants back until he pulled it back quickly, making you glare at him. “How about you convince me to?” When you asked him how he already had an idea on his mind “get on your knees and beg for them back unless you want your friends to see you like this.”

Ji-Woon Hak (The Trickster)

His weapon is probably the reason why you’re going to end up flashing him, he might accidentally snag it on your skirt while trying to hit you when you vault the window. He’s honestly amused even lets out a small chuckle when you don’t realize that your panties are showing, he vaults the window before giving you a cocky grin. “Aren’t you missing something? 여보.” You squint your eyes at him before looking down and realizing that you’re giving him a whole show of your panties. “Give.Them.Back.” You said holding your hand out as you looked away from him, he moves his head to the side like if he’s debating on giving you mercy or not. Knowing him though you knew it wouldn’t be easy, “how about you give me a little show and then I’ll probably give them back to you?”

GhostFace(Danny Johnson)

He does it on purpose, if he notices the chases with you are lasting a little too long he’ll do everything to stop you. Even if that meant pull back on your skirt he knew the skirt you were wearing was frail, but he didn’t expect it to be THAT frail. So when he heard a sharp rip he wasn’t surprised that his face was near your panties when you vaulted the window, you let out a shriek before glaring at him. You shout at him saying that he shouldn’t do that, but he doesn’t care. Oh if only you could see that wide grin he had on his face while he held your skirt in his hand, “Danny please! I don’t want the others to see me like this…” “then you better give me something in return babe, or else you’ll end up flashing everyone.” He wouldn’t allow that though, he’ll mori everyone before he allows anyone to see you in your panties.

[bloodiedglasscasket]

I back ^-^bunny pink panties part 2 ( when you are free from request) but for Frank, Joey and Freddy ( old man need something from life)

So sorry for the wait! I don’t usually write for Freddy, so I hope he isn’t too OOC. Enjoy!

(Link to Part 1)

~~~

Wardrobe Malfunctions with the DBD Killers P2!

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Character(s): Frank Morrison | The Legion, Joey | The Legion, Freddy Krueger | The Nightmare

Warnings: Krueger is his own warning, NSFW implications for Frank and Freddy

~~~

Frank Morrison | The Legion

- Tinkerer. You weren’t paying close enough attention to your surroundings, focused on finishing up your generator.

- You had mistaken him for another survivor at first, before you caught the glint of a blade at the last second, and made a move to rush from the generator.

- He had reacted surprisingly slow, free hand still outstretched to pull you from the generator, but instead his hand caught on the waistband of your pants/skirt, pulling you back into him with an audible tear-

- Oh. Oh. Oh?~

- Well well well, pink bunnies? Was that a surprise meant for him?

- He hoists you over his shoulder, but doesn’t head for a hook. No no, he’s interested in seeing more of what you’ve got hiding from him.

Joey | The Legion

- Something bad was bound to happen sooner or later. You had successfully evaded a hit from Joey, making a mad dash for a nearby window while not accounting how quickly he would recover from the failed hit-

- Before you can vault, his knife swings, catching your backside-

- And Joey catches a brief glimpse of what you’re wearing underneath. Were those?? Seriously?!

- Once you’re on the other side of the window, he apologizes. Unprompted, he apologizes. But, does he find the situation hilarious? Absolutely.

- He does his best to ignore you for the remainder of the trial out of pure embarrassment. Don’t worry, he’ll find a way to make it up to you afterwards.

Freddy Krueger | The Nightmare

- A man wearing a glove with knives for fingers? What’s the worst that could happen?

- Exhaustion was heavy on your mind, slowly falling prey to Krueger’s dream world as you worked on cleansing the burning totem. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t notice his approach sooner.

- Until the lullaby finally reached your ears, just as the totem broke beneath your fingertips and the sound of metal swinging through the air broke you out of your stupor, rising to run-

- You feel the sharpness of his clawed glove drag across your back, tearing through the back of your shirt and and pants as you dart away, not looking behind you.

- He’s... surprised, to say the least. Huh. Was that..? Bunnies? 

- Krueger doesn’t chase after you, not at first. He wiggles his bloodied fingers with a wicked grin. Alright, let’s see what else you’ve got for him~

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

feat. Miya Osamu 

For the darling @1tooru

Send me an ask with characters you’d like to see me write, whether in the Hogwarts setting or whatever you’d like to suggest, and I’ll try my best to make it work! 

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Assumed that the food served is Japanese, not gonna give the Haikyuu boys bad British food (no hate pls!! been traumatised by a recent trip to the UK :p )  

Miya Osamu (Slytherin)

All you knew about him was that he was one half of the famous Miya twins, and with Miya Atsumu strutting down the hallways with a cocky grin, no one would fault you for assuming his twin would be much the same. 

Not to mention the fact that Osamu is a fearsome chaser in his own right, causing such havoc during the match with Ravenclaw that Kuroo, the keeper, nearly tore his hair out mid-match.

You’ve developed a habit of sneaking away to the kitchens, spending evenings with the house-elves, trying to re-create the tastes from home. 

The Japanese food served day in, day out is good - you do enjoy the taste of dashi and miso and soy and pickles. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, you miss the heavier spices like tumeric and five spices, tropical flavours like coconut milk and jackfruit and pandan.

So you sneak into the kitchens and persuade the house-elves to let you experiment with their more exotic ingredients. 

And imagine your surprise when you discover that your sanctuary of food is invaded by one Miya Osamu. 

‘O-oh! I didn’t know the house-elves let anyone else in here’, you stammer, face red, expecting the stereotypical Slytherin response of a sneer to grace his face. 

