#React Conditional Rendering

[techtalksonthego]

Understanding React Conditional Rendering for Dynamic User Interfaces

React Conditional Rendering is a feature in React that enables developers to display different components or elements based on specific conditions. It works similar to JavaScript conditions, allowing you to perform different actions depending on the current state of your React application. By using conditional rendering, you can create dynamic and interactive user interfaces that adapt and respond to different scenarios.

What is React Conditional Rendering?

React Conditional Rendering is a powerful feature in React that allows developers to create dynamic and interactive user interfaces (UI). In the simplest terms, ‘conditional rendering in React’ refers to displaying different components or elements based on certain conditions.

Just like in JavaScript, you can use conditions in your React code to perform different actions based on different conditions. This concept is commonly referred to as ‘React conditional render’.

The Working Principle of React Conditional Rendering

React utilizes the JavaScript conditional operators like IF-ELSE, ternary, and logical AND to create ‘conditional rendering react’. React components return different elements from the render function depending on the current props and state of the application.

For instance, let’s consider a simple scenario where we want to display a welcome message to logged-in users, and a login button to those who are not logged in. Here, ‘conditional rendering in React’ comes into play. Based on the condition, whether the user is logged in or not, we instruct React what to display – the welcome message or the login button.

The Power of React Conditional Rendering

React conditional rendering multiple conditions’ is also possible, which means you can render based on more than one condition. This makes your application much more dynamic and adaptable to complex scenarios. You could render a component if the user is authenticated and if they have specific privileges, for instance.

React allows conditions to be checked multiple times before rendering certain components, often referred to as ‘react conditional rendering’. This flexibility enables greater control over complex and dynamic application states.

In conclusion, React conditional rendering is a powerful tool that developers can use to create more interactive and responsive applications, bringing a whole new level of dynamism to your React apps.

Why Conditional Rendering is Necessary in React Applications?

Conditional rendering react’ is an indispensable tool for developing dynamic, user-friendly applications. Here, we will delve into why conditional rendering is so crucial in React applications.

Enhancing User Interface with React Conditional Render

React is highly popular due to its capability to build intuitive and responsive user interfaces. This is where ‘react conditional render’ shines. By using conditional rendering in react, you can tailor the UI based on specific conditions, thereby creating a personalized user experience.

For instance, displaying user-specific data, hiding or showing navigation elements based on user roles, or toggling between light and dark modes, all these are achievable with conditional rendering.

Managing Complex Scenarios with React Conditional Rendering Multiple Conditions

React conditional rendering multiple conditions’ is an essential feature that allows developers to handle complex UI changes seamlessly. This approach offers the capability to render components based on multiple conditions, thereby bringing a whole new level of dynamism and adaptability to your applications.

For example, you may want to render a component only if a user is authenticated and holds specific privileges. This scenario requires checking multiple conditions, showcasing the power of conditional rendering in react.

Greater Control with React Conditional Rendering

The ability to check conditions multiple times before rendering a certain component, commonly referred to as ‘react conditional rendering’, offers developers greater control over the application’s UI and behavior. This proves to be especially useful when dealing with multiple dependencies that can affect the UI rendering.

Conditional Rendering for Performance Optimization

React conditional render isn’t just about UI changes. It also plays a role in optimizing application performance. By rendering only what’s necessary based on certain conditions, React apps can avoid unnecessary rendering and thus save valuable processing power, leading to smoother and faster applications.

In conclusion, conditional rendering in React is not just a handy feature; it’s essential in creating responsive, user-friendly applications. It provides developers the tools to create dynamic UIs, manage complex scenarios, optimize performance, and overall, gives them greater control over how and when components are rendered.

How does React Conditional Rendering Work?

Consider an example of how to use the sign-in/signout button. The sign-in and sign-out buttons will be separate components. If the user signs in, sign-out the component will be used to display the sign-out button. This scenario is called conditional rendering.

In react we have different ways to do Conditional rendering. They are as follows:

If/else

Ternary operator

Logical && operator

Switch case operator

Prevent rendering with null

Conditional Rendering with enum

Immediately-Invoked Function Expressions (IIFE)

Subcomponents

High Order Components (HOCs)

1) If/else

It is a simple way of rendering in react using if/else. The syntax of if/else is the same as javascript, but in react a return statement needs to be defined for each if / else declaration, which makes the code repetitive and not simple to read and modify.

import React from 'react';     class ConditionalRendering extends React.Component{          constructor(props){               super(props);                    this.state ={                    IsLoggedIn : false                    }     }               render(){                  if(this.state.IsLoggedIn){                     return

Welcome User

                 }            else{                   return

You need to login

              }           };      } export default ConditionalRendering;

2) Ternary operator

Ternary operators can be used to replace if/else and also in cases where two blocks alternate given a certain condition.

Syntax: Condition?  statement 1:  statement 2

If the condition is true then statement 1 will be rendered otherwise statement 2 will be rendered

render() {       const isLoggedIn = this.state.isLoggedIn;           return (              

                   Welcome {isLoggedIn ? ‘Back’ : ‘Please login first’}.                

          );    }

3) Logical && operator

This operator is used for checking the condition. If the given condition is true, it will return the element right after &&, and if the condition is false, React will ignore and skip it.

Syntax

{      condition &&      // whatever written after && will be a part of output.   }   import React from 'react';   import ReactDOM from 'react-dom';     Function ExampleofLogocal()             {      return(

               {                    (15> 8) && alert(‘This alert will be shown!’)               }              

              );               }

4) Switch case operator

Switch case operator is used when we have multiple condition renderings. Rendering is applied based on different states.

function NotificationMsg({ text}) {    switch(text) {      case 'Hi All':        return ;      case 'Hello':        return ;      default:        return null;    }   }

5) Prevent rendering with null

If you want to conceal a component, you can render its rendering method null, there is no need to render an empty element as a placeholder. One important thing to keep in mind when returning null is that even though the component doesn’t show up, its life-cycle techniques are still being fired.

                        renderInputField() {                                    if(this.state.mode === 'view') {                                    return null;                                                 } else {                                             return (                                      

                                      );                                    }                              }

6) Conditional Rendering with enum

An enum is used in multiple conditional rendering. It is perfect for mapping different states and more than one condition.

function NotificationMsg({ text, state }) {    return (      

        {{   info: ,           warning: ,         }[state]}      

    );   }  

7) Immediately-Invoked Function Expressions (IIFE)

IIFEs are functions that are executed immediately after they are defined, there is no need to call them explicitly.

We have to define the function in the following way

( function myFunction(/* arguments */) {    // ... }(/* arguments */) ); Or in this way ( function myFunction(/* arguments */) {    // ... }(/* arguments */) );

8) Subcomponents

we use React, where the suggested methods are things such as dividing your app’s logic into as many parts as possible and using functional programming rather than imperative programming.

It would, therefore, be a great choice to move the conditional rendering logic to a sub-component that makes different things based on its props.

render () {    const view = this.state.mode === 'view';       return (      

Text: {this.state.text}

        {           view            ?             : (                                      )                     }                

           );            }

9) High Order Components (HOCs)

A higher-order component  is a function that takes a current element and returns a fresh one with some added features

function higherOrderComponent(Component) {  return function EnhancedComponent(props) {    if (condition) {      return ;    }    return ;  }; }

How to Manage Application State for Conditional Rendering?

