#women who weld

[thetkconspiracy]

Just girly things ✨

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [1]

series masterlist part one -> minium || part two -> woad and weld

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you become the unlikely treasure of two vikings who raid your convent looking for gold w.c: 4.3k tags/warnings: religious themes (DLDR), minor suicidal ideation, mention of viking raids (slavery, violence, death), kidnapping, threats, dubcon bathing + touching, mean simon (ish), established goap, reader is underfed and beaten in the convent (corporal punishment), difficult travel, some food description

Near the coast the wind scratches at you when it blows, full of sand and salt.

Once, you'd imagined this as your calling; committed to asceticism, married to God, serving under the abbess. Enclosed, you find yourself stifled more than devoted, pressing your face to the stone barrier that blocks the convent from the outside world.

Isolation, never being quite full, the slow and steady stripping of your identity. This is your life - hollowed out, like meat sucked from a crab, cracked open and used and hollow.

You couldn't have predicted Christ to be such an inconsiderate husband.

"Girl!" the voice is the crack of a whip in empty air. You don't jump, but the hair on your body raises, the welts on your thighs sting.

"Yes, mother?" you put your chin down to your chest, turning, pressing your back to the wall. Demure, submissive, utterly devoid of fight. And still, her grip finds you hard as iron and rough as the rock you'd just been touching, pulling you hard enough to make your shoulder ache back toward the heavy wood doors of the dormitory.

"You shirk your duties again, child? Leave your sisters to pick up your slack?" you didn't mean to, truly. It's only that you ache so deeply you're afraid you might never recover from the feeling.

"Please forgive me, mother, I lost track of time," you murmur. Your uniform is damp from the spray outside, and you relish in the scent and feel of it. Freedom, that's what it is. "Allow me to make up for-"

"Hush!" spit touches your cheek. You don't wipe it away. "You'll finish the tapestry tonight. No matter how long it takes you."

Desperately, you wish for God to strike you down. If you're there, father. You close your eyes. Please, please kill me now.

He doesn't listen, and the abbess pushes you to supper.

Dark bread, boiled turnips, fish and wine. Average, filling, but you'd hoped for more of the crumbly white cheese from yesterdays supper.

You know not to complain. And truly, you are grateful. With your family, it had been gruel upon gruel, often bear, and rarely flavour. Salt kisses your tongue now, and the wine makes your sore muscles relax.

The monks have it harder; you'd visited them once as a girl with your father to pray, but there was still labour to be done here. Cooking was often your job, as was doing the washing and the tilling for the vegetable garden.

Today sister Colette had assigned you weaving so that you wouldn't be out of practice. The muscles in your back and fingers ached from it already, and dread made your stomach sour to the food you ate at the thought of more work.

Mealtimes were quiet, as required. The other women eat mousily, looking down at their plates and pulling their food apart into small little bites, trying to make it last. Obedience, poverty. How silly it was now that you'd dreamed of this.

"Sister?" a whisper, next to you. Margaret was almost a friend, too pious to really confide in but so kind it was impossible to ignore her. "What were you doing?"

"I felt compelled," you shrug, lips oily from the fish. "I felt confined."

"Oh sister," Margaret pushes her bottom lip out, dark eyebrows pulling up. "You should never feel confined here."

You knew, and yet you did. It was like living in a stone coffin. All the work felt pointless since your heart had strayed from God. Even now, touching Margaret's elbow to comfort her in her worry for you, you're sick to death of even clearing plates.

There was one secret they hadn't found. None of the sisters, not even the abbess, had found your secret booklet.

Paper was more valuable than gold since the church needed so much to copy and produce texts. The writing room at the very top of the convent, where you were so seldomly asked, was full of it and guarded by lock and key.

Over months, you'd scrounged, stealing enough to make a booklet. In it, you felt sustained. Free. Titillated, sometimes, when your hand found its way beneath your soft worn blanket under your shift and you drew indecent drawings of men coming to save you. Of the farmboys from your village.

They were nothing like real art, not so detailed, but they lit inside you a spark of life. Without them, you'd be snuffed out.

Candles line the hallway toward the workroom, where you'll likely spend the rest of the night. It's near the very entrance of the convent, so that visitors may see the sisters hard at work and find reason to donate.

Really, it's a temptation. Those massive doors, ready to open and let you free.

But what could you do, really? If God were a kind man and Christ a good husband, they'd turn you into a horse so that you might run, might feel your hooves beating the earth and the coarse air on your skin.

Regrettably human, you sit to work on the tapestry. Curse the abbess and let the holy father hear your thoughts. This is worse than hell, you think. Your fingers cramp and the chair is hard, flat wood. It's made to be uncomfortable on purpose, everything is. After you finish you only have a thin mattress to look forward to, even thoughts of drawing hunky carpenters doesn't draw you out of the misery that is embroidery in the dark.

Is this string strong enough to hold you, should you hang yourself? You're being dramatic, but you feel you've earned the right.

Footsteps walk down the hall towards you. They're sure, heavy. Maybe sister Catharine, tall and splendid, is coming to release you from torment?

"Hello," you say jovially. Please be sister Catharine.

"Look what we've got here, Ghost," it's a male voice. You freeze. The accent is unfamiliar. Had you missed the visit of a monk, an abbot, a priest? "Darlin' little lass, all by herself."

Shivers overtake you. It hurts to straighten from your hunched position, but you have to do it to see properly.

You come face to face with a skull, towering over you from the doorway.

A scream builds, filling your chest, hanging off the tip of your tongue.

Stopped only by the glint of candlelight against a blade, and the quickness of the another man reaching you.

You shake, all sound stuck in your throat, feeling arms as strong as petrified wood circle your arms and pull you toward the door. The pressure, the scrape of rock against your feet, it's unreal and barely registered against the terror that builds when you look to your left and see the skull, sewn into cloth, with the soft clank of bones hanging from his waist.

His eyes find yours, dead and mellow in the eyesockets, piercing through you. Blood rushes through your ears, deafening you, until you leave the room and reality sets in.

Devils, come to sack the convent.

Who will likely kill you and all your sisters. Even the abbess, with her punishment cane and severe face, doesn't deserve that.

You shriek, finding your voice, twisting like a cat in a bag. Their hands tighten against you, growling orders at you to be still, girl.

It's then that you hear the cries, the crashes. Sounds of chaos, a cacophony of harsh voices and the search of the convent. Some of the women weep, some pray, you scream.

"Hey!" Skull snaps, shaking you hard. "Behave and we won't kill you." You comprehend that, but the animal urge to struggle for your life still has a grip on you.

The other man twists towards you, lips snarling. "Ye want to die, then? I'm not opposed to slitting ye open throat to cunt, if that's what ye prefer."

You still, sag, mouth turning downwards in misery. Sweat sticks to your skin, from fear and exertion.

"Good girl," Skull says.

The nuns have been crowded back into the dining room, cowed and cowering, trembling lambs against the storm of awful armoured men ravaging the sanctity of the space.

Some have already found gold, crosses and busts of saints and reliquaries. The abbess weeps to see the bust of Mother Mary, thrown so roughly to the ground that baby Jesus snaps off.

You watch it all happening, eyes wide, shaking despite yourself. Adrenaline makes your legs cramp in their position, curled, back to back with another sister.

"Cap," a younger man runs up, hands full with an ornate chest. "What'cha think of this one?"

"Lookit this one," the man from earlier is giddy, slapping the young one on the back. He holds St Augustine, gilded in gold and jewels. "Not too shabby, eh, Gaz?"

"Not too shabby at all," Gaz grins back at him, turning towards the third man.

"Good job, boys," he says. He's mustached, tall, steadier and calmer than the rest. A leader, clearly.

It smells of smoke, or blood, but you can't see anyone bleeding.

Maybe that's their natural scent, violence clinging to them cloying like they'd bathed in it before coming.

"Soap," Gaz calls. He's run through the library, tossing shelves to the ground, taking one or two books. Walked through the dormitories, throwing open the chests at the ends of each bed. "Take a look at this one!"

A little booklet. Your booklet, tiny in the hand of the devil.

Anxiety crawls up your spine. There's no way they'd know it was yours, but you're still afraid of another kind of raiding, should they discover your sin.

The men laugh, looking with hungry eyes, glinting, mouths stretched and wet.

Look at the ground, be quiet, be still. You want to survive, you want to draw again and feel the air against your skin. You're scared of these men, huge and muscled as they are.

They wear furs, leather, clinking chainmail, wrapped shoes. Weapons hang by their sides and are clutched firmly in hands, though no nuns nor abbesses have been harmed.

Yet.

"Gold ain't the only treasure, eh?" Soap looks down at you while others use pillowcases for bags, stuffing their bounty inside with loud clangs.

His foot nudges your thigh, and you shift away as much as possible, still looking away, still scared.

Skull comes back. Soap calls him over and calls him Ghost, so you switch the name in your head.

Ghost is big, but he glides through the air.

"See that, Ghost?" Soap nudges him, the way he nudged you. Eyes crazed.

"Mm," Ghost grunts. He hasn't looted, not like the others. Just walked through the halls and gathered one or two other stray nuns shuddering in various corners. "You want 'er?"

You blanch, breath leaving you.

"Can we?" He looks back at you and leans down, thick fingers finding your chin, tilting your face up. "Pretty little hen, so scared, aren't ye?"

"Take 'er."

With Ghosts permission, Soap moves his fingers from your face to the meat of your arms, dragging you up, using your stupor to help him.

"Dinnae worry, hen, we'll take good care of ye," it's not reassuring. You think you feel your knees hitting each other from the force of your shaking. "Awe, don't cry."

Two rivers have sprouted form your eyes, tracking searing hot salt down your cheeks, hands twisting in your habit.

The men regroup. You were right about the mustached man being a leader, and learn his name is Price. He commands them like any armyman you've ever seen, clearly holds a lot of authority.

You're the only nun that's a part of the spoils.

The only one tied with coarse rope around the wrists, chafing, tossed between Soap and Gaz through the convent until you reach those big wooden doors.

Those doors you'd dreamed about opening, those doors that you dread opening now.

"Keep walking," Gaz says. He's mellower than the others, but you'd be a fool to underestimate him.

Or ask him for help.

Reality hasn't set. You're in purgatory, stumbling across the wet grass in just wool socks, growing wetter by the minute from mist and dew. The men hoot and cheer and clank their gold, throwing fists and weapons in the air.

A bloodless victory, unless they change their mind and decide to kill you.

Soap jumps, accidentally pulling you forward in a jerk that brings you to your knees. The tears come back, and the pebbles nearing the beach digging into your knees makes you sob.

"Careful!" Ghost barks. Behind you, he reaches under your armpits and helps you up. His hands are still rough, but he lets go of you quickly to yank the rope out of Soaps hands. It doesn't help that it's still near-pitch outside, not yet morning, hard to see.

"Ach," he rubs a hand behind his head, watching you cry and walk like a deadwoman. "Got a little over-excited, darlin. Forgive me."

"I'll be better to ye, don't worry," he falls in beside you, using a knuckle to brush away your tears.

When you reach the beach, you see a few boats, supplies, but that's all. No camp, nowhere to sleep. Did they jump straight from the boats, marching up the hill to the convent to pillage?

God, they're so big. Warriors. Why just you?

"Right," Price calls them to attention. You're stuck next to Ghost, sniffling, shivering a little, praying mentally for the first time in a long time. Dear God, please help me, please strike these men dead and let me run back up the hill.

You miss what Price says, whispering under your breath with your eyes closed and palms together until Ghost puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you forward again.

"Walk, then get on the boat," his voice is a growl.