But to your surprise his face remains expressionless, only shrugging his shoulders with grace. ‘Kitchen’s enough for us two, I suppose’, and he turns back to the rice balls he’s moulding in his hands. 

Three encounters later, you realise he’s not surly - just somewhat reticent and a little shy. You figure it comes with the territory of having a loud-mouthed twin. 

He offers you the onigiris he creates, cracks a smile when you moan over a mouthful of poached egg and soy-flavoured rice, his rendition of the humble tamago kake gohan, the Japanese staple of a raw egg over steaming white rice. His eyes widen in turn when you teach him the wonders of pandan flavoured custard and mango with sticky rice.  

‘You don’t seem like a typical Slytherin’, you gather the courage to make the bold statement one night, when the pair of you are sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the kitchen fire, sharing a tuna mayo onigiri. 

‘Cos I’m not as ambitious as my lout of a twin?’ he asks, amused. 

You shake your head, trying to deny his statement, but the corners of his eyes only crinkle further. 

‘The Sortin’ Hat gave me a choice between Slytherin and Hufflepuff’, he says. ‘’Tsumu got sorted before me, and I guess I didn’t wanna leave ‘im alone. Who knows what he’d do if I’m not there to stop his shit’. 

‘So you’re in Slytherin for the greater good?’ you joke. 

He snorts, trying his best not to choke on a mouthful of rice. ‘I guess ya could say that, I suppose’. 

------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t tell anyone else about your evening sojourns in the kitchens with Miya Osamu. 

After all, he and Atsumu have a legion of crazed fans, and even though most seem to be gunning for the blonde twin, it’s enough to put you off acknowledging him beyond a shy nod between classes or two. 

Still, someone must have seen you leave the kitchens together, because nasty notes start appearing in your bag, and whispered curses are shot your way, causing your shoelaces to twine together in twisted knots, and your bag to split open when you’re rushing to class. 

You keep your head down, figuring that it’ll only get worse if you fight back. 

‘Why do ya have bruises on yer legs’, he frowns, distracted from his latest culinary experiment. 

‘It’s nothing’, you demur, trying to tug your skirt down to hide your legs but he catches your wrist in one warm, large hand. 

‘Who did this to ya?’, he asks, eyes thunderous when he sees the tapestry of mottled bruises on your knees and calves. 

You try to lie, tell him it’s no one, you’re just clumsy and tripped over your own feet, but he’s relentless and his mouth settles into a taut line when you finally admit that a couple of his fangirls may have gone a little too far in trying to warn you off him. 

‘They don’t get that we’re just friends’, you say quietly, refusing to meet his gaze, a smart move considering the way your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

‘I’ll deal with it’, he promises, and he does, because the next day, the same few girls come to breakfast with red rimmed eyes and apology notes find their way into your bag instead.  

------------------------------------------------------------

Since then, you have to admit that you’ve fallen head over heels for Miya Osamu.  

It’s the most cliched thing in the world to pine after a boy who doesn’t look at you the same way, but you can’t help it. 

He’s gorgeous, with broad shoulders and a slim waist, brown eyes that glimmer occasionally with such kindness that you forget he wears green and silver. 

It’s so easy to pretend that his protectiveness is a symptom of potential romantic feelings for you - but he continues to treat you as he always has, a partner in his culinary adventures, and nothing much else. 

So you trudge along, hiding your feelings until his birthday. 

You charm a paper plane to land in his plate during breakfast that day. He unfolds it, the corner of his lip quirking upwards when he reads your message - ‘Meet me at the kitchens tonight? Got a little special surprise for you!’

He grins - a rare sight, when you and the house-elves burst into song when he climbs through the portrait hole, and laughs out loud when you present him with the chocolate you made with the help of the house-elves. 

‘It’s not perfect, I know’, you tell him apologetically, staring balefully at the too-runny chocolate frosting, and the slanted icing that spells his name. 

‘It looks perfect to me’, he answers, cutting a huge slab for the both of you to share. 

You flush when he insists on feeding you the last bite of cake, your heart pounding when his palm is warm on the small of your back when he walks you back to your tower. 

‘Thanks for the birthday present’, he says when you reach your destination. ‘But forgive me for bein’ greedy and stealin’ one more present from you’. 

Then he gently tilts your face up to meet his, and bends down, slanting his mouth over yours and - oh. 

He tastes of dark chocolate and frosted cake, and his arms circling you still bear the warmth of the fireplace you’ve shared over countless frosty nights. It’s a dream come true, and you’re still breathless when he pulls away. 

‘Was that too much?’ he asks quietly, a note of anxiety in his voice. 

‘Not at all’, you whisper back, the thrumming of your heart betraying that you’d very much like to do it again. 

And when you’re back in your bed tonight, lips swollen from Osamu kissing you senseless in the corridor that night, you’re not sure whose birthday it is - his or yours, the way all your wishes have come true. 

[jooniix]

Any fun facts/headcanons about your scissors?? (I love his design btw)

Thanks!! And yeah here!:

He's considered "The Responsible One" but if someone makes him mad, he'll gladly try to kill them, leading to the Legion trying to stop him

^He's basically the babysitter for everyone

Whenever he and the Craftsman get left alone, they like to talk to each other, mostly about the Craftsman's concerns for Olly

The Legion caught him while he was dancing, and Rubber Band tried to get him to be one of the dancers in her shows. While Hole Punch just wanted a new dancing buddy.