The magic of ‘conditional rendering react’ lies in the management of application state. By understanding and controlling the state, we can control what components are rendered under specific circumstances. This article will provide an overview of managing application state for ‘react conditional render’.

Understanding State in Conditional Rendering in React

State in React is a built-in feature that allows components to create and manage their data. This data can influence what is rendered in the UI. When the state changes, React updates the component’s render output, leading to ‘conditional rendering in react’.

For example, you might maintain a ‘isLoggedIn’ state. If ‘isLoggedIn’ is true, you might render a ‘Logout’ button. If false, a ‘Login’ button might be rendered instead.

Leveraging React Conditional Rendering Multiple Conditions with State

By using multiple states in your components, you can perform ‘react conditional rendering multiple conditions’. This feature allows you to have even more complex logic and control over what is rendered in your UI.

Suppose you have an ‘isAdmin’ state in addition to ‘isLoggedIn’. In this case, you can render different components based on whether the user is logged in, whether the user is an admin, or both.

Implementing React Conditional Rendering with State

State management is also crucial when implementing ‘react conditional rendering’. In this case, you check the state multiple times within the render method.

For example, consider an app where you need to render different components based on whether a user is authenticated and whether a page is loaded. You can check the ‘isAuthenticated’ state and render accordingly, and then check the ‘isLoaded’ state and render some more JSX.

Strategies for State Management for React Conditional Render

There are several strategies and libraries to help manage state in React applications:

Local component state: This is the built-in state management feature of React. Each component can have its own state and rerender whenever this state changes.

Context API: This is also built-in in React and allows you to share state between multiple components without passing props down manually at every level.

Redux: This is a third-party library that offers a more structured approach to state management and is often used in larger applications.

MobX: This is another third-party library that focuses on simplicity and scalability, offering a more straightforward and less boilerplate-intensive alternative to Redux.

Understanding and leveraging these tools can give you greater control over ‘conditional rendering in react’ and help you build more dynamic, responsive applications. Remember, effectively managing application state is the key to mastering React conditional rendering.

How to Use Props to Cause React Conditional Rendering?

In ‘conditional rendering react’, both state and props play significant roles. Just as the state determines how a component behaves, props also influence how a component is rendered. In this context, let’s understand how to use props for ‘react conditional render’.

Role of Props in Conditional Rendering in React

In React, props (short for properties) are inputs to components and can be used to pass data from one component to another. ‘Conditional rendering in react’ often depends on these props. For instance, you might pass a ‘isLoggedIn’ prop to a component and render different elements based on its value.

Using Props in React Conditional Rendering Multiple Conditions

In addition to state, props can also be used for ‘react conditional rendering multiple conditions’. Consider a scenario where a parent component passes multiple props to a child component. Based on the values of these props, the child component can decide what to render.

For example, you might have a ‘UserStatus’ component that receives ‘isLoggedIn’ and ‘isAdmin’ props. Depending on the combination of these prop values, you could render different messages.

Props and React Conditional Rendering

Just like with state, props can play a significant role when you need to implement ‘react conditional rendering twice’. This is useful when you want to perform different render operations in a single component based on the values of different props.

Imagine a ‘UserProfile’ component that receives ‘user’ and ‘isLoading’ props. First, you can check ‘isLoading’ to decide whether to show a loading spinner. Then, after loading is complete, you can check the ‘user’ prop to render user-specific information.

Example of Using Props for React Conditional Render

Here’s a simple example of how you might use props for conditional rendering in a React component:

function WelcomeMessage({ isLoggedIn }) {  return (    <div>      {isLoggedIn ? <h1>Welcome back!</h1> : <h1>Please log in.</h1>}    </div>  ); }

In this component, we are using a prop ‘isLoggedIn’ to conditionally render a welcome message or a login prompt.

In conclusion, using props for conditional rendering in React allows you to create highly dynamic and reusable components. Whether you’re dealing with single or multiple conditions, or need to perform multiple render operations within a single component, props can provide the flexibility you need to make your components adapt to a variety of scenarios.

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[thatnightlamp]

You tell us to feed you our brain rot? Well then (: would you consider writing more of your Dorn one shot? Cause I need him to be a manace more in my life.

DORN AND HIS HAND HEHEHE

The war room was dim, lit only by the flickering holographs of tactical maps long since rendered irrelevant. The campaign was over, the world secured. For once, silence reigned over strategy.

You shouldn’t have been here, this was a space meant for high command, not downtime. But Rogal Dorn had not dismissed you. He had merely looked up from his reports when you entered, eyes sharpening slightly, as if assessing a new terrain. Then, with a single wordless nod, he had allowed you to stay.

Now, you sat in one of the reinforced chairs lining the edge of the chamber, your body loose with exhaustion. Victory always brought this bone-deep tiredness. And yet... it was not rest that your body anticipated. Not with Dorn so near. Not with the way he was watching you.

He hadn’t spoken in minutes, but you could feel him still, standing, unmoving, tall and broad in his golden armor. The air around him always carried weight. It pressed into your skin, into your lungs. And tonight, there was something different in it. Not command. Not the cold discipline he wielded so effortlessly.

Tonight, it was intent.

He stepped closer without warning, silent as a shadow despite the weight of his war-plate. You lifted your head, pulse already rising. He was looking down at you, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not soft, either. Just… measured. Like he was still considering something. Calculating.

Your voice broke the tension. "You're staring again."

"I am." His reply was clipped, deliberate.

A moment passed. Then another. You leaned back slightly in your chair, attempting something casual, something not completely undone by the heat prickling under your skin. "Are you going to tell me why?"

His gaze swept over you slowly, then returned to your face. "I am trying to understand something," he said, voice deep and utterly calm. "About you. About this."

You blinked. "This?"

His gauntlet hissed softly as he disengaged it. One by one, the locking mechanisms released until his bare hand emerged, callused, large, dusted with faint scars. That hand came to rest on the arm of your chair, close, so very close. His other hand remained behind his back, as if he were standing at ease. But there was nothing at ease about him now.

"You are resilient," he continued. "You endure discomfort. Pain. Harsh conditions. You have served without complaint."

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously like a compliment.”

“It is an observation.” His tone didn’t change. But then… his fingers moved. Just barely. The back of them brushed your arm, a featherlight graze. Controlled. Intentional.

Your breath hitched.

“Yet,” he went on, as if lecturing on fortifications and not your nerve endings, “you react to small stimuli in… disproportionate ways.”

His hand shifted again. This time, his fingers traced the inside of your wrist. Just a touch. Not even firm pressure. But it was enough. A line of heat zipped up your arm, making your whole body tense.

You gave a sharp breath through your nose. "Dorn—"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes unblinking. “Interesting.”

“Interesting,” you echoed flatly, but your voice was already thickening. Damn him.

"Most weaknesses," he murmured, his fingers brushing up to your elbow now, "are structural. Predictable. Obvious."

His hand slid further, knuckles ghosting along your upper arm. “But not this.”

You could feel it now, what he was doing. He wasn’t touching you so much as studying you. Testing points of vulnerability. Measuring your reactions like he was preparing to redraw a battle plan. It was maddening.

And he was enjoying it.

"You really can't turn it off, can you?" you bit out. "Even now, you're still strategizing."

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached your shoulder, and stopped. His thumb pressed, slowly, into the muscle there. The tension, the pressure, it was sudden and deliberate. Painful, but good, twisting low in your stomach.

You hissed softly, gripping the arms of the chair.