"Dinnae worry," Soap chips in. "We brought meat."

They did - dried fish hangs like your laundry across each boats. The gold is loaded alongside you, stuffed to one side, and you're left trying to avoid the men tossing things in your direction.

Ghost ties your wrists to a wooden loop on the side of the boat.

It was built for this. For prisoners, slaves, taken in conquest.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Price shouts, the men answer. It's loud, a cacophony of voices and waves and the scrape of the boat against the sand.

You're going, going, gone. Floating. Adrift. Tied to the side of a viking ship with nothing but your thick, woolen habit and woolen socks. At least they provide some warmth, the air colder over the water.

Eyes look you up and down, not just from the two that took you. Gaz smiles to himself and punches Soap in the thigh, then they play wrestle.

You wonder what will happen to you- are you being taken as a slave? A prize?

The positive side to your time spend as a nun is that you know how to work, and you know that if something awful happens, you could find a way to meet God early and put yourself down.

Blood rushes in your ears again.

You register from somewhere outside of yourself that you're panicking again, caught wanting to run and having nowhere to do it. Tied down.

A hand touches your nape, and you turn with wild eyes and desperation all over your face to Ghost.

"Take a breath," he says, low enough that only you hear it, firm and commanding. "In and out, girl. Do it."

You do, if only to save yourself passing out. In and out, in and out, you breathe.

"That's it," he leans down, brown eyes finding yours. The skull is bleached yellow, old, but you try to ignore it. "You're alright."

"No I'm not," you shock the both of you by speaking, voice high and wavering. "I'm not, you're going to kill me or worse-"

"You think we'd take you just to kill you?"

"You're a heathen, aren't you?" you gasp again, wiping your face on the fabric of your sleeves. "Sister Catharine says heathens sacrifice virgins. Please don't."

He startles you by laughing, a ragged thing ripped from his chest.

"Not gonna sacrifice you, lamb," his hand squeeze your nape, his thumb rubbing the edge of your jaw where he can reach. "Gonna be a long journey, you'd better settle now."

It's hell. You were mistaken before, and you'd do anything now to go back to embroidery. You'd let the abbess cane you bloody, you'd kneel and pray with the passion of Christ himself if it meant you could come off the boat.

The boat, the men. The godforsaken fish, too-salty, not much better than the biscuits Soap insists on feeding you by hand.

"Your hands are tied, pretty lamb, how are ye gonna feed yourself?" He breaks it up, wiping crumbs from your cheeks.

You hope Ghost will step in, but he doesn't. He watches, a specter, still wearing that mask on his face. You wonder if it's because of you, or if he's just like that. Private, hidden. Intimidating.

"Open wide," Soap seems fond of holding your face, squishing your cheeks and puckering your lips. He's extra zealous since catching a sea-bird, keen on making you taste it.

The thought makes your stomach roil, despite being sick of the fish and biscuits. You turn your face, trying to avoid him, whimpering when he squeezes a little too hard.

"Come on, hen," he leans closer. "Fresh meat is good, no?"

"Johnny", Ghost saves you again, finally. Pulls on Johnny's shirt until he's sitting back on his heels. "Let her be."

"Awe, just wanna giv'er my catch, Si," if a heathenish, kidnapping devil could whine and pout like a child, it would look like this.

Horrific, is what it is. You tuck your face into your elbow and close your eyes.

You've been doing that most of the journey, closing your eyes and breathing deeply like Ghost taught you. Or Simon, what you've heard Johnny calling him.

Dread sneaks in every once in a while, wakes you up from fitful sleeps or seizes your ability to speak. Nobody else has spoken to you, not even Gaz who keeps glancing at you. Nobody but Simon and Johnny.

"Here," Simon says. You look up.

In his hand, an apple. Your eyes go wide, prickling, and you look even further up to him.

His eyes reveal nothing. Brown, flat.

"For me?" you ask.

"You see me offering it to anyone else?" from the corner of your eye, Soap is staring at you, smiling.

"I can have it?" an apple. You could dance. Days and days of travel after living in the same town and then the same convent to taken by force on a boar. An apple.

"Take it before I give it to Johnny," he grunts.

Suddenly, you feel a kinship with Eve.

Seasickness luckily doesn't affect you, and the melancholy is kept at bay by the apple. You think of it when you think you can't take anymore, remembering it's sweetness.

Simon becomes the safest person, and often if you feel scared your eyes find him.

When a minor storm rocks the boat, pelting rain, waves beating against the front, you tuck yourself close to his side and let Johnny take your hands into his.

Too easy to lean into them, to accept Johnny wiping your face gently with a cloth and eat fresh fish from Simons fingers. You're exhausted, and Simon doesn't push.

He just remains steadfast against chaos, even when Johnny fights with another one of the men and he has to pull them apart by their shirts.

"Si'down!" he barks, the loudest you've ever heard him. It makes you flinch, hiding again, until he sits heavily down beside you and you scoot as close as possible again.

"Not the smartest, are you?" he looks down. That hurts. You're just scared, is all. "Doesn't matter who's there, you'd cling right to them, wouldn't you?"

No, you want to say. But you just hide your face in your arms and cry again. You want to tell him the apple was special, that you know nobody else has one or got one, but you don't.

Your heart beats hard against your ribcage, that dread coming back again, feeling heavy and small under the weight of your predicament and his judgment.

"He didnae mean it," Johnny croons. He strokes your hair away from your face, thumbs finding your tense brows and smoothing them out. "We know you're a good girl. S'why we took ye."

You sniffle. The rocking of the boat has become both maddening and soothing.

You wonder when this journey will end.

Your clothes are stiff with salt, wetted and dried and re-wetted. Your skin itches, wrists burning, welts unhealed from before when the abbess has caught you sneaking mead.

She had accused you of indulgence, of trying to get drunk. Truthfully, you'd just liked the taste of honey and missed it.

Nuns didn't eat honey, at least not there. Cheese and wine were already over the top, God forbid anyone ate anything sweet. That's why you loved the apple, had held each bite long on your tongue, letting the sugars sit there a moment to savor them.

"Hey," someone nudges you, bringing you out of your half-sleep. Easier to be less conscious, less aware, trying not to feel your anguish and your physical pain. "Come on, get up. We're here."

"Hmm?" You're so tired, hissing and whimpering when your wrists are jostled.

Untied. They're being untired. Your head lifts too quickly, making you dizzy. Gaz is squatting in front of you, holding your leash.

"You awake?" he squints, tilting his head. "You look rough, sorry 'bout that. You good to stand?"

Too many questions. You're forced to lean on him heavily to try to stand. He's as solid as the others, just leaner. Kinder, honestly, as he mostly carries you off the longboat.

Muscles like a new foal, you take a seat on the soft wet sand and slump onto a crate. It's a struggle to walk on solid ground.

Men move around you, dumping and lifting and talking. Less excited than the last time they were on the beach, but there's still a buzz aflutter.

"Can I bring'er up?" Johnny is looking at you, his hand on Simon's forearm. Their affection is the quiet kind, something you only noticed the last couple days of the journey. Small touches, murmurs.

"Go ahead," Simon touches him back, moving towards Price when Johnny comes towards you.

"Awe, lamb," he coos, hauling you up with an arm around his shoulder. His other arm goes to hold your waist, squeezing. "Dinnae worry, I'll get ye in a bath soon 'nough."

He's not lying - after a painful, difficult walk, you make it to a wooden cabin. Looking around, there are a few of similar make, a little town.

"Go on in then, sweet hen," he pushes you just enough for you to shuffle your feet in the door.

Modest wooden furniture greets you, a one-room house with a large bed, fireplace, and table. The rest is beyond you once you spot the tub.

"Sit, let me get it ready for ye."

You nearly fall asleep, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes Johnny has steaming water filled to halfway in the tub, wooden slats fragrant. He's crumbling a dried flower in as well, humming to himself.

"Alright, s'ready," he helps you up again. Modesty is forgotten, you're too tired and weary to care when he slips the woolen habit off and leaves you in a plain shift, finally untying your wrists. "Pretty girl." He says it under his breath, like he can't help it.

The water is better than the apple. You hiss when it touches your wounds, your sore muscles.

You're tired to your marrow, could weep about it, eyes still opening and closing. Around you, Johnny searches through various bags and chests until he finds a bar of soap.

The soap is better than the water.

"Feels good?" he whispers, dipping his hands in and lathering up. How he's up and about, you have no idea. Even his hands near your bare breasts don't phase you - that's how wiped you are.

"S'good," you mumble. "Thought I ws'gonna die."

"We wouldn't've let that happen, sweet girl. Too precious, our treasure," a kiss, on your shoulder. He rubs the soap on your skin, your arms and down to your fingers, washing them each one by one.

"N'ver want to do that again," and then, because you forget he's your captor. "Please."

The attention is soft, patient. The soap washes away salt and dirt and sweat, even tears when he wipes your face with a rag. This is a second baptism, a better one, with gentle hands massaging your scalp and the barest brush against your nipples.

"Sit up," he pushes you forward, rinses your hair, washes your back while you're there.

The rag swipes over your cunt when he gets there, once, twice, eyes boring into you. Your exhaustion mutes the squeeze of anxiety in your chest, closing your eyes to avoid his gaze.

"Right, all done," he helps you back out and into a long, thin shift.

The bed is soft, so soft, covered in furs and actually stuffed enough to cradle your body. You sink into it immediately, just barely registering the door opening again.

"She asleep?" It's Simon, carrying luggage.

"Aye," Johnny says. You hear them kiss, wondering if they think you're asleep. "Anything else?"

"No," he's gruff, to-the-point. Drops bags in the corner with a clank and a chest by the door with a thud. "She give you trouble?"

"Sweet as a lamb, our girl," he sounds proud.

You open your eyes, one last attempt at self-preservation, and see them looking down at you.

Simon swipes a thumb over your cheek, under your eye, still wearing the skull.

"It's alright, go to sleep," he murmurs. Johnny leans his head on Simons shoulder. "Perfect girl, knew we did good takin' you."

[ask-an-epidemiologist]

Why "COVID anxiety" is not an actual disorder

In psychiatric terms, a phobia is considered as such if, and only if, it is unreasonable. So, an average person experiencing panic attacks at the sight of bees would be considered to have a phobia, because they are more afraid than the risk bees present to them.

However, a person with a fatal allergy to bee stings would not be considered apiphobic. This is because, with the risk of death bees present to them, having panic attacks is considered a rational reaction.

I'm sure you can already understand my point.

COVID not only can kill you (particularly if you're medically vulnerable), but it can cause severe disability. Even ignoring that people who have had COVID in the last three weeks are 81 times likelier to die of cardiac events than uninfected people, survivors of COVID are also 40% likelier to develop neurological sequelae. Rates of POTS or other dysautonomias (dysfunctions of the autonomous nervous system, which can be anywhere from "uncomfortable" to "rendering a patient bedridden") are through the roof, and neurologists are finding huge increases in the under-45 demographic of their dementia patients- a demographic that was previously extremely rare.

If someone wears protective eyewear while welding because they don't want to be blinded by an arc flash, we consider that a normal and reasonable precaution. So why are people who mask being labeled as "anxious about COVID" considering that this virus will very likely disable them if not kill them outright?