Has a pretty bad sleep schedule

The victim to most of the pranks the Legion does

He acts annoyed when someone hugs him, but really enjoys it

I mentioned this before, but it's about him wearing skirts, he only wears them at home, ths only skirt he goes out with his the one that you usually see in his design which is a skirt-pants

Basically his honest opinions on everyone:

Colored Pencils: "A talented artist and one of the tolerable people here."

Rubber Band: "She's.. alright? Though her attitude is something I don't want to deal with."

Hole Punch: "The annoying one. Does he not know what 'Shut the fuck up' means? I have multiple complaints about them!"

Tape: "An idiot, I question why I fell in love with him. Seriously, who drives their motorcycle off of the top of a tower?"

Stapler: "Another tolerable person! Or dog? I'm concerned about him though."

Olly: "A fine king! Some things he does and decides are questionable, but I don't question him about it."

Olivia: "She's decent, but her get-togethers are horrible."

Craftsman: He's... how would I say this, awkward? Orion's alright I guess."

Bowser: "I have no input on him. I'm well aware that he, his son, and army hate me."

Mario: "A skilled fighter, I plan to have a rematch one day."

And that's all what I have for now.

[deeisace]

Alright, let’s see -

In reference to [this post], wherein I transcribed an article copied to the Washington DC Evening Star in 1896, from Pearson’s Weekly 

I couldn’t find that article in Pearson’s - it doesn’t seem to appear in the newspaper records I have access to - but it is in Volume I of Pearson’s Magazine, published as a sort of omnibus of funny stories and the like. 

Pearson’s, I hadn’t realised, has a tagline - “To interest, to elevate, to amuse”.

The article in question (of the opinion that men ought to be allowed to wear skirts when cycling) was part of the series of writings called “Wisdom Let Loose” by WL Alden, and so I believe it was meant to be placed as part of “to amuse”.

WL Alden was a comedic writer, and as such it appears he was not seriously taking that thought, but rather making fun of “rational dress” - the idea at the time that women might wear some form of trousers or knickerbockers instead of skirts, as it was “rational”, it made more sense, was more sensible to wear men’s clothes instead of voluminous skirts and corsets - by flipping the idea on it’s head.

Which is unfortunate, as knowing that rather changes the tone of the article for me - of course it was written so as to be funny, but I hadn’t thought it was from that point of view - which is made clear in this review from 1896, published in Pearson’s on 22nd August.

[ID: a newspaper article titled “An Advertisement”. It reads -

Mr Douglas Sladen, writing in The Queen, says: “The first volume of Pearson’s Magazine is a credit to all concerned in its production. It does what it promised to do, gives a shilling or eighteenpenny magazine for the popular sixpence. The printing, done by Mr Horace Cox, both in the matter of type and blocks, leaves nothing to be desired. The pictures are by the best artists, admirably selected and reproduced, and its literary contents are a triumph of editorial acumen. The most striking of them, perhaps, are Mr Allen Upward’s ‘Secrets of the Courts of Europe’, and perhaps the best single item is Mr Frankfort Moore’s ‘Nell Gwyn’.

“Mr Alden’s ‘Wisdom Let Loose’ is capital, quite as good as Bill Nye, and almost as good a Mark Twain. Indeed, I think if he were to call himself Alden, without any W. L., and hit upon some first-rate title like ‘The Jumping Frog’, there is no reason why a reprint of them should not be as popular as Artemus Ward’s and Mark Twain’s books of American humour.

“He would need a daring and skilful publisher, of course, and luck in catching the eye of the unliterary public. The main object of an author who wants to be successful is, not to catch the eye of readers, but the eye of people who do not read, for the literary public is so hopelessly scanty, while the sporting public, for instance, has hardly any limits.

“The particular character of Mr Alden’s wit is the delicate satire which which he makes his points by saying the converse of what he means. In approaching the subject of rational dress for cycling, for instance, he urges the claims, not of knickerbockers for women, but of skirts for men.

“Mr Alden is really extremely funny, and never transgresses the bounds of good taste. He is especially funny when he is poking gentle fun at the spread-eagleism of his fellow countrymen. For Mr Alden is an American. He was formerly Consul-General in Italy, and if I mistake not, is a cavaliere of the kingdom of Italy.” /End ID]

Anyway, apart from Mr Alden, here are a couple of pieces in Pearson’s referencing men in skirts (or women in trousers) - a warning, of course, for some period-typical attitudes and wording

Pearson’s Weekly, 27th August 1898.

[ID: Women Who Dress Like Men.

There have been not a little talk lately of women who have adopted male costume in order to pose as men. It is, however, well known that several women adopt the costume with no such idea, but merely on account of its convenience for their peculiar avocations, a fact which is sufficiently demonstrated every day in the week, to say nothing of Sunday,, by the hundreds of women who have taken to wearing knickerbockers when on cycling bent.

While our insular notions make the adoption of coat and trousers very rare indeed among the well-known or well-to-do people in England, there is a refreshing radicalism on this subject abroad.

Many people will recall the fact that for many years the greatest woman painter of France, Rosa Bonheur, has adopted a masculine attire for her work, as she found that trousers are far less inconvenient for the painting ladder than are skirts.

In a similar way, at the time when the equally great actress Madame Sarah Bernhardt, took up sculpture as a pastime, she used to wear a suit of white flannel - coat and trousers - in her studio.

Both these women, however, do not habitually appear in public disguised out of all resemblance to their sex, for they are women to whom the skirts, lace, and the frou-frous, which are essentially feminine, are peculiarly becoming. 

On the other hand, Madame Dieulafoi, who has the reputation of being not only one of the most famous women in Paris, but also one of the greatest archaeologists in Europe, never puts off her masculine garments for the accepted ones of her sex. 