"You tense here often," Dorn said, like a physician diagnosing a wound. "Likely stress. Poor posture during field work."

Then his thumb rolled deeper, kneading with a precision that felt too exact to be innocent. It wasn’t a massage. It was manipulation. Your body, his blueprint. Every response cataloged.

“Stop doing that,” you muttered. “Like I’m one of your damn siege maps.”

"Why?" he asked simply. "You’re responding."

His hand moved again, sliding up along the curve of your neck. His fingers splayed gently at your nape, firm but not forceful. The heat of him soaked into your skin. You were still clothed, still technically untouched in any indecent way, and yet your heart was thundering.

“Rogal—”

“Silence,” he said, almost softly. His fingers tightened just slightly. “Let me finish.”

Your mouth snapped shut.

He took his time now. Every motion of his hand was slow, excruciatingly so. Down your throat, just the edge of his knuckles brushing your collarbone. His other hand came forward at last, sliding behind your back to anchor you. You realized, too late, that you couldn’t move. He wasn’t holding you hard, but the placement was exact, inescapable.

“Fascinating,” he said, voice nearly a purr now. Not sensual, strategic. “Your heartbeat has increased. Pupils dilated. Breathing shallow.”

“You’re—” You tried to speak, but your mouth was dry. “You’re using me like a training exercise.”

That earned a faint sound. A hum. His thumb slid along the base of your throat, the pressure just enough to remind you how large his hand was, how easily he could grip, how easily he could...

Your knees pressed together instinctively.

He saw it. Of course he did.

“Touch,” he said slowly, “is not a weapon I have employed often. It is… inefficient in most contexts.”

You swallowed.

“But in this one?” His head dipped lower. You felt his breath against your jaw. “Highly effective.”

You were trembling now, not from fear, never from fear, but from anticipation. From the slow, building tension that coiled tighter and tighter inside you like a drawn bowstring. And Dorn, your cold, stoic, beautiful bastard of a Primarch, wasn’t relenting. If anything, he was only just beginning.

His hand left your throat, and you almost whined at the loss, but then it returned, lower, splaying across your abdomen. Just through fabric. No skin-to-skin. And yet, it was worse, more intimate. His palm was heavy with the promise of pressure. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t grope.

He just held.

And it wrecked you.

Your head fell back against the chair, a breath shuddering from your lips. He watched you, like always, unflinching. Composed. Tactical.

And then, finally, he spoke again.

“You are soft,” he murmured, his thumb dragging in slow circles over your covered stomach. “Unarmored. Exposed.”

You gasped, both from the words and the gentle roll of his touch.

"And yet you let me do this."

A pause. His hand slid down just a few inches. Not indecent. Not yet. But it could be. So easily.

You were aching now. Throbbing.

“And why,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “would you allow such exposure… unless you wanted it exploited?”

You turned your head sharply toward him, breathless and wild. “You’re such a bastard.”

A glint sparked in his eye. “Yes.”

Then, without warning, both hands moved.

One braced the back of your neck again, possessive. The other slipped around your waist, tugging you forward in the chair just enough that your legs parted slightly, just enough to make you realize how defenseless you truly were beneath his gaze, his grasp.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I have found your weakness,” Dorn said, calm as ever. “It is not in your skin. It is not in your armor. It is in your submission.”

You opened your mouth, to argue, to deny, to challenge him, but then he leaned closer. His lips just barely brushed the shell of your ear, and the words he breathed into you nearly undid you entirely:

“And now that I know it… I will use it.”

Your vision blurred.

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, stepping back as if the entire moment had been nothing. Just another exercise. Another test of materials under pressure.

You were left panting, ruined in your chair, your body burning and empty without his hands.

Dorn merely turned away, reaching for his gauntlet. “We will revisit this,” he said, voice crisp.

“Revisit?” you echoed, voice cracking.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “There is more to learn.”

Then he sealed the gauntlet shut with a hiss.

And just before he turned back to his command console, you saw it—the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile.

A smirk.

[transmutationisms]

Hey, I've been delving into anti psychiatry readings but one thing always stands out to me: if there is no underlying disease behind a depressive state, for example, how does that new paradigm not end up placing the blame on the patient? I ask in good faith as I still don't have a clear answer on that regard, and would like to have better conversations about this topic that don't end when people tell me of a close relative with depression who has seemingly had a life free of traumas that could otherwise present as depression.

-materialist (marxist) anti psychiatry identifies the root 'cause' or basis of psychological experiences in the economic and material conditions of existence. depression or other forms of distress, just like other affective states, derive fundamentally from the world we live in, our political situation, the material alienation of estranged labour that underlies 'alienation' the psychological state. this doesn't mean that resolving the contradictions of capitalism (that is, workers' revolution) will magically eliminate all sources of distress, depression, or other currently pathologised experiences. however, it would certainly resolve / eliminate some distress for some people; additionally, it is the only way to overcome the capitalist paradigm that values people by their adherence to a normative standard of ability, which is what renders depressed people (for example) economically marginalised 'failed citizens'

-keeping the above in mind, i would question whether there is really such thing as a person who 'has no trauma' ie, has no material basis for alienation, depression, or distress. capitalism is an estranging system, including for the owner class (though of course this occurs in a different way to the labouring class, and i am not suggesting that the bourgeoisie are the 'victims' of capitalism or some such)

-none of the above is mutually exclusive with the role that an individual's neurobiology plays in their subjective or psychological state. like any base/superstructure phenomenon, the relationship is dialectical, with the material base generally dominating, but both acting on and being affected by superstructural phenomena. economic and material conditions lead to subjective experiences such as depressions; these experiences are also instantiated in, reacting to, and reacted upon by the physiological processes in the brain/body. however, when we say that depression (for example) is not a disease we mean that there is no biological entity---no infectious pathogen, no 'chemical imbalance', no organic lesion, no anatomical defect or physiological malfunction---that is identifiable as a single cause or correlate of depressed states, nor will there ever be; the psychiatric label is a heuristic catch-all applied to a constellation of experiences (symptoms) that are varying degrees of disagreeable to individuals (patients) as well as to medical and state authorities

-i think it's overly credulous to the psychiatric profession to assert that calling something a disease means that no one can 'blame the patient' for it. in fact i would say it would be difficult to name a disease that doctors, state authorities, and society at large does NOT blame on patients

-i also think it's overly credulous to the psychiatric profession to assert that there is a dichotomy between neurobiological diseases and things that are individual faults or failings. in fact i would posit that most subjective experiences, including of distress, are neither

[simplyzeeka]

Ruffian

Part.1

Summary: Ryan has been living a lonely life on her farm for a decade now. With no family to seek company from, she developed a routine with just her and her animals, something that soothed her loneliness. Until her happiness came back a little earlier than expected.

Warnings: MDNI!!! Cussing, chaotic animals, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, p in v(no protection), face sitting if you squint. They just missed each other y'all 😔

A/n: So, uhmm. This was supposed to be straight fluff, nothing nasty at all. But sometimes, characters have a mind of their own.

5k+

Ryan always believed life in the countryside was much more peaceful. Although she hasn't even licked the city streets, she hears enough to have a clear and unbiased opinion about it. But that did not mean that the countryside did not have its chaos. “Daisy… Daisy! Come back here girl, where you goin’?”

And most of this chaos came from her small little farm, especially her Great Dane. If it weren't her chickens causing a ruckus, her sheep and goats were raining ditsy havoc. Her only peace came from her Friesian stallion, Ferris, always chewing on a bunch of hay in his stable away from the blasting heat.