"COVID anxiety" is a rational behavior, not a medical diagnosis- so why are we treating it as one? Simple: it's another politicization of medicine. Just as "hysteria" was used to silence women, and lobotomization was used to subjugate inconvenient people (especially of rival political affiliations), "COVID anxiety" is being used to silence those who refuse to cooperate with the false narrative that COVID is over and/or no big deal. The very sight of a mask is a stark reminder to medical officials and laymen alike that they should be doing something they aren't. It's why some doctors aren't even "letting" chemo patients, one of the most severely immunocompromised demographics, do this. Because even though they are carefully avoiding a lot more illnesses than COVID, the sight of the mask still makes the doctor think of the COVID precautions they are ignoring first and foremost.

That is to say, "COVID anxiety" is a punitive diagnosis made by doctors when they are angry at the discomfort they feel when their patients remind them of their utter inadequacy, and they created this solely to stigmatize and demean patients to ensure they wouldn't subvert the expected power dynamic again.

Zero competent medical professionals actually use this terminology for their patients, and if yours uses it for you, run, don't walk, to a new clinic. Helping you is a secondary goal at best for your doctor.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Trophy | 141 x Reader

Day 15: Fantasy AU w/ Task Force 141

Summary: When the MacTavish Clan raids a neighboring clan who grew a bit too bold, they don’t expect to find the feisty, beaten wife of the other clan’s chief.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Violence, blood, implied abuse, death, implied rape, kidnapping

A/N: well this was supposed to be fluff, but I hope you enjoy regardless, lmk what you think<3

Requests are open!

The MacTavish Clan had been preparing for a raid on a neighboring clan that kept pushing boundaries, with local women disappearing into the night with no explanation at all, weapons disappearing, and footsteps discovered that weren’t of the style of shoe anyone within the clan wore, and that was among the less suspicious things.

The most talented and local blacksmith, Simon, known for his welding mask in a skull shape, had been honing the weapons for it.

Johnny, the leader of the Clan, had been discussing plans with Price, the leader of their men, and Gaz, his advisor. The general idea was simple, keep it undercover as long as possible, or until signs of their missing women and supplies were found, then they would go loud, letting every other man flood in.

Plunder what they could from the Gravison Clan, take their resources, and lives, and maybe take a few women from them in retaliation.

A few hours later, things were progressing smoothly, Price having infiltrated their walls under the cover of darkness, most men settling down for the night already, when the warlord discovered just what he’d been expecting in a large boat just offshore: the women of the MacTavish Clan bound and gagged in the storage compartment in the bottom.

One flaming arrow was shot into the sky, and just like that, every man from the Clan was flooding the Gravison Clan’s walls and defenses, slaughtering everyone they found save for the women and children, hunting down their leader, going through every house and home, Johnny wanting the kill for himself.

When he finally found the man, cowering inside a large home, he slit his throat after distributing more than a few hits to his body, and more than a few barked insults and curses at him.

The man’s head was soon put on a pike to be displayed, a sign of warning.

But what he hadn’t expected to find was a feisty woman, the wife of the Gravison Clan’s leader, fighting more than even her husband had, yelling and hissing and cursing at Johnny as he grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder even as she kicked and clawed, nails drawing a bit of blood. It wasn’t often he took a prize from his battles, but you were intriguing, he’d never seen a woman with so much fight.

“Quit yer yappin’, woman.”

He grumbled as you pounded at his back, cursing him out so severely that the Devil himself would blush. The smell of smoke was thick in the air as huts and buildings were burned, leaving behind ashy remnants of what had been of the Clan.

Burnt bones crunched beneath his feet as he walked back to what had been of the gates, approaching his short, sturdy horse, hopping on in one smooth movement, one hand gathering both reigns as Price joined him on his own horse, following as Johnny took point back to the MacTavish Clan’s lands.

His warlord only raised a brow at the yelling woman thrown over his shoulder but didn’t question it, the ride silent back to their lands as your throat eventually grew too raw to keep screaming, body shivering from the cold and the exhaustion quickly seeping deep into your bones. Whether you had fallen asleep or passed out was lost on him, but he didn’t care either way, Price only spoke once he was sure your breathing had fallen into a deeper rhythm indicating unconsciousness.

“Didn’t take you as one to take a prize mare.”

Price commented, carefully eying his Chief, trying to read his mood based on the little tells. Johnny shrugged.

“Not a prize mare, just felt different about this one.”

And that was that. The conversation had ended, Price only giving a little grunt in return before they continued on the path home.

When they finally arrived, they had plenty of work to do.

~

When you woke, you first registered the pounding headache between your eyes, the loud sounds outside of work being done, people shouting, wood being sawed, and metal being hammered, only adding to your discomfort.

You tried to sit up, quietly groaning, leaning against the wall behind you.

It was a wonder you weren’t dead yet, honestly. But maybe that was part of their game, maybe they would just give you a glimmer of hope only to slaughter you like cattle, or turn you into a sex slave, or just an object to take their anger out on. It wouldn’t surprise you.

Your clothes had been changed. From the thin nightgown you’d worn the night earlier, now to a thin white smock, a strap dress sewn together at the sides hanging nearby.

Splotchy bruises were spread across your skin from the night earlier, though you couldn’t tell if they were from the other Chief, or your husband’s hands nights ago. They felt tender when you brushed a hand against them as if someone had rubbed against them.

You were in what seemed to be a separate section of a longhouse, a lit torch burning mildly as it hung from the mud and stone walls. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness that still prevailed in the room, just as you heard a door creak, scrambling away as a man with honey-brown skin and short, tightly curled hair stepped in.

“Easy, I’m not here to hurt you.”

He said, offering a small smile that would’ve been reassuring in any other predicament. There was a platter in his hands, looking as if it was made of terracotta, a small roasted bird resting on it as he stepped further in, shutting the door behind him.

You watched warily as he set the plate down on one end of the bed you were in, moving to lean against a wall opposite the bed. He watched as you slowly picked the plate up, glancing at the food, before pulling the wing part off with cracked nails, taking a bite, and reluctantly deciding it was delicious.

“I’m Kyle, but everyone calls me Gaz. You are..?”

You looked him dead in the eye, chewing your bite of food, dead stare unnerving him slightly, before you swallowed, a flicker of pain in your eyes from how your throat ached until you finally responded.

“Y/N.”

You croaked out, and he nodded, but frowned slightly, giving you a glance over, before his gaze went back to your face.

“I'll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to be so docile, considering you just watched your husband die by our Chief’s hand—“

“Good.”

Your raspy voice interrupted, eyes boring into his as you took another bite of the meat, and you watched his brows furrow for a moment. You shifted in the bed slightly, moving to pull your knees to your chest, plate balancing on your knee as the smock was pulled up slightly, showcasing one of the nastier bruises on your thigh.

His eyes darted to the bruises, quickly piecing things together as he carefully spoke his next few words.

“Your husband wasn’t a good man, was he?”

You shook your head, and he gave a little thoughtful nod, getting up, opening the door, walking out, closing it while muttering to himself. You managed to hear only a quiet,

“Bloody hell,”

Tags:

@hawke1917

@flufftober

[spookyxcupid]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃~ ♡

cw: dom!afab!reader, ten year age gap, virginity loss, spitting, cowgirl, creampie, overstimulation, crying (in a good way).

word count: 1.1 k words

a/n: how do i keep coming up with toe curling fics in the middle of the night???

imagine being in a secret relationship with your father’s loser best friend, the man is thirty years old and has not had any experience with women besides jerking off to their naked pictures in pornos and lewd magazines. he only had one girlfriend in his highschool years, but it didn’t last long. he’s surviving off of two dead end jobs, and spends his free time alone in his one bedroom apartment playing video games and watching romcoms, wishing that he could be the main character who gets the girl. but all of that seemed impossible, until you appeared in his life.

his best friend invited him after what felt like forever to his house to celebrate his daughter’s twentieth birthday (although you never knew he was coming), and the lonely loser agreed in seconds.

he was mostly just there for the free food, and didn’t bother with talking to anybody. but what he didn’t know, was that his best friend’s daughter was eyeing him like candy the whole time. he felt the urge to take a piss and quickly got up, and you followed him behind. you waited outside the bathroom until he opened the door, and he was surprised to see your face for sure.

but you being the kind (horny) soul that you were, approached him and started small talk. while you were talking, his eyes couldn’t help but stare intently at your lips, they were plump with a pink gloss shimmer to them; the way your dress hugs around your figure and makes your chest pop up, your squishy.. soft chest… oh god, he could feel himself getting hard. he shouldn’t be feeling this way, you’re his best friend’s daughter for star’s sake!

you seem to notice him staring at your physical features because your eyes darkened slightly with lust, and your lips curled into a knowing smirk. “you know, i’m getting pretty tired, i wanna go to my bedroom but i don’t wanna go alone. do you mind coming with me?” you wrapped your hand on around his own, and he flinches. is this real? are you suggesting what he thinks you’re suggesting?? this has never happened to him in the history of ever!

as if you could read his mind you lean towards his ear and whisper, “i’ll show you a good time that you’ll never have again~.” all the blood from his brain is escaping down to his shaft that already straining against his pants. he gulps and quickly tries to think, this could be his only chance of having a fuck, but on the other hand your party is still going on, what if someone got worried and started looking for you?

“don’t worry your brain too much, i told them was going to take a little nap. that’ll give us plenty of time to.. get to know each other, if you want to,” you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, his friend downstairs was in charge and he agreed with no second thought, and that was the best decision of his life.

he had never felt so euphoric than right now, his hands held onto your waist for dear life as you roughly moved your hips up and down his cock. his hands and fleshlight could never compare to your warm, sponges walls strangling the life outta his member. your childhood bedroom was filled with the stench of sex and sweat, labored breaths and moans suffocated the room. your tits and thighs bounced along with your movements, he let out a whine when he came for the third time, at this point you were milking him dry like a hungry animal. overstimulated tears welded up in his eyes, but he doesn’t dare try to stop you for the pleasure was too great.

you moaned in his ear when you felt his dick hit your sweet spot, and your hips moved faster. “fffuck! oh fuck- ahh! t-this is too much! so f-fucking good!” he rambled to himself when he felt your walls tightening around his, showing that your climax is near. you hold face and kiss him, catching him by surprise but he melts into it immediately. when you pull back, a string of saliva catches between your tongues, and you get an idea. “open y-your mouth for me, baby,” he complies, then you gather up your remaining saliva and spat into his mouth. his eyes glaze over as he cries out, releasing his hot load inside your stuffed pussy. you followed after him and bit onto his neck as your mixed releases escape your cunt.

he collapses onto the bed as you remained up, your handed placed onto his chest for stability as you pant into the humid air. you at your father’s best friend’s neck in pride and lust, you had marked him as yours. his glossy eyes stare up at the ceiling, your bedsheets were dirty and have been gone for too long than expected. you lean forward to pat his cheek to which he finally seemed to snap back.

“t-that was, so so amazing,” he said breathlessly, he stares at you with longing as you smile down at him. “you’re so adorable when you cum, i think i’ll keep you,” you say as you caress his face. his face erupted in red, “k-k-keep..?” you giggle under your palm as you nod your head, “as much as i would love to keep going until you can’t cum anymore, i’m afraid we’ve been gone for too long,” he lets out a hiss when you pulled yourself off his soft sensitive dick, but his eyes lingered on your cunt that was overflowing with his cum. damn, did he really cum inside you four times before you could? ugh, so embarrassing.

“hey pretty boy, are you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna join me in the shower? we can’t show up looking like we ran a marathon,” you winked at him with a grin as you walked inside your personal bathroom and turned on the warm water. he had never gotten up from a bed faster in his life. after cleaning yourselves up and tidying up your room, you and your lover joined the party once more, except that you didn’t leave him alone for one second. you introduced him to your friend group and participated in party games all day until it was over.

you gave him your number and a smooch on the cheek in private and set off inside your home. since then, you’ve been treating him with dinners, friend hangouts, picnics, mind blowing sex (obviously), just overall treating him better than anyone else in his life.

being yours was amazing~.

