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was gonna have some weed and walk my dog but now he's snoooozin away lmfaoo

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——because of the golden rule! do unto others as you would have done unto you.

ind. sel. priv. LUCY MACLEAN of FALLOUT. ft. verses in bg3 & other fandoms. written & beloved by bean.

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PROMPTS FROM THE MANDALORIAN - "THE MARSHAL" *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

enjoy the fights.

i know you're good at killing.

i figure only one of us is walking out of here.

maybe i pegged you wrong.

who are you?

where did you get the armor?

hand it over.

i'm sure you call the shots where you come from, but around here, i'm the one who tells folks what to do.

take it off. or i will.

we gonna do this in front of the kid?

right here, then?

do you gamble?

i'm prepared to pay you for the information.

i'm not leaving my fate up to chance.

thank you for coming to me.

give it to me now, or i will peel it off your corpse.

i thought you said you weren't a gambler.

all right, stop! stop! i'll tell you where he is!

you must promise that you won't kill me!

i promise that you will not die by my hand.

my information is good, i tell you.

you can't leave me like this. cut me down!

that wasn't part of the deal.

this little thing had me worried sick.

you know he doesn't like droids.

may as well let them have at it.

you don't understand what it was like.

i've got an idea.

get its attention.

you still have that detonator?

what's the plan?

what are you gonna do?

wish me luck.

maybe we can work something out.

they might be open to some fresh ideas.

it's not to scale.

it's a whole lot bigger than i guessed.

might be time to rethink our arrangement.

that's more like it.

where are they getting the reinforcements?

i hope someday our paths will cross again.

you know what that means?

we've heard the stories.

this one's got a problem.

looks like it remembers me.

how much do you want for it?

just kidding. but not really.

can i help you?

we don't get many visitors in these parts.

you want to tell me what's going on?

i'm here on business. i need your help.

can you tell me where it used to be?

you know this is no place for a child.

wherever i go, he goes.

you can't just get help anymore.

you still have that speeder bike?

what am i supposed to do with this?

you drink it.

lower your voice.

you're agitating them.

how do we kill it?

what brings you here?

why don't you join me for a drink?

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baby i can be your morally ambiguous person you have an undefined relationship and long and complicated history with who commits crimes and even kills for you so that you don't have to sacrifice your values and your reputation as an upstanding moral citizen by getting your own hands dirty as an act of devotion

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important to me that coop 220 years later doesn't call barb his ex-wife. they're not married. they're not together. he doesn't want to be w/her like that. but ex-wife just...doesn't feel right to him.

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(c)

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atp my dog trying to get into my bed is my alarm clock

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Lucy: strips naked in front of coop before she even knows his name, point blank asks him if ghouls can fuck, asks him if she should go back to fuck the cute vendor’s son who was flirting with her bc it’s been a while since she’s had sex, casually tells him the sex with her murderous raider husband was pretty good, hires a ghoul sex worker and theN TELLS HIM THE ANSWER TO ONE OF HER QUESTIONS WAS “ITS A MATTER OF TASTE”

Coop: she’s a freak. I’m gonna marry her one day

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Coop: 3 paragraphs worth of thoughts

Coop out loud: no

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Therapist: what makes u think ppl think ur rude

Me: uhm. they tell me out loud….

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        Hmph. Cooper shrugs, not particularly interested in arguing the merits of good hygiene. Besides, it’s not like she’s wrong. All that really matters to him in this is that the conversation steers back away from himself.

        When she is finished and starts heading back to the shore, he still doesn’t turn away. He’s careful not to let his gaze linger overlong on any part of her, his features as blank and unaffected as ever despite his breathing and heartbeat picking up a touch. But he noticeably doesn’t bother to look away, and of course she comments in it. For once, she hasn’t caught him off guard, not entirely.

        This time as he looks her over head to toe, he does so more slowly—but not too slow—appraising, as if giving real thought to the question. He pauses only briefly when he notices a scar on her abdomen and reminds himself to ask about it later. When his eyes meet hers again, he answers simply: “No.” Apart from giving her a fake name this is the first outright lies he’s ever told her. And he’s sure she believes this one as much as she believes his name is John.

        lucy's not paying close enough attention to the shore to notice him filling up her canteen. she holds her nose and ducks under the water for a second, smoothing her hair back with both hands as she emerges again, blinking droplets from her eyes. she stands on one leg so she can rub down the other, and vice-versa. again, she wishes she had a little bit of soap.

        “good hygiene is not a waste of time. in fact, it can be very important,” lucy says. “who knows when i'll have another chance to wash up?” unless they find themselves inside another vault—which she highly doubts they will—she can't imagine this opportunity arising again anytime soon. still, she finishes up as quickly as she can and starts sloshing her way back to the shore. once there, she pauses when she notices him looking her way. “...see something you like?” she can't help but tease.

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i was not made for hookup culture, i was made for the most soul crushing experience ever. i was born to feel everything entirely and endlessly. i was made to feel everything deeply

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okay, but a man talking you through your orgasm. a man who smiles the second you climax and is all "there we go,", is smoothing his hands over your trembling thighs and says "you're shaking so hard, baby," who has to keep your hips down as he tuts "easy, sweetheart, easy, that's just the second one...", who exhales a laugh under his breath as he sweetly inhales the back of your neck, his palm cupping your pulsing cunt when he points out "too much for you, my love? are you getting sore?"

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please don’t fuck my dad

At the end of the day it’s up to him

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Tapping the mic. Premature ejaculation can be cute if we stopped stigmatizing it and instead were like "awww you got excited"

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ELLA PURNELL New York Magazine

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skins (2007-2013)