Despite all this, Ryan loved her little farm. It was a place with many stories. Tragic and happy alike. She inherited the small plot from her grandmother who raised her into the woman she was, her parents having moved to the city since she was young as a way to send money back into the farm.

Ryan shook her head at her dog’s antics before turning back to the task before her. “Okay, Ro. We’re all done girl, you get some rest.” She spoke quietly to her cow, applying a post-dipping solution on each teat when the spotted animal did not have any more milk to give. Ryan took off her gloves and offered the cow a batch of hay, then left the stable after checking on Ro’s calf.

It was a rather long day, helping a cow give birth was the least of her expectations, luckily her grandmother had always prepared Ryan for such a situation. She carried the bucket of colostrum filled milk that would be used to feed the calf, but stopped to check on her Stallion. “What’s up big guy? Your water still good?” Ryan checked the stable for any irregularities.

Once satisfied she left the stable, securing the lash before a smooth velvet voice caught her attention. “That sissy still standin’? Thought he woulda been long dead.”

Ryan whipped her head behind her, there occupying the entrance of the shed. Worn out timbs and a pair of denim jeans that matched in condition. White wife beaters and a denim jacket over his shoulder, his signature silver chain hanging around his neck. Terrence Richmond was still as handsome as he was all those years ago.

“You lyin’ to me.” Ryan shook her head, eyes blinking slowly, there was no way he stood in front of her currently. It was too early, he wasn't supposed to be back until a few weeks. See, Ryan knew that she should stop smoking the pre-rolls that Willow always brought, they tended to leave her more paranoid than relaxed.

The smile he let out from her quiet whisper was enough to spark a flamelet to her, he really was here. Years and years of being separated and finally, he was in front of her. , “I’m right here, baby.” He dropped the bags in his hand and opened his arms.

It took a while for Ryan to react, rendered speechless just by the mere fact that he was here… with her and near her. Next thing one step turned into two, then three before she was spriniting in his direction. Ryan wasted no time locking her body around his, legs around his waist and her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Terry held her even tighter, his hands gripping at her thighs so he could hold her up. A soft scent of cinnamon and peaches invaded his nose so delicately that he brushed his nose against her neck to inhale more of the sweet scent.

“I thought you was gon’ be out in a few weeks. I aint even prepare nothin’ for you, coulda held a party or somet-.”

Terry didn't allow her to finish, “Ry baby, I dont need a party. This is good, this is perfect.” Terry protested, honestly so because there was no better way than for him to celebrate his return than with his fiancé.

Ryan held his face, a small pinch between her brows as she inspected his face. “I coulda bought you somethin’ nice at least.”

Terry laughed, knowing that Ryan always wanted nothing more than to please. Her heart plummeted at the sound, she missed it… thought she'd never hear it again, but Terry had a way of always coming back to her. “God, I missed you, like a fish outta water.”

Their noses nudged as she spoke, until the distance between their lips became a little too much to bear and Terry pressed their lips together. He swallowed the sound of her content sigh, felt her relax as she leisurely responded.

The small flame in her heart spread to the rest of her body, little embers flicking off her body when his hands grabbed at her supple flesh intentionally.

Ryan grew into her womanhood, everything about her screamed ‘grown’ and Terry loved every moment of that realisation. Ten years… he hasn't seen his woman for ten years, didn't watch her grow and grow with her. But he had time to spare now, and he would be damned if he didn't spend it on Ryan.

It took being placed on a block of hay and Terry stepping between her legs that made her push him away gently. “Mmm wait baby, we can't. Ro just calved.” She explained breathlessly while playing with the charm on his chain.

“Ro? As in little Ro?” Terry asked shocked, “She getting down and busy?” Ryan rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

“Ro ain't so little no more. And, she been gettin’ down and busy. This her third baby.”

Terry immediately moved his body away from Ryan, running her fingers through his short curls. “Somebody got my baby pregnant?” He frowned at the declaration, no longer in the mood to get acquainted with Ryan’s body. This was big.

Ryan huffed at his Oscar winning antics. “Terry, please. She damn near eleven years old, and also a cow. Breedin’ is what they do.” She explained, not that she thought they had to, he knew what it was when he bought Ro.

“Yeah, but not my Ro.”

Ryan cackled at that, he never failed to treat all the livestock on this farm like children… except her horse of course. She couldn't blame him, Terry and Ryan bought Ro off a cow breeder before he left for the military. They were only twenty years old, freshly engaged and had a dream to grow a farm together… their farm. Ro was their first cow, a big accomplishment because cows were expensive as hell.

“Okay, Soldier. Calm down.” Ryan got up from the hay and walked over to Terry. “How bout you help me carry the milk to the kitchen?” She suggested, pointing at the half full bucket of milk behind him.

Reluctantly, Terry obliged, he picked up the bucket and followed Ryan to the kitchen. She did some work to the small area, it looked different from the last time he saw it.

“You recolored?” He asked, placed the bucket on the floor before looking around. It smelled like freshly baked cookies, which didn't surprise Terry, he knew how much Ryan loved to bake.

“Mhm, got tired of the grey.” Ryan grabbed the bucket of milk and poured it in baby bottles for the calf when it woke up, she had fed it a while before it went into a deep sleep.

Terry couldn't help but to watch her, like really watch her. Her face, her hair, her skin. Everything about her. Dressed in a plain shirt, the front of it tied in a knot, showing a bit of her stomach. Flared jeans that hugged her thighs enticingly. As always, Ryan wore a low cut, stetson hat on her head, she wouldn't leave the house without one on.

She looked good, damn good and Terry found himself unable to keep composure again. A few tentative steps was all it took until he was behind her. His hands placed on her hips while his fingers dig into her belt loops as to pull her hips into his.

Ryan let out a soft laugh when she felt tickling kisses behind her ear travelling to her neck. He smelled like he always did. Honey and a hint of musk. “I'm tryna concentrate, Terrence.” Ryan began, not detering from her task, just as stubborn as Terry was on his because he didn't let up on her.

“You can do this later. Come on, Ry. I miss you.” Terry countered.

Ryan shook her head, this was important, the baby needed their milk. “And I got you later. Gon’ make you dinner and everythin’.” She turned to face him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with the little curls on the nape of his neck.

Terry sighed and looked down at her. She was so pretty. Her cheeks softly filled out, cheekbones lifting as she smiled. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from letting out a soft grunt of frustration, how was he supposed to hold off when she looked this good.

“Alright, I'ma hold you to that.” He nodded, sending a small smack to her ass and a kiss to her plump lips. “Anything you need me to help with?”

“Can you check on Ro?” Terry nodded in agreement, pecking her lips one more time before retreating from the kitchen.

“Yes ma'am.”

Time passed slowly, that when evening rolled in, Ryan was already spent from her day. She made sure that Ro and her calf were settled in for sleeping as all her other babies. As usual, her chickens gave her more of a run around, but Terry helped put them in their coop.

She had just finished with dinner, opted for a bit of a full plate as Terry's first proper meal since being back.

He was currently in the shower washing the day away while she got the table ready. She had Janet Jackson playing in the background, something she always did to decompress from a busy day of farm work.

“Terry! Come on now. The food gettin’ cold.” She called out, impatiently seated, waiting for him so they could eat.