[themaclean]

We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

[nolan-chance-fortnite]

Ranking girls from the island!

S TIER

White girl: LOOK AT HER GOOO WOAH great body! Call me babe! I like rich gals!

Red girl with welding mask: She could use a bath but YEAH! She's hot not gonna lie, blue eyes drive me crazy. I like women who now how to weld, that's something you don't see every day

TIER A

Purple girl: She has such pretty face, but she also looks evil, like she could kill me (in the nice and the not so nice way). Nice coat.

Dark haired Girl: She's pretty! I like her shaved sides

TIER B

Pink haired cutie: I love her style, she looks like a tough gal, like she can defend me, I like that!

TIER C

Persephone: Persephone

Googles girl: Nice I guess? Reminds me of Piper, for the black and white things on the racing tracks

TIER D

Scarr: Scarry. Man, I wish my abs were as ripped as hers

Girl with white thing of her face: Hello good morning, I like whatevers going on in your hair

Hope: Hope

[roach-works]

hey roach, no answer needed, but i'd value your perspective. i was talking to a friend about gender, and we got stuck. he said that statistically men are more common in certain manual jobs due to physiological differences - differences that are important to acknowledge in the effort towards true equality. i said that men and women are more alike than not, and if we focus on the differences that's all we see. is there anything you'd add to this? i respect your opinion, is all. have a lovely day!

men are more common in certain manual jobs largely due to HISTORICAL AND PRESENT DAY DISCRIMINATION AND RAMPANT UNCHECKED SEXUAL ABUSE OF THE WOMEN THAT DO SHOW UP.

like, yes, there's certainly a lot of women's jobs that don't involve manual labor, and arguably a lot of women work jobs that don't involve manual labor. but like so do finance jobs, programming, engineering, trucking, data entry, being a fucking CEO? which are male dominated, but are mostly done sitting down.

there's a lot of jobs thought of as feminine, like nursing and waitressing, that involve hauling ass all fucking day, and this is not thought of as hard manual labor, because women do them. similarly, keeping house? cooking, cleaning, caring for children, getting groceries, running errands: these are not sedentary tasks for weak little ladies. this is exercise.

it's like the low pay. women don't take low paying jobs. women are paid less than men, regardless of the job they take. women don't take 'easy' jobs that 'aren't physical'. they're considered to have easy, non-physical jobs because they are seen as weak.

i gained a lot of weight and muscle going into welding, because HRT made it faster and easier for me to get the benefit of the strength training i was deliberately putting myself through. if i had stayed a girl, i would still have become just as strong. it would simply have taken me longer. even now, five or six years in, i don't have the skeletal build for pronounced upper body strength, but i have the ass of a dump truck, and the thighs of two more dump trucks. i can lift whatever i need as long as i can use core strength to heft it, no manly biceps necessary. there's no reason i couldn't be doing the same thing as a woman. one of my friends who is a nurse hauls people around all day and they can pick ME up without trying and they've never done T at all.

tl;dr: women are seen as weak and therefore their jobs are seen as easy. neither perception is actually true.

[trivia-yandere]

hiiii 💕

since you guys are doing requests, can i request one of the members idolverse {whoever you choose} has a fantasy or kink thats kinda looked down upon but they pay someone {mc lol} to live out the fantasy?

i love your guys works 🥰

hello, yes we can write up something quick, I'm sure!

of course with a little twist

creep

park jimin had it all. he was loved throughout the world as an idol apart of one of the biggest groups. he had the popularity, respect and adoration - and a few haters; but what idol didn’t? what park jimin wasn’t expecting for was infamous blogger, Creep, to be reporting on him. writer: lyse @momnomnom @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree

warning: idol! Jimin, dirty talk, r*pe fantasy/consenual-nonconsensual, yandere moments, crying, screaming, fingering, blackmail, impregnation kink, spitting,

The buzzing sounds of phones surrounding Jimin startles him. He offers a soft smile, raising a brow as he feels eyes on him. Murmurs erupt and he’s concerned.

Jimin feels his own phone vibrate and he goes to remove it from his pocket. He unlocks it and is horrified by the words displayed on his screen.

Jimin’s heart beats faster - as if it’s going to explode out of his chest. The sounds of the murmurs surrounding him grows louder - yet he cannot hear a word.

“Please stop!” a cry erupts through the loudspeaker, a woman’s voice. “Please don’t do this Jimin-ssi.”

Oh no. Jimin heart sinks. His eyes weld with tears.

“Shut up.” Jimin’s voice sounds next and now he feels his feet picking up to move - to get away from this; whatever this was. “You’re nothing but a dirty whore who’s going to take what I give her.”

Please stop.

“Jimin-ah, wait!” Jimin knows the voice of his Hyung, but he doesn’t stop moving. Not until he’s running as far as his legs take him until he collapses on the ground in a fit of tears.

Jimin recalls first meeting you - the beauty of a woman you were - so simple yet effective. You weren’t an idol - which was an added bonus. He was well known outside of the K-pop industry and gossip between idols was something he didn’t need. If you were a fan of his, you did a good job at hiding it. You spoke to him as if he wasn’t famous, an act he appreciated.

“It’s normal.” Jimin recalls hearing.

Normal. But was it?

Jimin takes a deep breath and nods his head, palms sweating as he signs the few documents - most of them being NDA’s and contracts. His heart thumps rapidly and his cheeks are slightly flushed with embarrassment.

“Idols do this all the time.” His lawyer assures, giving him a slight nod. “Not everyone has time to date but we all have needs.” Jimin flushes deeper at the words ‘needs’.

Jimin takes a deep breath and nods once more. He understood he wasn’t the only idol who did this - after all he was recommended by his own hyung. But knowing that essentially, he was signing dozens of contracts and NDA’s (as was other woman) and paying a subscription to meet women who are willing to partake in his sexual preferences. If teenage him could see his adult self and understand what he was doing, he would surely laugh. Paying for sex would have never crossed his mind back in those days.

“We have a few matches.” The Lawyer declares, turning the laptop towards Jimin. “I’ll give you privacy since you have no desire in letting me know your…preferences.”

Jimin nods. He takes hold of the laptop and skims the matches - only a few, yet he understands his own kinks are not exactly ideal.

You sit across from him, legs crossed. You were here in the flesh now - not over a screen on the expensive laptop his lawyer showed him. He was nervous while you appeared nonchalant - did you do this often? He wouldn’t ask, it was none of his business what you did outside of him.

“Jimin-ssi.”

Your voice startles him, it’s sweet and low; seductive. It makes his brain fog with a million questions.

“Relax.” You continue, uncrossing your legs. You wore a skirt and Jimin’s mind swirls at the thought of touching your smooth skin - and bruising it beneath his hands.

“Are you thirsty?” Jimin gulps. He turns away from you where you sat at his kitchen island. His hands are trembling when he grabs a glass ready to fill it with whatever. “I have water, juice, wine-“

“Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin yelps when he turns to find you directly in front of him. You place both of your hands upon his chest, eyes glancing up at his. You were good at this - this couldn’t be the first time. Maybe you were a trained actress?

“How do you want me?”

Your words shoot to Jimin’s core. He can smell your scent - a vanilla cashmere that entices his senses.

“I-I don’t-“ Jimin shakes his head.

“I know what you…like.” You smile up at Jimin, innocent eyes shining with mischief. “…How do you want me to act?”

Jimin was never proud of what his sexual fantasies were. It was disgusting - he couldn’t imagine actually acting out his desire with a woman that wasn’t willing. Even now as you stand before him - paid in advance - to act out his desire, he’s unsure if he truly should be doing this.

Jimin flinches when you begin to cry - real tears streaming down your face. You shake your head and push yourself from him. He reaches out for you, grabbing your wrists. “Y/N-ah? What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide.

“Jimin-ah…” you shake your head, tears halting. “I’m fine. Promise.” You giggle. “I’m here to please you. You have a rape-“

“Please don’t say it aloud.” Jiimin gulps - the word itself disgusts him and he wishes nothing more he would be normal and have a foot fetish; it would be easier if so.

“I apologize. I won’t.” You nod, understanding. “I’m here to help you. Remember my safe word?”

“Apple sauce…” Jimin nods, cheeks flushed.

“Right.” You nod. “Anything you do with me is safe. We’re both consenting adults.”

Jimin nods.

“What do you see in Porn? Maybe I can reenact it with you?” you suggest and Jimin is unsure. He never showed his preferred porn to anyone - it was all far too graphic to show anyone.

“I-I don’t-“

You slap Jimin hard across the face. he’s stunned, unsure what to do.

“I’ll never let a man like you touch me.” You seethe, eyes glaring at Jimin. It’s obvious you’re attempting the best you could at getting Jimin to reenact his desires with you - but he wasn’t going to do anything if you didn’t lead.

“You think just because you’re Park Jimin that you deserve me?” You begin to laugh, shaking your head. “You’re pathetic.”

Jimin licks his lips. He touches his cheeks; the stinging feeling feels like a kiss.

“Did I hurt you?” You snicker, tilting your head and puckering your lips mockingly. You turn away from him. “I’m leaving. I can’t believe-“

You yelp when you feel your hair being yanked back. A hand wraps around your neck and squeezes it.

“You’re a bitch.” Jimin hisses.

“Get off of me!” You flare your arms to push at him, but Jimin is stronger - he may appear petite compared to other men, but he’s a man, nonetheless.

Jimin pushes you into the island. Your back hits it and within seconds, his hands are on your legs. So smooth and it causes him to release a low moan. “You came here dressed like a slut for me, didn’t you?” Jimin chuckles, eyes darkening and tone of voice becoming much deeper. “Smelling good tempting me.”

“Get off!” You scream, pushing Jimin away from you but you don’t succeed.

Jimin’s hands find their way to your bare thighs. He rips them apart, index finger swiping between your clothed clit. “You’re dripping.” Jimin laughs. “Whores are always wet.”

Jimin’s eyes catches yours just in time for the tears to fall - it excites him; the frightened look contorted onto your beautiful face, the tears dripping from your terrified eyes.

Jimin yanks your panties down - it’s simple cotton ones that nearly rips with the force. Quickly, he dips his fingers inside of you. You’re tight but dripping wet and his fingers enter without much force.

“Please stop, Jimin-ssi!” You cry out, hands pushing at his shoulders, but you clench around his fingers.

“Your pussy is so wet, bitch.” Jimin chuckles, thrusting two fingers inside of you. “Crying for me to stop but dripping all over my hands!”

Jimin removes his fingers and enters them into his mouth. You gulp - the sight surprises you and arouses you even, but you don’t break character.

“And taste so sweet.” Jimin moans, popping his fingers from his mouth. He enters them again, thrusting even harder. He could hear your moans mixed with your cries and it fuels him to thrust even more.

You cry louder - it was to die down the moans. Jimin was good at this - you note that this couldn’t be his first - or even tenth time - doing this to a woman. He was sexy, he had the look and the experience; he just needed someone (you) to assist in fulfilling his deepest, darkest desires.

Jimin removes his fingers. The number of times he pleasured a woman signals him when you were close to cumming - and he wasn’t here to pleasure you.

“Open your mouth, bitch.” Jimin doesn’t wait for a response before shoving his fingers into your mouth, tips of his finger reaching your throat.

You gag, vision blurring due to the tears. The taste of your juices hits your taste bud, and a gush of wetness is dripping down your thighs.