Most people will be surprised to learn that she is a married woman, and her husband is not averse to her appearing in clothes cut exactly like his, for she thinks that they are not only comfortable, but convenient for her in her work. It was she who discovered the ruins of the Temple of Darius, which are now in the Louvre, and which won for her the decoration of the Legion of Honour, and well as the privilege from the French Government to wear men’s clothes at all times.

There are none of the external marks of femininity about her, for her hair is cut short in a straight uncurl fringe across her forehead, and it need hardly be added that she wears a silk hat, and insists on her tailor giving her a cut that fits her figure to perfection. On the other hand, she is not at all masculine in her habits or manners, for she is a woman who is essentially feminine, and whose manliness is limited merely to her clothing. /End ID]

I’m not sure at all of the significance of the silk hat, personally, but there follows a sort of reply to this article later that same year -

Pearson’s Weekly, 17th September 1898.

[ID: SILK HAT has been reading the article “Women Who Dress Like Men” that appeared in PW recently, and wonders why in common fairness men may not dress as women. He says: “I am no effeminate, but greatly admire stylish ladies’ dress, which I confess I wish I might adopt in leisure hours, especially on hot days. At present, if I ventured into the street so garbed, I should at once be locked up. This, I hold, is grossly unfair. If a woman is allowed to dress in her husband’s clothes, why should not the husband be allowed to dress in his wife’s and both go for a walk thus attired if they want to?” ----- (In reply) I undertake to say that every man will agree with me, he would not under any circumstances adopt a woman’s dress for comfort alone. Does SILK HAT think that even a white blouse and skirt with their accessories are any cooler that a set of flannels to which there need not be any under-garments? Moreover, the law has very good reasons of its own for preventing men from parading around in female garb. /End ID]

And, further, GAZETTE wrote in November of that year -

Pearson’s Weekly, 12th November 1898.

[ID: It seems that the custom of men wearing women’s apparel is not entirely unknown in India, for a correspondent signing himself GAZETTE, writes from Berar, to say that: “From eleven to three o’clock in the day my house is clear of servants and I always seize this opportunity for discarding male attire for something that is to me infinitely more comfortable. To all intents and purposes I wear the same as that worn by my wife. Don’t think, however, that I care to be seen in my skirts. I don’t. For I admit that I look absurd, and under no circumstances should I wear this costume in the street, although, as a matter of fact, I should certainly never be mistaken for anything but what I am. Do not think that I am effeminate, because I am not. Most of my spare time is spent on horseback, spearing boars, and hunting hyenas and jackals, the latter of which have to be finally dispatched with a hunting knife. I am also keen on panther hunting. Still, I do not mind owning that except for riding and hunting, so far as comfort goes, I would sooner wear skirts than anything else.” /End ID]

Poor GAZETTE, all those qualifiers in place.

[sleepysailorghost]

Sweet Child of Mine

Johnny doesn't really want to fall in love again. He doesn't want to settle down again. He already did that once, and it ended badly, although his recollection is vague to say the least.

Gettting shot in the head throws a man for a loop, that much is certain. In Johnny's case, the two rounds fired into his skull tore holes into his memories, leaving him to fill in the blanks, as inaccurate as that may be.

He didn't remember his name when he woke. Listening to the radio, he put down Johnny Guitar just so he'd have something.

As he travel the wastes, he recollects more about his own past as he hunts for the man in the checkered suit.

His name really is Johnny, he discovers in Primm, but he only signed the document "Johnny". A place to start, at least.

Someone will recognize him, he thinks, because certainly, there aren't that many long haired men with red eyes. At least, none as handsome as he.

But no one does. No one recognizes him.

Some things he has to learn. The rifle he found felt familiar to him, like maybe he spent a lot of time using one once. Only, he ain't too good with it now, on account of something called "orbital fracturing" distorting his long range vision. He's gotta admit, maybe no one recognizes him because he doesn't look like himself anymore. Not that he ain't greatful to the Doc for fixing him up.

But that six gun he found in Primm? It felt right in his hand. It felt like his weapon, like it had always been his.

He remembers his wife. She was sweet, his Diane, and he promised he'd give up his life as an outlaw for her. It was hard for him to deny what people had thought about him since birth, but he would do it for her.

He thinks that's why he gets on so well with Boone. They're both widowers.

Or at least, that's what Johnny thinks. He doesn't remember what happened to her. Maybe it's better that way, that he doesn't remember how his wife died. Boone, surely, would prefer that.

He doesn't entertain the notion that she could still be alive. After all, if she still lived, wouldn't he be beside her instead of trecking across the wastes for the Mojave Express?

He hadn't expected to meet his son. He didn't even know he had a son for heavens sake. Like memories of so many other things, it seems like these were ripped away from him.

He's looking at the legionary, and suddenly, he knows. The legionary he's fighting is his son.

An image appears in his mind, of a young boy with red eyes looking up and his hand-he knows it's his hand, those are his scars-reaches down to ruffle the kid's hair.

He knocks the legionary out. It's something that he's practiced at, but it feels wrong knowing that's his son. It feels wrong that his son is Legion. How the hell did that happen?

Johnny's always been a strong guy, and he's thankful for it as he slings his boy over his back and takes off into the desert.

He didn't think this through. He's got absolutely no idea what he's doing.

Arcade is more than willing to point that out. To be fair, Johnny walks in with a passed-out legionary hung over his shoulder. Some surprise was justified.

"wha-what do you got there?"he asks as Johnny lays the young man down.

"He's my boy, Arcade. I don't...I couldn't let him stay with the legion."

"So you're kidnapping people now?"he remarks, checking over the legionary.