“I'm here, I'm here.” He rushed down the stairs. His heavy steps creaked on loose floorboards. He marvelled at the effort that Ryan put into making such a vast dinner for him. Terry couldn't remember the last time he's had a proper meal straight out the pot.

“Smells good baby.” He complimented, landing a peck on her cheek before he took a seat in front of her. “Looks good too.”

Ryan smiled in appreciation, “Thank you, baby.” She did a little jiggle at the compliment, causing Terry to laugh endearingly. “Alright, let's eat. I'm hungrier than a tic on a teddy bear.”

And at that they dug in. Ryan and Terry caught up with everything they have missed together. Ten years, and Ryan still couldn't help but feel like a giddy school kid around Terry. He always had that effect on her, and something told her that he always would.

Terry ate like a man starved and Ryan used this time he was distracted to admire him. He gained muscle… a lot of muscle. While he wasn't necessarily a man of small stature, Terry came back with his clothes stretched out. She eyed his prominent veins pop out everytime he flexed his arm even the slightest.

He trimmed his beard out and kept his goatee. It was a small change, but a nice one. She remembered constantly calling him ‘patchy’ back when he was trying to fully grow it but it wouldn't grow the way he liked it.

Once dinner was done, Terry offered to wash the dishes since Ryan cooked. “You go get the bed ready, pretty. I'ma be up there in a few.”

Ryan nodded and her small feet pattered up the stairs to her bedroom. She made sure to turn the ceiling fan on, the heat making her a little irritated. “Hotter than satan’s crack.” She mumbled lowly, naive to the presence in the room.

“Wouldn't be feeling so hot if you got out those jeans.” Terry commented from behind her, arms wrapping around her torso. “You tryna get me out my clothes, Mr. Richmond?” She turned to face him, hands rested against his ripple chest.

Terry playfully shook his head, nudging his nose against hers. “Nah, I wouldn't dare, Mrs. Richmond.”

Fuck she loved that, she couldn't wait until she could become that formally. Ryan landed a kiss on his lips, missed that. Missed kissing him so much, touching him and loving him.

The kiss picked up pace. While Terry had always been an impatient man, the time they have spent apart left him with an insatiable hunger. Ryan breathed him in, cupping his lower jaw as to pull away slightly for some air. Terry chased her lips, not giving a damn about breathing with Ryan this close in his proximity.

They crashed together again, then stumbled everywhere in the room. Terry tapped her thigh twice, before he rested his hands on the underside of her thighs and picked her up with ease, and on the bed he laid Ryan gently.

Her hands fumbled with her belt buckle, not wanting to waste anymore time talking and laughing. She wanted him, in every way he came to her.

Terry took over, gently removing her hands and undid the buckle himself, except he took his time. Once the leather was gone, he unbuttoned her jeans with his teeth, sliding them down her thick thighs along with the orange lace panties that he wished he had taken the time to appreciate on her.

Ryan was breathing heavily, watching as Terry kissed on her exposed stomach. He was serenading her with his lips, silently telling her how much he missed her.

The pillows of his lips moved from her stomach, down to her pelvis. He kissed the visible scar on the soft skin, one she got when she tried shaving without any guidance for the first time.

By the feel of his lips moving lower, Ryan was too anticipated to let him do what he wanted. She wasn't in the mood for foreplay.

“Terry, I don't need that now.” She whispered as she rested on her elbows, looking down at the earthiness of his eyes. Fuck him for being so beautiful.

“Hm? What you need then?”

Ryan shook her head, she knew what he wanted. He wanted her to explicitly tell him what she wanted. But how could she so boldly tell him that she wanted to be stuffed with his dick.

“Closed mouths don't get fed, baby. Gotta let me know what you want so I can give it to you.”

“I can't, T.” She reasoned softly.

“Yes you can, I know you can. You know why? Cause you're my baby, and my baby listens.”

Ryan sighed heavily, unable to understand why he couldn't just fuck her and call it a night. Now he was bringing all this Military obedience bullshit to her at the worst of times. It frustrated her.

“Terry, come on. Please.”

He noted her frustration, sighed in disappointment before he stood to his full height. “Okay baby.”

“We'll fix that some other time.”

And she knew that was a promise he was going to keep. Ryan smiled in relief, gasped suddenly when he kissed her feverishly.

This kiss was sloppy. They nipped at each other's lips before Ryan granted him access into her mouth.

And inevitably, allowed entrance into her leaking folds as well.

It wasn't just his muscles that grew, his dick seemed to have gained an extra pound as well because it laid heavy inside her, stretching her out that she knew nobody would ever be able to fill his space, not that she wanted anybody to.

Ryan struggled to take it, regardless of the fact that he was going slow, she still couldn't take it. The mushroom of his tip brushed carelessly at the soft tissue of her spot at every thrust, it had her recoiling away everytime he pulled out.

“Don't piss me off, Ryan. You wanted this right?” Terry gritted out, his grip on her hips tight as she rolled his hips up into her yet again. Slow, deep strokes. Just as she liked. “Hm? Answer me, baby.”

Her pussy was gold. Always has been, always will be. Ryan had no right to grip at him like that and expect him to let her run. You couldn't offer somebody candy and expect them not to indulge, it was inhumane, at least to Terry it was.

He had her holding her legs, presenting herself to him so she could watch where their hips met without obstruction. Ryan's essence pooled around her thighs and Terry's, leaked out everytime he pulled out the piping heat of her pussy to where his tip is all that stayed, before he dove his heavy dick back inside her so he could kiss her insides.

“Fuck. Y-yes I did.” Ryan managed to respond, her brows drawn together, her eyes too stuck on where they connected. Watched as rings of cream coasted the thick base of his dick. “Fat fuckin’ dick. Oh my… yess.” She whispered softly, throwing her head back, her grip on her thighs tightened ever so oftenly.

“And you love me, hmm baby? You love me don't you?”

“Yes yes yes yesss. Love you so much. Oh my God.” Ryan looked up at him with teary eyes.

“So don't run from what you love baby, don't run from me. Take this dick, there you go, girl. Pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

He fucked like a grown man now too. Before he left, Terry and Ryan had good sex, she wouldn't dispute that. But it never felt like this, he definitely missed her, and he sure as fuck was showing her just how much.

“So deep, so fuckin’ deep, T. Just like that.”

“Yeah? In your stomach baby?” Terry watched where his dick poked out on her stomach.

But Ryan shook her head dumbly, he felt way beyond that. “In my- shittt. In my heart.”

“In your heart?” Terry laughed, the sound causing Ryan's walls to pulsate around as they clenched. That drew a hiss out of Terry before he continued. “Dick got you talkin’ dumb baby.”

Ryan moaned at that. Fuck she liked that, she liked that a lot. It made her ooze more of her juices, down her ass and onto the bed.

“Ease up mama, let me in.” Terry groaned, struggling to dig her out the way he wanted to because she gripped at his dick so tight, sucking him in with every thrust. “Open up, Ryan. Let Daddy in.”

“Shittt.” She creamed at that. Fuck he was so sexy, so so sexy she wanted to give him children. Ryan tried to open up more, but the heaviness of his dick made it hard. He was impaling her, and he expected her to make that easier for him?

Terry wrapped her legs around his waist, leaned lower, his elbows near either side of her head. Their foreheads touched and Ryan wasted no time touching on him.

He was angled so much deeper like this, but that wasn't what had her heart pumping. The way he looked at her, while slowly pumping her full of dick had her reciting her love for him all over again.