Jimin removes his fingers from your throat and you instantly cough. He plays with the string of his sweatpants, untying it so he could be a few steps closer to violating you.

Your eyes widen when he easily removes his sweatpants and underwear at the same time, hardened cock springing out. You lick your lips, but the show must go on.

“Please don’t.” You cry out, attempting to hide yourself.

Jimin slaps you - it stings your face just as you were sure it did for him when you had. He continues to slap you a few more times on the same cheek until it’s red and throbbing, your tears burning your cheek when it falls.

Jimin grasps the length of his cock and inches closer to you. He was going to fuck you until you were begging him to stop, but even then he wouldn’t.

You gasp when you felt Jimin’s cock enter you - he has the correct amount of girth to have you stunned.

Jimin cannot stop the deep groan that comes from his throat. He should make sure you’re alright - this was nothing but a fantasy. This wasn’t him. He was a good man; but he doesn’t want to stop. He fucks into you at a rough pace, savage like. The sounds of your sweet pussy gushing for him, mixed with your cries and pleads for him to stop (and the echoes of skin slapping) was music to his ears. No porn he’s ever watched could ever compare to this moment right now.

“Please stop!” You plead - but you don’t want him to. You were doing what he paid you to do, but you clench around his cock. “Please don’t do this Jimin-ssi.”

“Shut up.” Jimin hisses, it prompts him to slap you across your face again; this time him spitting directly on you. “You’re nothing but a dirty whore who’s going to take what I give her.”

Jimin was never one to cum quickly - yet this was a dream come true to him. If he could be here with you all night and violate you, he would.

“I should breed you.” Jimin taunts, voice raspy that it sends you over the edge. You’re creaming around him, but still continue your waterworks.

“No!” You shake your head roughly. You were on birth control - he could cum inside of you if he truly wished. “Please-“

“Get you nice and pregnant like a whore likes.” Jimin’s fingernails dig into your thighs, thrust sloppy. “To show everyone who you belong to.”

“I’m not yours.” You hiss, hands slapping his chest as hard as you could.

“But you are.” Jimin removes his hand from your thigh to squeeze your throat. His thrusts are powerful and he’s cumming - inside of you as you continue to cry. He’s breathing hard, his vision blurring at the sensation; the thought of violating a bitch like you and impregnating her sends him over the edge.

Jimin falls to his knee’s when he shoves the doors open. The cool air greets him, but the soothing feeling doesn’t last long. He releases everything in his stomach onto the ground below him.

“Jimin…”

“Hyung,” Jimin gags, shaking his head. “…go away.”

“What’s going on, Jimin-ah?” Seokjin sounds concerned, startled to see his dongsaeng in such distress that it caused him to vomit. “This blogger Creep….”

“Hyung, please.” Jimin pleads. His head is pounding. His career would surely be over soon - his respect along with it. “I-I can’t.”

Jin swallows. Creep was far worse than any other blogger - they ruined the lives of countless idols for their own entertainment. Authorities don’t appear to care and whoever runs the creep blog had to be loaded - no idol has come close to paying them off.

“Is it true?” Jin murmurs after a few moments of silence. His eyes roam around the quiet street - paparazzi weren’t allowed (by law) in this area, however Creep appeared to be above the law.

“Hyung…”

“I’m not judging you, Jimin-ah. I’ll never do that.” Jin places a hand on Jimin’s back, kneeling down beside him.

Jimin releases a few short sobs but nods his head. He was humiliated - his peers wouldn’t look at him the same. He would go from respected to disgusted and despised - his fetish was looked down upon. It was sickening and the audio proof was more than enough to prove that it was him.

Jimin recalls the first time he was involved with the Blog known as simply Creep.

It was a few months after his first time with you. You and he saw one another every weekend - until it became more frequent. He couldn’t allow himself to be caught in a dating scandal, so you were only ever at his home, yet neither of you cared. You two would fuck disgustingly - him violating you (consensually) while you begged and cried for him to stop - and he never did unless he heard the safe word.

Jimin grew comfortable in his sexual fantasy. It was easier to relieve himself and the pent-up frustration when you were around. You never said the safe word and after it was all done, you and he talked. He assured you were safe while he got into the moment, and you insisted you were - even enjoyed it a great deal. Jimin would offer you food and drinks before you left - sometimes you would stay over. It began when Jimin insisted he would pay you extra to spend the night with him; you insisted he didn’t need to (but he did).

Jimin recalls the way his phone went off nonstop with notifications and waking him up from his nap. He was guilty to following the blog Creep, but he never would have thought he would be the trending topic of it.

Jimin’s heart stops for a mere second, eyes wide. He takes a few deep breaths to process everything. There wasn’t a picture attached to you entering his building - that was a good sign. However, creep was notorious at dropping little hints here and there before the big reveal - and that frightened him. If they knew about you, what else did they know?

As if clockwork, Jimin’s phone sounds again with a call from his lawyer. He answers it and places it upon his ear.

“They don’t know anything.” His lawyer assures, but the tone in his voice isn’t convincing. “Y/N has signed countless contracts and her going against them would be costly.”

Jimin takes a deep breath and nods. He knew it wasn’t you nor did he ever expect you had anything to do with it.

“Creep is nothing but an attention seeker, after all.” His lawyers snicker. “They and countless other blogs have been doing every and anything to get Bangtan involved in a scandal.”

That was true - his hyungs and him were by no means as squeaky clean as the public thought; but they weren’t bad people, either. They deserved privacy like other idols did - most scandals weren’t even scandalous. Idols had sex - if they were consensual what was the problem? Idols dated, they drank, smoked - lived.

Jimin understood that he was told strictly by his Lawyer to not engage; to ignore it. But he couldn’t. By the comments, most didn’t believe the Blogger and that only frightened him into a state of paranoia. If they didn’t believe Creep - then that only meant that Creep would give them something to believe in due time.

Jimin takes a deep breath and opens the email sent to him directly from Creep - the email responding to his own.

Creep: Park Jimin, what a pleasure for you to reach out to me! A big fan of your work if I do say so myself. I frequent your father’s cafe and I would have to say it’s worth the hype! But we’re not here to chit chat, aren’t we? You asked what I knew about your little…situation? You know a Creep like me has eyes and ears everywhere. How about this…I’ll show you a little snippet of my next post!

The attachment sent with the email makes him sick. It detailed everything that went on with you - about his fantasy and how he paid you to relive it with him. How Creep knew was beyond him, but now all Jimin could feel was sadness, confusion and disgust with himself and how he allowed himself to be in this position.

Jimin feels his hands shaking as he reads the text on his phone over and over until it’s permanently scarred into his brain. The notification popping onto his screen breaks the trance he was in - it was from Creep.

Creep: It’s been an hour…

Has it been that long since Jimin had sat and stared at his phone?

Creep: I know Idols such as big as yourself have a reputation to hold up to, so I didn’t release it all. I can make this next post go away for a price.

Jimin gulps. He understood well enough that idols and actors never paid off Creep.

Creep: I don’t want or need your money. But to keep doing what the public loves, how about we trade information? I’ll sweep this under the rug if you give me juicy secrets on the next Idol…actor…political figure. Your choice. You have 3 hours. Tick Tock.

“How do you think this got out?” Jin asks Jimin. They both stood in the restroom now, secluded from everyone else.

Jimin spits out the water he rinsed his mouth with and shakes his head. He’s unsure himself.

“Maybe it was…Y/N?” Jin hesitantly suggests. You were a soft topic for Jimin - especially now.

“She wouldn’t.” Jimin denies. “She’s just as involved in this as I am, Hyung.” Jimin’s hands turn to first. He inhales and exhales slowly, attempting anything to bring his sudden anxiety to ease. “How do you think I got out of this the first time?”

Jin raises a brow.

Jimin glances at himself in the mirror, Jin’s eyes meeting his on.

“You never told me Creep has contacted you before.” Jin signs.

One thing Jimin wasn’t expecting was for you to be outside his door an hour after he received the email from Creep, while he paced back and forth and contemplated what to do, you appeared far too calm. He’s apologized one too many times for getting you involved, not giving you the chance to speak until you interrupted him.

“Creep contacted me.”

“What?” Jimin quip, halting yet another apology. “What did-“

“I had to give them information on someone if I wanted to help you.”

Jimin shakes his head. He didn’t want you involved with his mess. Sure, he had way more to lose than you did, but you were also a human being. You deserved just as much privacy as he did - people's words were vicious and if you were involved in this scandal with him, who knows what you’d have to endure.

Jimin’s phone vibrated once more, and he releases another sign. He checks it, eyes scanning the screen with a puzzled look.

“Y/N…”

“I would rather it be him than you.” You shrug your shoulders. “He doesn’t have much to lose. He’ll recover.”

“Ignore it.” Jin hisses.

Creep had contacted Jimin again via email once Jimin was done recanting the memory with Jin. Jimin’s eyes are staring at his phone, contemplating what he should do. 

“I’ve been ignoring it for months, hyung.” Jimin responds low. “My life is ruined.”

Jin takes a step forward, hand reaching out to support his friend. 

Jimin takes a step back with a shake of his head. “I want to be alone, hyung.” he says to Jin without taking his eyes off of his phone. “Please.”

Jin wants to fight back and refuse. Jimin was a good man with no scandals. One such as big as this would shock the nation, even if it was with a consenting adult. However, Jin doesn’t want to push his friend over the edge and only nods. 

Jimin opens the email sent by Creep and begins to read.

Creep: Ah, Park Jimin. How are you? Rape anyone lately?

Jimin's blood boils at the tone in which Creep is emailing. He’s trembling - with fear? Anger? Possibly a mix of both. He’s trained for years to debut alongside his members. He worked hard for years on end to establish a career in the entertainment business just for it to be wiped away in a matter of seconds.

Jimin: Why did you do this to me?

Jimin awaits for an email in response, constantly refreshing his notifications to see it. When he does, he’s quick to open the email and read.

Creep: Why not? What makes Park Jimin special from gossip? I got tired of sitting on juicy information and now…now your secret is out! To think all you had to do was be a man and save yourself but you’d rather have a woman save you.

Jimin’s throat clenched when Creep mentions you. His life was not the only one ruined in this equation. If word got out who the woman was, it would be a nightmare for you just as it would be for him, as well. 

You lean back into your computer seat and sigh. You wait for Jimin’s email to come and when it does, you cackle.

Jimin: Y/N has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of my mess. I’ll pay whatever you need for me to ensure that she doesn’t get involved with this.

Jimin was sweet. To think that he was willing to pay you - Creep - to make sure that you weren’t involved in this scandal. It’s sad to see the man that everyone admired go down such a path of destruction. However, you’d do anything for a story and Jimin was one that was too good to pass up.

You didn’t need money, you had enough of it. Instead, you enjoyed the torment. Watching these idols, actors and politicians scramble and make public apologies to right their wrongs was like a binge worthy tv show.

Your phone sounds suddenly and you hum when you see the name on it. Jimin was calling you.

You take a deep breath before answering the phone. Instantly, tears form into your eyes and you’re crying onto the phone. 

“I’m so sorry Jimin! I don’t know what’s-”

“I’m not mad at you, Y/N.” Jimin assures. His voice is low and you can tell the man is deep in thought. “I know you had nothing to do with this.”

You want to laugh. 

“I…I’m going to do anything in my power to make sure your name doesn’t get released to the public, alright?”

“Jimin…”

“This is my mess. I’ll get myself out of it.” Jimin sighs. “I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay?”

When Jimin hangs up the phone, you slam it onto your desk and groan. Why did Jimin have to be such a good guy - it only made you want him more.