"Shit. I didn't...I didn't mean it like that. He's my son, I ain't forcing him into slavery or anything."

"What are you going to do when he wakes up? Don't say you don't know, I could figure that out myself."

Johnny made himself busy by removing the young man's legionary armor.

When the young man stirs, it is slowly ar first, red eyes blinking open.

"Well, I certainly see the resemblance." Arcade says, and then the legionary springs up. He tackles Arcade, leaning hard against the researcher's throat with his forearm.

"Where am I? What did you do to me?"

Johnny swiftly cuts into the legionary's interrogation, pulling the boy off Arcade.

"Wow,Johnny," Arcade wheezes "He really is just like you."

"Listen up,"Johnny barks. "Don't try that again, or I'll kick your ass from here to New Reno."

"Sure you will, old man."

"You ain't in the legion any more. I got you out. You try and go back, and they'll have you crucified."

"No, I am true to Caesar!"

"They'll never believe that someone just up and grabbed you. They'll think you ran. I seen men die in the sun before. "

"Why would it matter to you, profligate?"

"I'm your pa, that's what it matters. Otherwise, I woulda knocked you dead."

"No, I have no father! I am a son of Caesar."

"Yeah, sure you are, that's why you look so much like me. Say, how many men you ever seen with red eyes?"

The young man twisted around, trying to get a look at the man holding him. It was true. The man in the cowboy hat did have red eyes. A large scar covered most of his face, but he did look familiar.

"Let me go."

"Only if you swear you won't attack no one."

"I swear on Caesar." The man he had knocked to the ground stood up, rubbing at his throat, and wandered off to another part of the campsite.

"When this blows up in your face, I want you to remember I was against this." He called.

Johnny let go of the legionary. To the legionary's credit, he did not attack Johhny.

"You're stronger than me, but you're twice my age. How?"

"Yeah, well. For one, I ain't wearing a skirt."

"This is the uniform of Caesar! It grants me strength."

"Uh-huh. Well, out here, talking about Caesar is liable to get yer teeth knocked in. Hell, I might do it even."

"And you're supposed to be my father?"He smirked.

"I am your father. Say, what's your name?" He rubbed at his stubbly jaw for a second, then said. "You'll tan your hide dressed like that. You'll have to keep your boots as I ain't gotta spare, but I oughta have some clothes for you."

"I am Darius, son of Caesar."

"I ain't calling you that. What name did Diane and I give you?"

"Wouldn't you know? If you were really my father?"

"You ever been shot in the head, son? It makes you forget things. What's your name?"

"My name is Darius-"At this, Johnny lost his patience.

"Fine,"He growled."You wanna be one of Caesar's dogs so badly? I'll call you by a dog's name then. Get dressed, Dogmeat."

He threw some clothing at the kid. Dogmeat turned his back to dress. There wasn't any sense in refusing.

Johnny looked over at his son, maybe to say something, maybe just to check that he was there, but then he paused.

"They branded you? They branded you like cattle?"

"It's not a brand, it's a mark of Caesar and I am priveledged to wear it."

"Unbelievable. They do that so you won't run, y'know. So you belong to them."

"Yes, well, it appears I've run anyway." Without further argument, he finishes dressing, smoothing down the worn Sunset Sasparilla t-shirt.

"Alright, let's hit the road. A word of the wise, son, you best hold your tongue because if you upset my NCR sniper friend with talk of the legion, he's liable to shoot you." Johnny picked a box of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. "You might deserve it too. I ain't never met an innocent legionary."

"Profligates-" Dogmeat started, but Johnny cut him off.

"You been to Nipton lately, boy?" It was a sharp thing, Johnny's voice. "You seen the destruction y'all brought to the town?"

"It was a town of profligates-"

"Y'all use that damn word so much I'm begining to think you have no idea what it means. Where did Diane and I go wrong in raising you that you believe all this nonsense? Tell me, do you think it's right for men and women to be enslaved? Do you think it's right that people suffer and you burn their towns? Do you think that's right?"

Johnny's face was an awful, bitter vision. He looked at his disgrace of a son with disapointment and disgust clear in his eyes.

"Some men are meant-"

Johnny slapped his son.

"Some men are meant for slavery? Is that what you're saying? You ever worn a slave's collar? Twice, I've been enslaved, worn the collar of a slave, and you tell me that I'm meant for that? Fuck that."

He hadn't seen it before, but below the red bandana tied around the man who claimed to be his father's neck, there was a long line of scarring.

"If you weren't my son, I'd kill you."

"I wish I wasn't. I wish I had returned to the raiding party having bested the great Courier Six, with his duster over my shoulders as a trophy. No, I wish that we captured you. That we strung you up on a cross to die. Or maybe threw you to the dog's instead. I'd have earned a fine promotion for that; Caesar would have recognized my strength."

"Think that makes you tough, wanting me dead? Get in line. Most everyone in the Mojave wants to put me in a grave for one reason or another. Hell, one guy almost succeeded."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"No, it's just how things are. There is something wrong with you, kid. Something broken, I guess. Maybe I'm the same way, I never knew when to throw in the towel or how to fall in line. But I ain't never done nothing like the Legion did. Kill people, sure, but I never took pleasure in making them suffer."

"So what? We ride off into the sunset now?"

"Christ, can't I go a damn minute without someone asking me what we're doing next?"

The other man reappeared. Dogmeat looked at him closely, realizing that it was the doctor Caesar favored. If he could somehow defeat Johnny, he could capture the doctor and bring him to Caesar as a gift. He would certainly be rewarded well for it.