“I love you, love you so fuckin’ much, T.” She spoke with her eyes stuck on his, hands caressing his jaw as her mouth fell open at his pace. “Fuck yesss.”

“Fuck this pussy magic. Wanna die in it, wetting me up so good. Pretty baby, you so pretty Ry. You hear me? So so pretty. Love you, till death yeah?.”

And she believed him, believed that he would die for her because Terry has shown her his love, showed her that she deserves that kind of love, and that kind of love deserved her.

“Oh my God… I'ma cum. I'm cummin’ baby.”

“I know, I feel it baby, I feel you. Let it go, cum on your dick mama.” He coached her, leaving kisses on her face as he maintained the pace of his hips. He whispered profanities and sweet everything's in her ear as Ryan squeezed around him.

“Fuck fuck fuhhh. Oh my God, I love you.” She gasped when she gushed on him heavily. Her cum leaked out of her, damn near pushing Terry out of her walls. He fucked her through it, kissing her slightly sweaty skin.

He pulled away from her, rubbing her thighs lovingly and watched as she caught her breath. “Turn over, I ain't done.” Terry sent a small smack to the side of her thighs and laughed when he heard her whine but still as obedient as ever, oblige to his command.

On her elbows and knees, Ryan spread her legs slightly, earning an appreciative hum from Terry as he gripped at her plump ass.

“Look at you.” He said, eyeing the slick that covered her heat before blowing on her swollen bud. “She missed me, hmm?” he asked no one in particular, yet still, Ryan responded with a silent “Yes, Sir.” that had Terry grabbing the base of his dick. The sound of her accent didn't make this any better.

He sent a long stripe from her clit to her pulsating hole. Sucked her bud into his mouth and gave her pussy lazy kisses that left Ryan leaking again.

Ryan gripped at the sheets in front of her. This man was insatiable, and she knew that there was a long night ahead of her, if not a few days as well. “Shit shit shit, like that. Just like that.”

He hummed against her, the vibrations creating pressure waves inside of her, amplifying the pleasure that was being sent to her brain. “Taste so fucking good, look at this shit.” Terry said and spread her lips apart, before diving back in, slipping his pink muscle inside her and exploring more of her taste.

Ryan's thighs shook, almost causing her to fall out of the position. “Keep that fucking arch, Ryan. You hear me?”

She whined in response, pinched her eyes together from the slight overstimulation.

Terry was a noisy eater, slurping and slipping. Didn't even mind moaning at her taste, occasionally praising how much she got wet, how pretty her pussy looked, how much he loved her.

Once he was done with his oral loving, he teased Ryan's entrance with his tip. Slapped it against her clit a few times before sliding it between her folds.

Once he slowly plunged into her slowly, he threw his head back and whimpered shamelessly. The sound made Ryan smile to herself, loving how he expressed himself freely in that sense.

“Fuckk, not sure if I can hold off mama.” She muttered, pulled out then plunged back in again, the sight made his dick twitch. “Can't believe I went ten years without this pussy. Never again, okay baby?”

Terry began the relentless thrusting. Pulled her hips back against him, watching the recoil of her ass in appreciation. “Never again. Gon’ die in this shit if I have to.” His bottom lip sank between his teeth, watching himself enter her with more and more cream decorating his veiny dick.

Ryan was at a loss of words, couldn't speak as tears filled her eyes. Dick couldn't be this good. She understood now why women often fought for their men, there was no way she's ever letting up on this. Terry would get fucked up for even doing something as stupid as think of getting with another woman.

Naturally, she threw her ass back on him, because she missed him. And he deserved this, deserved so much more. “Fuckkk that's it, show out mama. Take your dick, just like that. Taking me so good, it's yours ain't it?”

The sound of skin clapping and squelching could be heard in the room, accompanied by the sound of their persistent moans and whimpers. Their declarations of love and praises.

“So big, stretchin’ me so much. Fuck, let up Terry.” Ryan cried out, reached behind her to push against his stomach. Terry ignored that, instead, he just slid back in deeper. He angled his hips that made him kiss her cervix with so much pressure. Ryan opened her mouth agape and her arm fell forward to grip the sheets.

"Why you fucking me like this?" She moaned out elongated, using the leverage of her elbows to pull her hips away from him.

"Cause you deserve it. You deserve this nut, baby." Terry gritted out, so concentrated at the work he was putting between her thighs, watching the mesmerising waves on her ass every time their skin slapped.

"Working so hard every damn day, takin' care of the house, the farm. You don't gotta worry bout that no more though, cause Daddy's home. You hear me, Ry?" Terry angled his hip in a way that dug her out in a way that would have had her promising babies, but she held off.

All she could do was nod, grip the sheets harder. Her moans leaking out her mouth like the faucet between her legs. "Mh mh, say it. Say Daddy's home baby."

“Daddy’s home… fuckkk daddy's home. I'm bout to cum.”

“Right behind you baby, cum with me baby. Hold it just a little longer.”

Ryan tried, she tried so hard to listen but she couldn't hold it. She began squirming on him, yelling chants of ‘I love you's’.

The feel of her clenching sent Terry over the edge. “Fuck fuck fuckk, I'm cummin’.” He grunted before he spilled inside her then fucked his nut inside her.

The two gathered their breath, catching a sense of time and space while coming down their highs.

Once Terry pulled out, Ryan believed she was done. “Sit up baby.” Terry called out gently, rubbing her back gently as she moved around the bed.

Once she was sat on the bed, she was face to face-to-face with his slick covered dick. He definitely was bigger, and the sight of his cum mixed with hers had her mouth watering.

Ryan looked up at Terry, the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “You okay?” He asked for assurance to continue first, the ball was in her hands.

Ryan eagerly nodded. She wanted this, needed this even. “Clean me up then.” he ordered.

Hesitantly, she wrapped her hands around him. Even with both hands, his head still peaked out. The weight of it felt tantalising.

“Don't play around with that shit, Ry. Eat it up.”

Immediately, her lips wrap around his head, sucking gently. Her eyes met his when her tongue poked out to lick from her shaft to the base. They tasted good together, like a match made perfectly in heaven.

Ryan slid her mouth around him, sliding her lips lower as she inhaled. Her hands wrapped around what she couldn't fit into her mouth. He felt heavier on her tongue. “That's right, nice and slow. Ain't goin’ nowhere mama.” Terry watched with his lip caught between his teeth.

His brows furrowed as she took him with skill, just as he taught her all those years ago. Ryan began bobbing her head, her eyes already getting teary at the way he stretched her mouth open.

“Just like that. My baby getting me right. Take what you need.”

Ryan picked up the pace, slurping at his dick like it was her last meal, slowly easing him deeper in her throat, her nose slowly inching towards his pelvis.

“Look at you. Nasty ass, you love this dick Ryan?”

She nodded her head, hummed in response as well knowing that would drive him crazy. By now, she was damn near deep throating him, his tip kissing the back of her throat.

Ryan clenches her throat around his head which causes Terry to buck his hips forward. Ryan pulled away to get some air, breathing loudly as her hand twisted around the weight of the muscle.

She tapped the head against her tongue before sliding it back into her mouth.

Terry laughed, he wanted to be gentle, wanted to let her do her thing. But now she had him worked up, teasing him as if she wanted him to show out.

Gripping the back of her head, Terry pulled her away from him, before guiding her back towards his head.

“Breathe, baby. Breath.” He instructed, watching as Ryan nodded in understanding.