“I’m sure I can ruin someone else's life and make the people forget about Jimin for now.” you hum, opening folders on your desktop with a small smile placed onto your lips.

[gor3sigil]

Yo, I saw your post about trans dudes not gendering hobbies and I want to cosign it real hard

I'm a cis dude (or whatever... wrote that long ask the other day, so you see the whatever). I do stuff like wood carving... at some point I'd like to get into blacksmithing (and a million other things)

Are those masculine hobbies? What a weird thing to even ask, they're just themselves

Carving is carving, everyone should do it

I also want to pick up the skills to make my own clothes some day. Would that be masculine if I call it tailoring or feminine if I call it sewing? It's in fact just a good skill

And I mean Doki Doki is a great game, never played it, just watched it, but what fantastic characters. Liking it isn't gendered, you're right that there's nothing wrong with you

You know, I got into MLP back in like 2011... man... people just can't... eh... no I feel you hard on how it was for you though, cause while I still really love it, I haven't watched it in years, not cause of shame or something but just cause the infinite posts on here about guys who watch it all being creeps kinda sapped my ability to enjoy it

Great show though, still recommend it, just lost my own personal ability to enjoy it other than the occasional fan art

Point is with all of this, none of it effects your gender. Shows aren't gendered, hobbies aren't gendered. Things like make up or what kinda clothes you want to wear aren't gendered

Welding, knitting a baby onesie, blue and pink, dresses or overalls... none of this has gender. Men, women, trans, cis, anyone no matter who they are, how they identify... they all belong equally in all these things... what matters is if it's a good fit for you, there's no such thing as you having to fit the right boxes for it

Easier said than done sometimes to not care what other people thing, especially if it would put you at risk; but from an internal point of view, and from how much you should value others opinions on this... do what you like, and people who don't like it can piss off

But yeah, just saw that post and wanted to weigh in

The stuff I said is true for everyone, but bring it around towards trans men in particular, there's no right way to be a trans man. You're you, you're a trans dude... job done

You get to decide what it looks like for you, but none of this stuff is gendered. You could be the most masculine guy in make up, or you could do the daintiest welding in the most feminine way, but that's just you bringing your own style to it; and just like none of these hobbies are gendered, neither is being a trans guy

Like if you're a masculine trans guy that's great, but if you're real feminine that's great too. That's stuff's just the flavoring for how you're you, none of it's what makes you a guy

I hope you have a nice day

Thank you for your input and I totally agree with everything you said !

It sucks that you can't enjoy MLP like you used to... But yeah, there's a big stigma around "masc looking" people with "fem aligned (to society's standards" hobbies and interests. Like I said in my post, I'm a huge anime fan and I've seen so many cis men get shit for being creeps because they had like their favourite female characters from an anime or manga as their phone wallpaper, or because they had figures and posters, for people it can only be for "gross, NSFW purposes" when it's just people enjoying fictional characters.

And I hate when you say that and people are like "well IF the men in fandoms weren't ALWAYS CREEPS" and it's like: you're talking about the loudest crowd, not the majority. I'm not a big fan of fandoms in general because people tend to be too intense about the media, for me at least. But that's the point of a fandom and there's good and bad in it. It's not a gender thing.

I remember watching a little video about the MLP fandom and finding some things that came out of it like the huge conventions and fanfic and overall creativity so so great !! and then the youtuber introduced the more NSFW, weird part of the fandom and said "I think that the reason why men tend to sexualized fictional characters in shows and any medias is because it's the only way they ever learned to enjoy female characters. As a girl, I can relate to the characters that are girls because they experience similar things to me, but to men, the only relatable and enjoyable thing they can possibly get out of a female character isn't the way she's written, the things she goes through, it's just the sexual gratification she can give."

And I don't have words strong enough to say how APALLED I was by this statement like, do you hear yourself, fr ?!

But anyways, there's still a long road ahead of us for people to just be normal about men liking "unconventional" things. Or to just de-gender things in general, really.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm not big on certain tropes in traditional romance novels, including the rival who must be ritually humiliated while the heroine gets her dude and HEA. I get why lots of romance readers eat that stuff up, but to me it often reads as misogynistic and ruins the immersion. So I especially hate it when slashers apply the same het romance logic to stories that are not written as romances and require slash goggles firmly welded to the reader's head because it invariably leads to the canonical female love interest getting demonized as if she were a rival blocking the ship. What makes it extra annoying is the insistence that it can't possibly be misogyny if it's iddy and that hating anything iddy is equivalent to disrespecting the women who like it, which is the true misogyny. I honestly think that a better understanding of traditional romance tropes and why they appeal to readers would help a lot of slash fans sort through their negative feelings about female characters "threatening" their one true gay ship, which is totally going to become canon, and maybe even reduce the number and severity of ship wars. And if we can put the word "heteronormative" on a high shelf in the meantime, that would be great.

--

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: I know this isn’t my usual format with the visuals, but like ... how can anyone disagree that these two ladies aren’t in love? Or don’t have an inkling of desire for one another?!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

・It started with a kiss. A simple kiss. An innocent kiss. 

・You three had been underneath a willow tree, the warm breeze blowing over your lying forms. 

・The sun was gentle. Peaceful. And that’s how you felt. Like a flower blowing in the wind. Your petals newly sprouted, your stem rooted in the ground. 

・You felt grounded with Alicent, and dreamy with Rhaenyra. Both young women had so much personality, and all together, you evened one another out

・Alicent is the backbone, the one who reminds you about responsibility and making level-headed choices; she’s the log, the sticks and the wood. Rhaenyra is wild and untamed, she has ideas and wants to break traditions; she’s the spark. And you, you’re the passion, the heat; so hot that you weld each other together; you’re the flames. 

・Together you make people bend the knee. Wherever you go, people know who they’re dealing with. 

・Viserys was the least of your worries when you came forward with your relationship. He needed a few days to let the information sink in, but he accepted it. 

・Otto was difficult. He was furious. Because this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. His strategies, his planning. He saw the potential in Alicent and now it was ruined 

・Daemon was intrigued by the dynamics, jealous? Yes, but you’re just as fierce of a warrior as him. And one wrong look - you would challenge him. And he knew it. 

・Not many people can get a smile out of Alicent. Well, basically anyone except Rhaenyra and yourself.

・You and Rhaenyra like to sneak into Alicent’s chambers. She always feigns worry - saying she doesn’t want to be caught. But you know she loves the risk

・Helping one another get dressed in the morning, and undress in the evening. Undoing those laces at the back of their dresses. 

・Braiding each other’s hair

・Leaving gentle kisses on each other’s necks and cheeks 

・Rhaenyra likes to rub your feet. She’ll take off your boots and heave your legs onto her lap, rubbing your feet to soothe you. 

・Alicent loves when someone cups her cheek. She’ll rest her head in your/Rhaenyra’s hand and close her eyes

・Riding on Syrax. The she-dragon absolutely adores you (a bit more than Alicent, but don’t tell her that...). Syrax likes it when you nuzzle your face into her neck, she makes lil happy dragon noises <3 

・No one speaks ill of you, Alicent or Rhaenyra. Ever. You always defend one another, especially if the person isn’t there. 

・You like to play footsies with Alicent underneath the table at dinner. Especially if Otto’s there

・Wearing matching jewelry; Rhaenyra wears a necklace with a ruby, Alicent wears a bracelet with an emerald and you wear a ring with a sapphire

・Alicent really likes to read, but likes it even better when Rhaenyra reads to her. She likes it best when your head is resting in her lap, and she’s twirling your hair 

・When sleeping, Alicent sleeps in the middle, laying on her back. Your head is on her chest, and Rhaenyra’s is on Alicent’s stomach. Both of you are curled inward, snuggling like your life depends on it

・Rhaenyra doesn’t snore, but she talks in her sleep. They’re only little mumbles. Alicent does snore, but she always denies it. 

・

Theme Song:

Sailboats by Brooke Fraser

Relationship Tropes: 

  ✧ “You wear the pants in the relationship” - Rhaenyra & You x “Oh I wish, but I cannot control you at all” - Alicent

  ✧ Troublemaker (Rhaenyra) x Curious (You) x Why Do You Two Have To Get Into Trouble ALL THE TIME?! (Alicent)

  ✧ Snarky Power Trio That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

   NSFW🔞minors dni!

⭑ Favourite position is when you’re leant up against Rhaenyra’s naked body, your back to her chest as she fondles your breasts. Alicent caresses your body, creating goosebumps wherever her finger lingers 

⭑You’re all equally dominant, so you like to fight over whose in charge. The fighting is part of the foreplay: hands pinned above heads, clothes ripped off, harsh bites to assert dominance 

⭑ Alicent likes when her fingers are sucked on, and eye-contact must always be held

⭑ Rhaenyra likes hot wax dripped on her skin, the quick sting makes her feel alive

⭑ There’s always a bite mark on each of your bodies. Usually hidden underneath your clothing. Like a physical friendship bracelet, of sorts... 

⭑ The passion between the three of you could make a dragon feel its heat. 

[acourtofmarvels]

Miracle

Azriel x OC

Summary: Azriel's mate is Rhysand's sister. She died a long time ago by the hand of the High Lord of the Spring court. Something happens when the Inner Circle goes to Hybern...

(I should point out this is my first time ever posting something I wrote on Tumblr. I have wrote things before on Wattpad, thought I'm not very good. This is short but I hope at least one person likes it lol.)

I changed the ending of ACOMAF sorry not sorry. I liked the idea of this fic lol

Warnings: uh, murder and violence? (did i do this right?)

Word count: 2647

Azriel was never the same when she died. None of them were. She was family. A sister. A cousin. A best friend. His mate.

She was taken from them in such a surprise. The High Lord of the Spring court took her and her mother, for what? Hatred? Maliciousness? Out of pure evil?

Rhysand got revenge for his sister and mother. Azriel got his revenge for the woman who raised him, and his mate. Alongside the High Lord of the Night Court, who lost his life that day too.

Killing the High Lord and his sons, except for one.

Azriel and Rhiannon didn't find out they were mates for about 100 years. It was a shock to both of them. They never had the chance to accept the bond before she was killed.

"Tell me about her," Feyra whispered, running her fingers up and down her mates bare chest. Rhysand didn't talk much about his sister. None of the inner circle did. It was too hard on them. No one even mentioned her name, especially not in front of Azriel.

Rhysand had told Feyre what happened to his sister and mother long ago. And Feyre talking about Elain and Nesta reminded him of her.

Rhysand smiled as he remembered her. "She was kind, selfless. Stubborn and hard headed," he chuckled a bit. The sound of his laugh warmed Feyre's heart. "Her and Cassian were much alike. The two of them were always causing mischief. It drove our mother crazy..." Rhysand paused, trying not to get choked up. "She was strong. Hell of a fighter. We taught her everything we knew. Illyrian women weren't meant to be fighters long ago, thats why most of them got their wings clipped."

Just the mention of what they use to do in the past made his blood boil. He took a deep breath to contain his anger. "Father never wanted her to fight either. But everyday after training I would come home and teach her everything i learned that day. Didn't matter how tired and sore I was. And she would do it perfectly. Never faulting. She loved to fly. Father never clipped her wings but he didn't want her flying either. I always went with her or covered for her when she wanted to."

"Can I ask about her and Azriel?" Feyra was nervous to ask about the two of them. She knew they were mates but never got a chance to accept the bond.

Rhys moved the hair out of her face, staring down and admiring her. He loved that she got him to talk about Rhiannon again.

And he nodded simply at her question.

"Why didn't they accept the bond?"