He patted his thighs. They had took his knife and his pistol. Smart, but not enough to keep them alive in the long run.

Johnny, he thought, was physically stronger than him, and had the advantage if they fought hand to hand. Besides, he had a highly engraved pistol holstered at his hip. Even though Johnny had shown reluctance to harm him, he had stated that he would have killed Dogmeat if he hadn't recognized him.

The doctor, however, seemed physically weaker, armed with a plasma weapon. Johnny had prevented him from attacking the doctor before. Attempting to do so again may provoke Johnny into attacking him.

"Never mind. I worked it out. It ain't ideal or nothing, but it's the best I can do. I ain't gotta lot of options right now, and I gotta cash a few favors for this to work. I can't let you go, you'll go running back to the Legion, and you're a danger. I don't want to kill you. We're going to Camp Forlorn Hope. They've got a jail there."

"You're turning me in?"

"Yeah." Johnny said, his voice quiet. "I'm turning you in."

"You're doing the right thing, Johnny." Arcade said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"NCR prisons, they aren't like Legion prisons. They won't beat you to a pulp or anything. You'll get three square a day, and it'll be warm and dry. Hell, might even be better than out here. Might be a little interrogation. I'll tell them you're my boy. It'll reflect badly on me, but they won't risk pissing me off."

Dogmeat didn't know if Johnny was trying to comfort himself or reassure him. He didn't care much either way.

"Fuck you." he spat at Johnny. The spurrs on Johnny's boots glinted in the sun.

Johnny looked out at the horizon. It would be a long walk to Camp Forlorn Hope.

"They can help you boy, help you get all that legion nonsense out of your head." Pulling his hat low over his eyes, he continued. "And when you're done, you'll be a free man. Let's get going, son."

Tears glinted in Johnny's eyes, but he brushed them aside with the swipe of rough, scarred hand. He settled his hat, spun the chamber on his sixgun, and headed into the Mojave.

[sunflowerfromthefog]

When Vaulting Goes Wrong(Frank Morrison x fem!reader)

It was like 10pm and I suddenly got hit with inspiration to write, so here I am at 1:20am posting this with minimal editing, and making new accounts to post my weird Dead by Daylight noncon stuff.  Also, this is mostly inspired by me always getting stuck on the windows in DbD and getting caught by the killer.

Warnings: Noncon/Noncon elements, daddy kink, stuck in the wall kink, smut, dirty talk.  Don’t read if you don’t like, k?

Once again you found yourself running through a thick fog beneath full moonlight.  If it weren’t for the psychopath in a mask chasing you you might have been able to enjoy the ambiance of the creepy place, but...you glanced behind you, noticing that your attacker was catching up.  The smile painted on his mask was a little too cliche 90’s killer for your taste, as was his often mocking statements.  He kinda of made you miss The Shape’s silence.

“Where you going baby?” he called, knife in the air and ready to slice through your skin at the first chance it got.  “I told you I--ah, ah!”

Finally, you thought.  While Legion, or Frank as he called himself, was able to catch up in quick bursts it didn’t last forever.  You dashed forward into a labyrinth of brick walls and narrow alleys, hoping you’d be able to lose sight of him long enough for him to get bored of you.  You crouched down, desperate for a moment to catch your breath as you listened for Frank’s steps.

Your heart pumped furiously, desperate to push more adrenaline through your veins and get you out of this terrifying situation.  Maybe it would be terrifying if you hadn’t been through it a few times already, and Frank had actually killed you before.

It was strange being in a trial with a killer that showed you mercy.  You would say you weren’t sure why he did it, but the time he did manage to catch you coming out of a locker reminded you he had other things he wanted to do with you.  You shivered at the memory, trying to force it away and focus on the now.  But the feeling of him pressed against you in the locker, surrounded by darkness and the only sounds between you were heavy breaths was too invading.  Thank God David had managed to find you and pull Frank off of you before things went too far...before you let them get too far.  That was what had scared you more than anything--the idea that had David not shown up you would have been oddly willing to give into Frank’s unruly charm.

“Hey baby,” a voice said.  You blinked, shook back to reality by the voice of the very man you were thinking about.  His mask grinned at you as he crouched beside you, head tilted with his knife dangling between his fingertips.  “Miss me?”

You swore loudly and leapt to your feet, half expecting the knife to plunge into your back as you turned.  You made if the two feet to the window, ready to jump over it and give yourself a bit of space between you and Frank when something caught your middle.  You were halfway through the window, your arms ready to toss you into a roll on the other side when thin spindly arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.  “What the fuck?”

You kicked at the air, pounding your hands against the black branches that kept you from your escape but it was to no avail.  You clawed at the bricks, trying to push yourself forward or pull yourself back.  It was nearly impossible as your toes just barely brushed against the grass below.

“That’s a new one,” Frank said behind you.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to look at him over your shoulder.  Sweat dripped into your eyes, making it difficult to make out exactly where he was looking.  When he gave your ass a quick slap you figured it out.  “Don’t touch me!”

“Why not?” he questioned.  Frank began to palm your ass over your dress, fingers digging in hard and spreading your cheeks however he liked.  Oh how you regretted being taken into the fog while wearing a dress.  Why couldn’t it have been during a workout?  A nice pair of sweats and a sweater would have been perfect for this hell, but no, you were stolen from a summer festival while wearing a sundress.

You kicked at him but he was stronger than he looked and easily forced himself between your knees.  His gloved hands grabbed your ankles, forcing them still as he laughed.  “Damn, I musta been a good boy in a previous life to get this.”  His hands began to slide up your legs.  The leather travelled over your calves, along your thighs, giving them a hard squeeze as well before flipping the skirt of your dress up to rest on your waist.  Frank went on, “Do you think you were a good girl?  Or were you a naughty girl?”