Terry slid into her mouth, watching her jaw relax as she breathed, right until her nose touched his pelvis. He heard her gag and relieved her by pulling out.

Tears adorned her eyelids, falling when she blinked up at him with spit running down her chin. “So good baby, you think you can do it?”

Ryan nodded her head. “Yeah, I can, promise. Please.”

“Mhm, ‘course you can.” He said before siding back into her mouth. “Love being slutted out, don't you mama. Mi get yuh, baby.”

The patois, fuck the patois. It wasn't often that she heard it before he left, only ever when he was angry. Then he spoke in patois, but during sex? Ryan has never heard it, and she's not sure she wanted him to stop.

Ryan hummed around his dick. He used her mouth for good measure. “You so pretty like this.” He praised as his thrusted into her mouth gently, loving the sight of her lips wrapping around him.

Ryan did a few tricks with her tongue, drawing him closer to his orgasm. “Fuckkk Ry. Fuck baby, I'm bout to nut. You gon catch it?” He asked breathlessly, brows pinched together as his grip on her head tightened.

Ryan moaned around him, her hands rested on top of his thighs. The room filled with sounds of gagging and Terry's moans.

It didn't fall unnoticed to Terry the hands that rested between Ryan's legs. She was playing with herself, smearing his nut between her fold as she rubbed leisure circles on her sensitive bud. Perhaps she liked Terry in her mouth more than she thought she did.

Terry laughed at that sight, pulled out of her mouth and heard as she gasped to take a breath. Ryan chased the head of his dick, clearly not happy with how soon it ended, he didn't even cum yet. Despite all the spit running down her chest and the tears that filled her eyes, she still wanted more.

Terry teased her, pulling her head back everytime she got close to having him back in her mouth. “Terry, come on.” She whispered desperately.

Hr knew she could get down and grimey if she wanted to. Terry knew that Ryan could fuck him to sleep if she wanted to, if only she could stop being so shy. They'd get there though, he'll make sure of it.

“It's right there baby, go head and take it.” He urged, tilting her head to see her face better. “Or you want me to give it to you?” Ryan immediately nodded her head, she liked him being rough, taking what he needed because he knew she would do nothing but give.

“You lazy as fuck Ryan. Daddy gon get you right, though.”

His hand let go of her hair, wrapped his hand around her neck instead, squeezed just enough to slow down the blood from going to her head.

Ryan felt a little lightheaded when Terry pulled her up to where she stood on her feet. Her hand wrap around his wrist, her eyes crossed eve so slightly when he squeezed tighter. “Fuck.” She whispered.

Terry pecked her lips. Once, twice, and a few more times. “You okay, baby?” He asked, releasing some tension on her neck but kept his hand there.

“Mhm, I'm fine. Thank you.” She smiled tiredly.

“Good. Cause I aint finished. Come sit on my face.”

“Terry. I'm tired, I got a lot of work tomorrow.” She shook her head incredulously. There was no way he could possible have that much energy. What water are they giving these men in the military?

“And ain't I say Daddy's home?. I'ma help with all that.” He tapped her thigh.

Ryan sighed and climbed over him on the bed, hovered over his face slightly, clearly worried about suffocating him.

“Don't play with me, Ryan. I said sit.”

Ryan rolled her eyes, happy he couldn't see her. “Sir, yes Sir.” She mumbled before lowering on his perfectly sculpted face, his eyes gazing up at her as he munched away between her thighs.

Taglist:

@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. Hope you enjoyed. Comment if you want to be on my permanent taglist.

[storiesfromgaza]

It is very important to read this and share it

Today the Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor Observatory stated that Israel dropped over 25,000 tons of explosives on the Gaza Strip as part of its ongoing extensive war since October 7th, equivalent to two nuclear bombs.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory, based in Geneva, highlighted the Israeli army's acknowledgment of targeting more than 12,000 objectives in the Gaza Strip, setting a record in the number of bombs dropped, surpassing 10 kilograms of explosives per person.

With the advancements in bomb quantity and effectiveness, while maintaining a consistent amount of explosives, the quantity dropped on Gaza could be equivalent to twice the power of a nuclear bomb.

Additionally, Israel deliberately employs a mixture known as "RDX" (Research Department Explosive) commonly referred to as "the science of complete explosives," with a power equal to 1.34 times that of TNT.

This means that the destructive power of the explosives dropped on Gaza exceeds what was dropped on Hiroshima, taking into account that the city of Hiroshima covers an area of 900 square kilometers, while Gaza's area is no more than 360 square kilometers.

Furthermore, Israel has been documented using internationally banned weapons in its attacks on the Gaza Strip, particularly cluster and white phosphorus bombs. White phosphorus is a highly toxic incendiary substance that rapidly reacts with oxygen, causing severe second and third-degree burns. The Euro-Mediterranean team has documented cases of injuries among the victims of Israeli attacks that resemble the effects of dangerous cluster bombs, as they contain small high-explosive submunitions designed to penetrate the body and cause internal explosions, resulting in severe burns that melt the victims' skin and sometimes lead to death. These submunitions also cause peculiar swelling and toxin exposure in the body, including transparent shrapnel that does not appear in X-ray images.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has emphasized that Israel's destructive, indiscriminate, and disproportionate attacks constitute a clear violation of the laws of war and the rules of international humanitarian law, which stipulate the obligation to protect civilians in all circumstances and under any conditions. Killing civilians is considered a war crime in both international and non-international armed conflicts and can rise to the level of a crime against humanity.

The 1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions, along with the 1949 Geneva Convention in its latest formulation, established fundamental human rights during wartime to limit the deadly health consequences of internationally banned weapons, some of which could lead to the "genocide" of civilians.

Article 25 of the Hague Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land prohibits "attacking or bombarding towns, villages, dwellings, or buildings which are not defended."

Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention states that "any destruction by the occupying power of real or personal property belonging individually or collectively to private persons, or to the State, or to other public authorities, or to social or cooperative organizations, is prohibited, except where such destruction is rendered absolutely necessary by military operations."

According to Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, the destruction of property that is not justified by military necessity and on a large scale is considered a serious violation that requires prosecution. Such practices are also classified as war crimes under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has called for the formation of an independent international investigative committee to assess the magnitude of explosives and internationally banned weapons used and continue to be used by Israel against civilians in the Gaza Strip.

This committee would hold accountable those responsible, including those who issued orders, made plans, executed actions, and took measures aimed at achieving justice for Palestinian victims.

[ghoulsbounty]

hi i heavily request something where the reader and the ghoul(cooper) are travelling together and it’s night time, they’re outside trying to get some sleep. the reader is sleeping beside cooper but they get cold and they subconsciously move towards him and grab him, laying on his chest. HOW WOULD HE REACT? 🫶

Until Tomorrow

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Bounty!Reader 

Warnings: sliiiiight mentions of smut (18+), alluding to masturbation, a bit of angst, mentions of canon-typical violence/torture, control, small mention of barb if you squint, mention of sex work (not reader), Cooper is mean.

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is just a little ficlet that I've left open ended in case anyone would like a part two. I didn't want to go full-guns blazing into a smut fic since you didn't specify, but I am more than willing to do so, Anon 🫡 I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

👉Read part two HERE👈

"What are you up to?" the Ghoul's voice pierced the eerie night, sharp and accusing. The darkness shrouded the makeshift camp, the bitter wind cutting through with relentless force. His eyes narrowed as he watched you approach, tension thick between you.