"They were going to. There was going to be a wedding. Mother even made her dress. But then she... " He couldn't talk about her death.

"I don't know when the bond snapped into place for them but the night Azriel came to tell me, I knew something was off with him. I have never EVER seen Azriel that scared and nervous. Azriel is so good at hiding his emotions but that night..." A huge smile was on his face as he remembered. "I thought Az was going to shit his pants right in front of me."

"But I was so happy for them. Two important people in my life becoming mates... I envied Azriel for a while. That he found his person. I wanted that." Tears welded up in his eyes as he looked down at Feyre. He lifted her up so he could place a kiss upon her lips. "Now I have and when I look at him I... I feel guilty. His mate his gone."

"I understand. I feel it sometimes too. How can I be so happy when others are not? How is it fair?"

"We never got a proper sending for them. We never got their wings. I-I don't even know what he did with them." As Rhys began to cry all Feyre could do was hold him. She herself cried for her mate, feeling the pain he was feeling through the bond.

Azriel smelled it the second they entered the castle. He knew that intoxicating scent anywhere. No matter if it had been centuries, he would never forget. It had to be old. He knew she had been here before. Just two times in the past with Cassian for whatever mission it had been.

Azriel almost got sick to his stomach when they finally saw it. Right above the cauldron, pinned to the wall like a trophy... Her glorious wings.

Everyone knew who they belonged to the second they got there. Somehow Feyre even figured it out, never even knowing her.

"The trap was so easy, I'm honestly a bit disappointed you didn't see it coming." Faster than any of them could see, Jurian fired a hidden ash bolt through Azriel's chest. Mor screamed.

They had no choice but to go with the king.

***

"They are beautiful... Illyrian wings. I just had to get some for myself." The King smiled evilly. "I have your father to thank for that." He directed it that to Tamlin. He motioned his soldiers to remove the wings from the wall.

What more could he do? Azriel is dying. Cassian's wings shredded. He's turned the Archeron sisters into Fae. He plans to turn the human queens too.

"Daemati are hard to come by nowadays. Your sister was also one, wasn't she Rhysand?" None of them dared to move. Rhysand said nothing, curling his fingers into fists. "Daemati are powerful. To have one at my hands..." He ran his dirty fingers down the wings. He snatched them from his guards and without blinking he threw them into the cauldron.

The room filled with a piercing screech and a blinding light from the cauldron. The room shook as if there were an earthquake. When he light faded everyone stared at the cauldron, waiting. Just waiting to see what happened next.

Then it happened. A hand shot out, followed by another as a figure pulled themselves out of it. The King of Hybern smiled wickedly as his plans were coming all together.

Everyones eyes were wide, even the Kings own men were shocked. The woman who submerged out of the cauldron, a ghost, but never forgotten. Her eyes completely white and fogged over. Not a single emotion on her face.

"Come," The King's voice echoed, ordering the female to him.

"Rhia," Rhysand choked out. His sister didn't even look at him. She just went and stood by the King of Hybern, doing exactly as he said as if she were a puppet, and he were the puppet master. "Rhiannon, please. It's me." Rhys was pleading with his sister. To look at him. To show something, anything. Was it really her?

Mor screamed her name through her sobbing. With whatever strength he had, Cassian had to hold her back. He couldn't risk the King of Hybern hurting her too. Cassian pleaded for her also. But none of them could snap her out of whatever spell the cauldron put her under.

"Rhiannon," Azriel's voice was barely a whisper. He was going in and out of consciousness. Feyre watched as the white light flickered for just a second in her eyes.

"Call to her again," Feyre said to Azriel only.

"Rhiannon," Azriel said as loud as he could. Feyre saw that her eyes flicker again. Again, she spoke. "I love you, Rhiannon."

And just like that, her eyes turned back to her normal glowing purple and her hands were around the King's throat, her entire body pinning him down to the ground. Rhysand, Mor and Feyre, the only ones not completely hurt were up to their feet in an instance to fight off the soldiers running to their king.

"You will never be a god," Rhiannon hissed, squeezing onto the Kings neck as hard as she could until his head was separated from his shoulders.

She stood up slowly, rolling her shoulders back and cracking her neck. She turned around to see her family, dripping in blood but all alive.

Rhia looked down at her bloody hands, to her arms, her legs. Her body was completely bare. Her skin still glistening from the liquid of the cauldron. She was alive. She flexed her wings out as she realized she had them back.

She looked down at the ground, seeing Cassian and Azriel. Both of them bleeding out and barely alive. Her eyes met her brothers. He was the last thing she saw before she blacked out.

***

Rhiannon awoke with a gasp, clutching onto her chest, body flailing around in the bed she was in. She began to calm down once she realized where she was. Though the room was different, she recognized the townhouse anywhere. She couldn't remember how she got here or what happened. Darkness. She remembered darkness. How long has it been?

She looked around the room, only now noticing the many people sleeping on the floor and in the chairs. Cassian was hanging off the couch in the room, Mor opposite of him, her feet basically kicking him in the face. Below them layed her brother on a mattress, a woman unfamiliar to her tangled beside him. To their left was Amren, arms crossed over her chest and her head hanging back as she was asleep in the chair.

As she looked to her right she finally saw him. He was using his arm as a pillow as he was sitting in a chair but laying his head on the side of the bed she lay. She reached out to him, his shadows wrapped around her fingers. His eyes shot open and he sat up quickly. She gasped and jumped back, eyes wide.

They stared at each other for what felt like minutes but was only seconds. Azriel made the first move as he grabbed her hand, winnowing them out of the bedroom and downstairs away from the sleeping others.

Images of what happened circled in her mind as she began to remember what happened in Hybern. "I heard you," Was the first thing she said, a sob escaping her mouth. Azriel placed his scarred hands on the sides of her face, tears rolling down his face.

"You were here and I still couldn't believe it. Madja said you may never wake up. It's been weeks. We never gave up on you. I never left your side. I'll never leave your side again." They held onto each other for a long moment, taking in this moment. Azriel dreamed of holding her in his arms every night. Against all odds, against everything, his dream came true. His mate was alive.

There was a loud thud upstairs making Rhiannon jump out of Azriel's embrace. Running, loud, footsteps shook the house as multiple people ran down the stairs. Azriel grabbed hold of her again, needing that closeness.

"Fucking move, Cas!" Was the first thing she heard from her brother as him and Cassian fell off the bottom two steps. Rhysand pushed Cassian's body off of him, looking up at his sister. Matching smiles came upon their faces as Rhysand jumped to his feet, pulling her out of Azriel's grip and into his arms.

"I thought I lost you forever," Rhys whispered into his sisters hair, kissing the top of her head. He pulled away just looking at her face. They're matching violet eyes both filling with tears.

"I couldn't save her," She shook her head. "I fought so hard Rhys. If not save myself then save her."

"I know, I know." Rhys soothed her, stroking his hand down the back of her hair. Rhys found the aftermath of the people who took them. There was at least 20 dead Spring Court soldiers. He and his brothers trained her well. "You're safe now."

"Okay, my turn!" Rhysand was pulled away from Rhiannon harshly. She let out a yelp as Cassian picked her up and spun her around the room.

"Easy, Cass. Don't break her." Amren barked behind him.

He set her down to her feet, kissing her cheeks and forehead. A goofy smile on his face. "I missed you too, Cassian." She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek also.

"Simmer down, Az. You're stinking up the room." Mor joked, making everyone else laugh. "Jealousy isn't a good look on you."

"Aw, Azzy you want a kiss too," Cassian reached for Az, only to get punched in the gut.

"Finally, come here my sweet," Mor laughed, pulling Rhia to herself now. Kissing her cheeks just as Cassian did. Everyone finally got their hugs and kisses with Rhiannon. Most going back for seconds. Even Amren wanted a hug.

Azriel always had to be right beside her, needed to be touching her always. Wether that was a gentle hand at the lower part of her back, or holding onto her hand.

"Rhia there is someone I want you to meet." Rhysand held his hand out to the woman who had been quietly observing the reunion from the side. "This is Feyre. My mate."

Rhia almost began to cry again but she held it back. "Your mate?" Rhysand's smile was so big. "You found your mate." She placed a gentle hand on her brothers face, seeing how happy he was just by the mention of the female.

Feyre waited patiently for Rhia to acknowledge her first. Rhiannon approached Feyre slowly. This was it. This is the moment Feyre had been nervously thinking about for the past few weeks.

"You're so beautiful," Rhia beamed, a bright smile on her face. Feyre and Rhys both let out a sigh of relief. Rhiannon's eyes immediately went down to the tattoo covering Feyre's arm. Her eyes wide at realizing what it meant. "High-" Her sentence was cut off short by Feyre hugging her.

"It is an honor to meet you." Feyre said to her. Everyone laughed at the look on Rhia's face, certainly not expecting that.

"The honor is mine, my High Lady." Rhia did a small bow to her, before taking Feyre's hands in hers. "I've always wanted a sister."

"Hey! What about me?" Mor barked loudly, making everyone laugh.

"Just ignore her, I have no idea who she is." Rhia 'whispered' to Feyre.

"Alright just cause you came back to life and shit, and this is easily the happiest day of my life, doesn't mean I won't kick your ass." Mor jumped toward Rhia who started to run away laughing loudly.

That laugh. That laugh is music to everyone's ears.

"Mother save us," Amren muttered, shaking her head.

As the moment came by, Azriel grabbed his mate, shielding her from Mor. A rare smile on his face.

"Ha!" Rhia laughed, pointing at Mor who couldn't get past Azriel's wings.

"So not fair." Mor pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "You can't hide behind him forever. He'll have to walk away at some point."

"Who says I'm ever leaving her side?" Azriel challenged. Mor rolled her eyes dramatically.

"So are we gonna be planning a wedding soon?" Cassian spoke up, wiggling his eyebrows and sending a wink at Rhia.

She suddenly got nervous, stepping out from behind him so they could face each other. "Do you still... Do you still want to accept the bond?" Rhia didn't know how long it had been she she died, but she knew it had been a couple centuries. What if Azriel found someone else? What if he's already married and fallen in love with someone else?

It was if Azriel could see exactly what was going on in her mind. Maybe he felt her sense of nervousness and fear through the bond.

"I have loved only you for centuries, and I will love you for many more." Azriel cupped her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I am yours, forever."

"And I am yours."

Acotar Masterlist

[gattnk]

Terence and Scarlett, the youngest Deans in this Golden School's history. What kind of future do you think they'll bring?

I'm back on track my lovelies! Or rather, I never really left the AF train: I just needed some time to plan things out. I've sketched out the rest of the school staff, but I'll give priority to finishing chapter 5. Not gonna lie, I only finished these two first because I fell so in love with their designs I couldn't resist sharing them sooner!

Back in the early days of my production bible, I established the Golden School would offer other courses unrelated to guardian angels/devils; both the comic and S2 of the show inspired this concept. I came up with five faculties in total, with a pair of canon teachers at the helm of each. This is how Terence and Scarlett became my Academic Deans of the Tech and Support faculty.

Tech and Support is an engineering faculty: they're the mechanics behind mascots, vehicles like auto-spheres and motor-spikes, and pretty much every piece of angel/devil infrastructure on Earth. I chose Terence and Scarlett specifically because they're the least established teachers we see in canon. Simply put, they were the only teachers with enough wiggle room to fit the bill.

I took a long, hard look at what Terence and Scarlett were supposed to be in the series: the young, hip, hot new teachers in town when they first show up in the movie, the kind that make their younger students swoon and maybe stir some love trouble indirectly with their presence. I could definitely work with that!