“Shut up!” you ordered.  “Since when does the entity stop us from going through the windows?  What the hell is going on?”

You’re met with silence from Frank, though his hands begin to feel along your behind once more.  You hate to admit it but his ministrations are starting to have an effect on you.  There’s a warmth in your core that you haven’t felt for some time, and your legs are beginning to tire from kicking so much.  No matter how you try to move it doesn’t deter Frank from his actions.

His thumbs hook beneath the band of your panties, sliding them up and down along your skin.  He began to get dangerously close to your entrance and you feared what might happen if he discovered you were starting to get a little wet.

“Stop!” you shouted.

“Nah,” he replied, “don’t think I will.”  Frank’s hands finally came off of you, only for you to hear the rustling of fabric.  “And to answer my question from earlier, I think you’ve been very naughty.  Always running away from me, jumping over windows and pallets and giving me a glimpse of these cute little daisies.”  He plucked at the band of your panties and pulled them high before letting go, allowing them to snap back against your skin.  You let out a small gasp at the light sting, your internal muscles clenching.

With ungloved hands, Frank slid your underwear down your legs to your knees.  He had to take a step back to get them off, and you took the opportunity to kick at him again.  Your left foot connected with his shin, earning you a grunt.  But his task was complete, and your panties now dangled from one ankle.  Again, Frank grabbed hold of your legs and kept them apart, allowing himself back between them.

“Don’t you dare touch me you dirty freak,” you said, fists pounding against the bricks.  While you knew there was nothing you could do, you weren’t about to give up.

Frank grumbled something under his breath then added, louder, “Very naughty indeed.”

There was a loud sound of something whipping through the air before it connected with your right cheek.  You let out a scream at the sudden sting on your skin.  Two more whacks and you realized what it was; he was hitting you with his gloves.  

“You need to learn to respect how nice I’m being,” Frank told you, giving you another hit.  His left hand gripped at your hip, keeping your wiggling ass as still as possible while giving you your punishment.  “I always let you escape and not once have you thanked me.  Now, I’m not one for manners but come on, babe, I think I deserve something in return, don’t you?”

“No!”  Your hands were flat against the bricks, nails starting to dig in as each hit he gave you made your skin burn hotter and hotter.  You wanted to close your legs, give yourself some relief to the pressure between them but all you did was squeeze your thighs around Frank’s.

He began to switch the cheeks he hit, going left and right in quick succession.  It wasn’t long until tears fell down your cheeks, and Frank’s excitement became evident.  You wailed, feeling his clothed erection rub against your lower lips.  “Stop, please stop!  Just kill me already!  I’m sorry!”

Oddly enough, he listened to your pleas.  You sniffled, breaths coming in quick gasps as you tried to make sense of your blurry surroundings.  You heard Frank drop his gloves to the ground, giving you a moment of hope.

He asked, “You’re fucking sorry, babygirl?  What for?  I wanna know.”  His right hand groped at your thigh, spreading your legs a little wider as he inched forward.  Gripping your hips with both hands, now, he ground himself against your entrance.  His jeans rubbed against your clit, giving just enough rough attention to send a jolt of electricity up your spine.  You gasped, unable to answer.  He repeated the movement, noticing your reaction.  “I’m waiting…”

Frank’s thumbs began to knead your behind, rubbing the harsh sting into a dull ache.  You covered your mouth with one hand, a moan nearly escaping at the sensation.  Frank chuckled.  “Are you sorry for always rejecting me?” he questioned.  “Sorry for slamming a pallet on my head last time we met?”  His grinding stopped, but he kept pressed against you.  His hands shifted to move up your ass, your waist, until they were snug beneath your dress and cupping your breasts.  “Or maybe you’re just real fucking sorry now that you know I’m gonna use your sweet little body any way I want and you got no way of escaping?”

Frank began to roll your nipples between his thumb and index fingers, forcing them to stand at attention.  When you let out a half sob half whine, he bent far over you, pulling you flush against his chest.  His mask was up, allowing his breath to slide across your earlobe as he whispered, “Maybe if you beg I’ll be nice.  Just like you were saying,” his tone turned mocking, “‘please, stop, please’!”  He bit at your neck, giving your nipples a pinch before releasing them and leaning back.

With one hand still covering your mouth you weren’t sure what to do.  He had all the power, and as the last one in the trial there was nobody about to come to your rescue.  Still, you knew this wasn’t going to end in your favour.  “Fuck you!”

You thought that would earn you another slap, but instead Frank laughed.  He patted your behind gently.  “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve been in this kinda situation.  And of all the girls I’ve been with you know what they hate the most?”

“Your monologuing?”

He pinched your left cheek, making you squeak.  “The pleasure.  Not to brag, but I know my way around the playground that is your body.  See, it’s fun hearing you scream and cry for me to stop, really gets me hard, but what’s even better is you screaming and crying for me to stop because you’re cumming so hard on my cock.”

The warmth of Frank’s thighs between your legs vanished, replaced with his hands pushing them open and tilting you forward.  Apparently that small movement was allowed by the entity’s rules.

When Frank’s tongue gave a swip across your slit you had to cover your mouth with both hands.  He gave two more long licks, testing out what part made you squirm in his grip before circling your clit slowly.  You kicked at the air, but were too easily trapped.

“See?” Frank said.  “All you girls say no, say you don’t want it but look how fucking wet you are!  You just gotta be shown your place is all.”