Terence's original design looked like the kind of guy who brings an acoustic guitar to a college party, which is a very... 2000s kind of "hot". He needed an upgrade, stat. So I went on a quest and found that hunks are in vogue now, which is fine by me! And so a hunky engineer he became, with a high-visibility coverall, work boots, tool-bags and a helmet. He got to keep some stubble and his long hair (tied up in a ponytail for safety reasons) as a recall to his original design.

Scarlett's original design screams femme fatale, which is great for eye candy but not very practical when handling machinery. So I decided to gear her properly: strong-material overalls and shirt, work boots, welding gloves and safety goggles, protective horn cuffs, short hair and no jewelry (seriously, avoid wearing dangly bits like loose hair or jewelry when you're in a workshop). Properly geared women in STEM are, or so I'm told, pretty hot :v So mission accomplished!

While Terence and Scarlett's role in my rewrite is no longer to act as a romantic wedge between Raf and Sulfus, I ended up giving them shared traits with my Raf and Sulfus redesigns. It has a narrative purpose I won't disclose for now, but if you were wondering why they feel like grown-up genderbent versions of the protagonists, now you know.

Their new colors are pretty much a mash-up of their canon palette and my usual colors for angels and devils. I wanted to subvert expectations a bit however, so I gave Terence a red halo and wings and Scarlett blue horns and wings. They're the same hue as each other's eyes for entirely aesthetic reasons.

Honestly, it's been real fun so far to work on the teachers! I love working on side characters, there's more room to explore in terms of design because there's less expectations surrounding them.

I'll Fly With You (rewrite fic) Art masterpost

[medfetabdl]

Rules of my blog and about me

About me:

I am a 20 year old virgin straight male. I’ve been into medfet and age play for a while and I love it. I have a lot of hobbies but they all mainly revolve around my love for making stuff. I am a jack of all trades, I can do electrical work, carpentry, plumbing, small electronics (design, repair, and building), sewing, embroidery, welding, machining, lock picking, lock smithing, CAD (computer aided design), 3d printing, automotive repair, and a whole lot more! My career background is in the entertainment industry, I’ve been doing lighting, sound, and video since I was 12 years old.

I love to play with medical equipment as I find it really fun to play with and find it absolutely fascinating. I love to be hooked up to my Philips Intellivue monitors and I love buying stuff for them and playing around with their infinite configurability. I also really enjoy making my own medical toys to play with, I’ve slowly perfected a diy ventilator over the last two years.

I suffer from several mental disorders including ASD, ADHD, BPD, severe anxiety, and chronic depression. I am very sensitive to loud and busy environments. I find meeting new people awkward. I tend to like to talk a lot about the stuff I’m into.

I’m in search of a woman who is around my age and shares my love of medfet and age play and who understands the struggles I go through everyday.

Rules of my blog:

-I do not RP unless under specific circumstances, I am a bit more willing to RP with women under the right circumstances, I am absolutely not interested in RP with men.

-I am happy to make custom content for people but I expect to be paid for it, I’m not just going to send you custom content because you asked nicely for it. I accept payment via PayPal.

-Do not message me asking to see specific pictures of me or parts of my body. I’m just not gonna respond to men asking to see my privates or other areas of my body. If women ask I’m more willing to send a sample pic but I’m gonna expect a pic from you in response.

-I have absolutely nothing against gay people and I definitely support LGBTQ+ but I’m not the slightest bit into men.

-Feel free to use the ask me anything button, if I don’t like the question then I just won’t respond.

-I love to talk about my projects so feel free to ask me questions about them.

-I don’t tolerate homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, or hate of any kind, if I see this behavior from your profile you will be blocked.

-When messaging me for the first time please try to get right to the point about what you want to talk about, just saying hi or hey means I’m probably gonna ignore you.

-My profile is 18+ only, I don’t support minors being publicly involved in fetish communities. Fetishes are an awesome thing to explore and people tend to find out about them in their teens. I think it’s perfectly okay for teens to learn about fetishes and to experiment, but do not interact with fetish or sexual communities until you turn 18. I started being apart of fetish communities when I was 17 so I understand how you feel like you’re old enough for it but trust me when I say that waiting until you’re 18 is for your own safety. The internet is full of creepy people and unfortunately there are plenty of bad eggs in fetish communities who will try to take advantage of you, so it’s best to wait.

-I don’t show my face in my posts for a reason. I am not super comfortable showing myself in pics right off the bat. It’s also for my safety, I don’t want anyone I know to stumble onto these pics and hiding my face makes it significantly harder to identify me.

-I run on a one strike policy, if you break my rules once I’ll let it slide but do it again and I’m blocking you.

-If I don’t respond to your messages it’s probably because I’m not interested in talking to you, nothing personal and no offense but I’m not really here to make guy friends I have plenty of them already, I want to meet women with my ultimate goal being finding a life partner.

-I’m more likely to respond to your DMs or interact with you in general if you actually have content posted on your profile.

-I am more than happy to take requests for content you want to see me post, a full list of all my equipment is in several posts, just leave a comment on one of my posts or use the ask me anything button to make a request.

-If I buy equipment I don’t need all of or buy something to replace some of my other equipment I will definitely be giving it away to the community and the details and rules for giveaways will be in specific posts.

[bgunphoenix]

𝕿𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 ⌞𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛⌝

Wattpad Book

The echoes of voices roared through the walls of the house, customers chatting with the girls trying to get their attention, the smell of alcohol wrecked out of every attendant in the facility and it was nauseating. The moon atop of the sky signified that the night was still young and full of life, the lights of yoshiwara made it seem like the day reigned over the district.

The smell of sin and lust was like a perfume to everyone who visited the house, looking to spend time with the girls that lived inside, to talk with them and having the slightest opportunity to bed them for the night. The way that man looked at them made Y/n sick to his stomach, they were workers of course but the men saw them as mere products, just like when predators saw prey while hunting in the wild.

He was yet to receive instructions from the master of the house, maybe it would be a peaceful night of attending customers, chatting and playing the koto or taking part in tea ceremonies. While being a kagema was a safe cover for what the business was, it also came with dangers, people trying to see under his robes, men realising that he was indeed not a woman and yelling at the top of their lungs, rival houses trying to discredit him and the house you worked in and many more but, in the 200 hundred years of existence of the Nishimura teahouse not a single person or demon had been aware of its presence.

As an alternative for the demon slayer corps the teahouse took care of demons and other tasks assigned to them by their so called Heika-sama, men and women from a certain family branch that had special abilities, in various ranges from the age of 8 to 20, who commanded their workers in order to reduce demon numbers in various areas or take care of specific people who paid for their services; while the tea house was a mere cover up to not raise eyes at them, since it was a way to explain the loads of money that entered the state and the loads of people who got out.

All the girls and boys raised in the teahouse excelled at swordsmanship, welding weapons and exterminating demons. But the main difference between the 2 was the ways they operated, while both organisations were not recognized by the government, demon slayers were like a rumour spreading throughout the country, legends of swordsmen hunting demons and protecting people (they even had wisteria houses at their services!) Meanwhile the Nishimura swordsmen (or Demon hunters) were like the wind, roaming all of Japan but never leaving any trace of their existence, some people even called them demon slayers if they happened to see one while killing demons.

The way you enter the demon hunters and the demon slayer corps were wildly different, while in the later you pass a "final selection" and get assigned the lowest of the 10 ranks and you climb your way up, in the demon hunters you get recruited in by specialised people who see your talent at a young age, you get taken away from your family and began your training, they send you on missions with experienced demon hunter who test you and they decided if you pass, if you don't you get back with your family; that's why the numbers of the two organisations are so wildly different. There were more demon slayers than petals in a cherry blossom tree during its blooming, but there were less than 30 demon hunters in all of Japan, men and women dedicated solely in carrying tasks and protecting humanity from demons while also keeping appearances in Yoshiwara.

As the croaks of the raven on the window sill told Y/n that the master required his presence he began to chuckle slightly. "seems like it's not a lovely night to chatter away".

The work uniform for demon hunters consisted on a basic hakamashita with the colour of choice with hakama pants, simple tabi socks and geta sandals, some hunters were more bold and made customised uniforms for themselves, the only requirement the hunters obligated for anyone was to use the specialised cloth that prevented accidents while fighting demons (it was similar to the cloth that demon slayers use for their uniforms!). Y/n's uniform was a twist on the basic uniform,it consisted of a hakamashita of red seigaiha cloth, black hakama pants and a untied kimono with flowy sleeves, all in scales of reds, black and golds, with similar colours of his kagema attire; since if he was battling demons he needed to look cool and feel extravagant while doing so!. (to be honest with you, dear reader, it wasn't the smartest choice, but the most FLAMBOYANT one!).

The inners of the teahouse hosted clients on the front and "sponsors" on the back, while the front is a cover up with the appearance of a normal brothel, the back served as a way to get request from clients or requests from people, most of them offering money to kill a specific demon killing in an area or demons scattered in places the demon slayer corps couldn't reach for some reason. At the back of it all there was a grand room decorated to look like an emperor's room, grand decors, weapons of fallen demon hunters decorating the walls as a way to remember them, names of recognized demon hunters (there were less than 10 on the wall, was it that hard to get on there? Yes, it was). And on an elevated platform sat a female, with black hair and the most beautiful magenta eyes, thought her appearance was covered up with a veil, thanks to the curse that ate her away each day.

"You needed me? Heika-sama" Y/n sat in front of the woman, bowing deeply to her while talking and waiting for a response.

"Indeed, Y/n, you see, last night while I prepared myself to sleep for the night, a grand revelation came upon my person, in around a week a train known as the Mugen Train will part from a station near of Tokyo and will have a 6 hour travel time, while the vision was blurry I was able to see some of the events that will take place on the train and later that night" The woman known as Nishimura Masako spoke.

"Heika-sama, you require my presence on this train for a mission, is that right?" Y/n's voice lowered in respect of his master, the woman who had taken care of him when his parents left him to die years ago.

"Yes, your mission will consist on protecting the passenger of the train, by information we recompiled on it, there are about 200 people on board on a normal train ride" that part wasn't that hard, if the train had moved in the past, it meant that there were less demons on it, maybe that's why the client had seeked them and not the demon slayer co-, Y/n got interrupted "The second part of your mission is to protect the hashira that will be boarding the train, along with the slayers that accompany them, you are to devote yourself to this mission, lay your life to protect all humans on that place and maintain the honour of the demon hunters" and there was the catch, there's always a catch with her.

Y/n's face scrunched up with a frown, protecting a hashira? Those with that title are incredible swordsmen and women, why would they need protection? As he began to twist his head around that second part of the mission, Masako resumed her talk.

"The hashira that will board that train is destined to die by the hands of a demon, and this demon is most likely a member of the twelve kizuki, an upper moon at that" she took a small breath and continued.

"The third part of your mission is to get information about the demon or demons, such as appearance and blood demon art, the more information we have, the better we can prepare to move the pieces on the chess board" her voice was calm but rigid, she has always been like that for as long as he can remember, that didn't falter the faith he had in her. "You are to depart tomorrow night, you will most likely meet the hashira there, do not reveal your identity to anyone, the equipment you will need is being prepared on your room"

She stood up from the platform as Y/n kept his head kneeled to her "Do not die on this mission Y/n, the hunters would miss you a lot" she paused and took a breath "I would miss you a lot, little nephew" a soft hand rested on his head and went away soon after.

"I will not let you down Heika-sama" As she left, Y/n got up and made his way to his room, chuckling as he thought of the mission and the hashira that awaited there "Let's see what you are made of, Hashira"

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Thank you so much for reading! I will try to update as soon as I can