“I don’t want this!” you cried.  “Please, I don’t want this I don’t want--ah!”

Frank began to swirl his tongue around your clit, a hard pressure forming in your core.  He would chuckle at times, sending vibrations through you that felt better than you would ever admit to him or to yourself.  You wouldn’t admit that he was right, too.  The pleasure you were feeling made this all the worse.

“Nng, stop…”  Your breaths were coming in quick gasps as Frank slid his tongue inside you.  It swiped around a moment before pulling out and sliding along your inner lips.  

“Mmm,” Frank said, pulling his mouth off of you, “what a view.  Maybe I should steal that other guys camera just to get a memento of this.”

Before you could spit venom at him one of his fingers prodded your entrance.  It slid in easily, another finger rubbing along your sensitive nub.  He moved his finger in and out of you, seemingly pleased with the gasps and squeaks he was drawing from you.  He soon added a second finger and scissored them, making you moan.  The tightness in your core that you kept trying to resist built higher now, and the more Frank rubbed inside of you the harder it was to hold back.  You felt like it would snap at any moment, forcing you to beg, “Stop, please, don’t do this.  I just...not like this, please!”

You weren’t sure what else you could do other than beg.  But then Frank pulled his fingers out of you, and stood.  You tried to even your breathing, turning around to get a look at the man that was dominating you.  His mask was resting on top of his head and a little to the side, a wicked grin on his lips.  Through the moonlight you could just make out the tattoo on his neck and chest, but his was the way his eyes were hooded that you knew your begging had only pleased him more.  You looked forward, your neck hurt from straining.  Your entire body began to hurt, from the sting of your asscheeks to the dull ache in your stomach from being held on the window ledge for so long.

“All right then,” Frank said.  You heard him unzip his pants, a rustling, and then something hot prodding at your hole.  “Daddy’s turn.”

You let out another sob, covering your face with both hands.  Frank mocked, “Don’t worry baby, you’re gonna feel real good.  And you’re gonna feel it all.”

Frank began to push into you, your body so worked up it gave him little resistance.  You couldn’t stop your walls from clenching around him as he slowly moved his hips forward, every inch making you burn.  When his hips were flush against yours you could feel the tip of his head kissing your cervix, making you groan.  He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he pulled out and forced himself back in, hands on your hips with a bruising grip as if you could escape if you tried hard enough.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “even after working you up you’re still tight.  God damn baby, am I the first guy you’ve been with since coming here?  Or am I your first guy ever?”  He chuckled.  “Yeah, I bet I’m your first.  Fuck, that’s hot.  You like this?  Daddy making you feel good for your first time?”  He began to thrust harder, making your breasts bounce and skin scrape along the bricks with each push.

“No!” you shouted.  You weren’t sure which question of his you were answering but it was the only word you could form.  The only would you could think of.  It ran through your mind, forcing it’s way past your lips over and over and over.  No, no, no, no, no.

Frank’s pace began to pick up more, his movements getting sloppier.  “Oh, I’m getting there, I’m...getting…there!”

Your eyelids began to flutter along with the heat in your core.  The tickling pleasure the ran from your centre and across your body growing stronger with each of his thrusts.  Soon the only sounds you could make were squeaks and groans, half-formed words that didn’t make sense as they made it past your lips.

Frank leaned forward again, sliding a hand beneath your dress and grabbing your left breast.  He pinched at the nipple, forcing you to tighten around his cock.  “Oh yeah, you’re close to, baby, I can tell.  I can feel it. Come on, you wanna come together?  You wanna come on my fat cock?” “Nn-nn-no,” you mumbled.  But his other hand slid around your thigh until his fingers were on your sensitive button.  He rubbed at it with three fingers, furiously going up and down, back and forth, all the while thrusting as deeply into you as he could.  You weren’t sure how big he was, but the girth of him alone was making your body burn with a hated desire.

Frank began to suck at your neck, surely leaving large hickies in his wake.  Finally, when he bit down hard on your shoulder you were overcome, your walls gripping at his dick in a disorganized rhythm as you screamed nonsensical sounds to the darkness around you.  His hand over your breast held on tight, hurting you and adding to your cries.

“Haha,” Frank cried, “there it is!  That’s what I fucking wanted.  Now you can go back to all your friends, dripping with my cum, and tell them how good it was for you after I killed them.  Tell them all about how good I fucked you, baby, while covered in their blood!”

While your body felt oversensitive, you were able to register his words.  “No, wait, please...don’t....not inside, you can’t do it inside, just please, don’t--”

But your twitching walls and begging were plenty to push Frank over his own edge.  His dick twitched as he gave one final push into you, his hot seed filling you as a scream died in your throat, your mouth open.  Frank was still pressed against you, hips rolling against yours as he groaned against the back of your neck.

“I told you,” he whispered in your ear, “you’re gonna go back to your friends dripping with my cum.”  He took a deep breath before standing with a satisfied sigh.  He slipped out of you easily, and with it you felt his seed begin to drip down your thigh.  There was no fight left in you to kick at him, and you let yourself dangle on the window, unsure of what would happen now.  Would the entity release you?  Would Frank put you on the nearest hook?

The sound of a zipper caught your attention, and once Frank had straightened his clothes and put his mask back on he lifted the skirt of your dress higher again.  “Mmf, that is a damn good sight.  Gonna keep it in mind for the spank bank; don’t know when we’ll be in a trial together again.”  One finger caught the seed that had dripped down to nearly your knee, dragging it back up before pushing into you.  He then grabbed the panties that still dangled from your one ankle and looped them around your other, gingerly pulling them back into place.  “Don’t want that going anywhere, now do we?”