You dropped to your knees, wrists sore from the tight bindings he had reluctantly removed. The sand greeted you with a thud as you settled beside him, maintaining a cautious distance. You needed warmth, but you couldn't get complacent with your captor.

"It's freezing," you stated matter-of-factly, shifting against the sand to carve out a somewhat comfortable spot, however impossible. "You let the fire die."

The Ghoul glanced towards the extinguished campfire, a thin wisp of smoke rising lazily into the frigid night sky. The remnants of charred wood and ash lay scattered around it, the faint scent clinging to his clothes as he reclined against the dunes.

"I can start it up again," he offered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "If you fancy being deathclaw chow."

Your gaze widened as you glanced into the expanding darkness, the absence of the fire amplifying the encroaching shadows. Terrifying howls and snarls reverberated from the depths, prompting a chilling question: were the creatures lurking out there truly more fearsome than the man holding you captive? The notion of a swift demise by claws and teeth seemed almost preferable to the prolonged torment of captivity. While the Ghoul might not be the one to end your life, delivering you to the cartel as he had pledged would render him just as culpable. In that sense, he might as well be the one to pull the trigger himself.

After your first escape attempt, the Ghoul's demeanour turned even harsher, though the dehydration was a greater torture than any physical aggression. He justified his restraint, explaining that he refrained from inflicting worse harm only because you were required in perfect condition, and he took pride in fulfilling his bounties meticulously. However, his rationale did little to mitigate his rough treatment. To him, a few small bruises and the sting of restraints were acceptable, especially considering your spirited defiance.

But in the span of a few weeks, that defiance began to wane, and resignation crept in. You felt like a sacrificial lamb, resigned to its fate, being led to the inevitable slaughter.

"I'll take that as a no," he remarked, snapping you out of your reverie as he shifted beside you. Even he seemed affected by the cold, evident from how he huddled in his duster, arms crossed tightly over his chest in an attempt to retain warmth. You couldn't help but envy his layers, wishing for more of your own as you wrapped you arms around your torso. 

You maintained silence, willing yourself to sleep as you turned away from him. Any further interaction felt uncomfortably intimate.

Cooper listened to the sound of your ragged breaths battling against the cold, your body trembling beside him. The wind was particularly brutal, the kind he would normally seek refuge from in an abandoned building. However, your sluggish pace throughout the day had resulted in him setting up camp in the exposed wasteland, devoid of shelter or respite from the elements. Your punishment, he had said, for dragging your feet.

He could endure it; he had endured it countless times before and would do so again. But for you, he wasn't so sure. Despite your initial bite, you had turned into a meek little thing in the palm of his hand. A small, niggling part of him wondered if he had been too harsh, but survival instincts dictated otherwise. When an animal showed its teeth, you put it down—figuratively speaking, of course, he couldn't risk losing his bounty caps. 

This new approach seemed to have worked with you, perhaps a bit too well.

As you shifted beside him, turning to face him with closed eyes, Cooper felt like prey ensnared in the hunter's grasp, awaiting the next move. An uneasy panic gripped him at the sudden feeling of helplessness, but he willed his breath to steady. You released a deep sigh as you pressed your body against his side, and he stiffened at the unexpected closeness. Your arm draped across his abdomen, and a leg hitched and hooked around his thigh.

Cooper was nearly ready to question your apparent lack of brains when he noticed your breathing, deep and steady. His words died in his throat as he felt your arm tighten around him, drawing him closer to you like an anchor. It wasn't a conscious decision to seek him out; rather, a subconscious response to the biting cold, he reasoned. Yet, it did little to ease his discomfort as the warmth from your thighs spread over him, seeping into his core and igniting a sensation he hadn't yet entertained with you.

He found himself mesmerized, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, his gaze drifting to your parted lips as you released another sigh. Your nose pressed against his shoulder, and he could swear he felt the warmth of your breath through the layers of fabric, igniting the burnt skin beneath.

This wasn't real, not to you, and certainly not to him. By morning, he would carefully remove himself from your embrace, restoring the intended distance your unconscious mind had breached. You would remain oblivious, and only Cooper would bear the weight of knowing how his muscles longed to reach out to you, to touch you without the shadows of anger and conflict looming over them. He cursed the memory from a distant life that surfaced in his mind—a loving touch beneath soft sheets, a foolish adoration for a lover turned stranger.

His fingers twitched, restrained by the firm crossing of his arms over his chest. If he could just maintain this position, he could endure the night. If he could ignore the sensation of your leg tightening around his thigh, your knee brushing against his growing arousal, he could make it through. He chastised himself inwardly for his weakness. He should push you away, keep you bound and isolated from him, be indifferent to whatever dangers might befall you because it would have been your own fault. But Cooper needed those caps. If he could just survive the remainder of this journey with you and keep his sanity intact, he promised himself a visit to the next inn, where he could seek solace in the comforting touch of those who were more than willing to accept a ghoul's money.

Still, he didn't expect anything to compare to the softness of your breasts pressed against his side. Something snapped within him at the sensation, a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. The wild thought crossed his mind that perhaps you were warming to him, not just seeking warmth for yourself. He had broken you, after all, hadn't he? Or at least, he was on his way to doing so. He couldn't help but wonder: if he woke you, would you pull away or press yourself closer?

A foolish thought, but one that haunted him nonetheless.

He lay in silence, listening to the rhythm of your breath as he stared up at the stars. Waking you wasn't an option; he wouldn't risk the inevitable panic and distress of you finding yourself half-straddling the monster who had stolen your freedom. He would let you sleep, indulging in the fantasy that you felt something other than contempt for him as he waited for the sun to rise. Until then, he justified to himself as his hand slipped from its restraint under his arm and found the buckle of his belt, it would be a shame for a solitary man not to indulge.

[multiheadcanons]

THE MERCS AS MY CLIENTS. WHAT A WEEK ITS BEEN AND AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS ITS ONLY WEDNESDAY.

scout: shittily bred pit bull mix named bosco. comes in and asks me to shave the dog because the shedding is bad. i have to tell him that’s not how shedding works and i won’t be doing that. he is the only client in this list i would even feel remotely confident contesting with. talk him into the cheaper option; a deshed treatment and regular visits. becomes a good client of mine! doesn’t tip, but that’s okay.

soldier: well bred, if only overweight english bulldog named colonel pigskin. i am to address him with his title or soldier will raise a fuss. brings him in for the works. everything i could possibly add on, add it. and he better have a handkerchief and it better be america themed or so help him god. tips four bucks every time. i keep him as a client because i know nobody else will take him with his insane aura. dog fucking reeks every time. takes three washes to even begin to break the stench. but a sweet dog. bites for nails.

pyro: brings in a small super-mutt on enough trazadone to kill a horse. in the system as a shih tzu named princess. if i can get to the dog while it is still absolutely tripping balls on its traz, it’s honestly not a bad time. quarter inch all over with a short teddy bear head, bob the ears, trim the tail, potty trail. is honestly very cute when it’s done. but it will always be a dog i have to push through. i get two hours before the dog starts fighting. and it’s enough to make me stop services. asks for nail polish. when i accomplish it they tip twenty, no tip if there’s no polish. i do my best to paint the dogs nails. irregular client, but the dog is short enough that it’s not a problem.

demo: beautiful, old scottish terrier named jodie. an honest to god menace to society but i would never ever tell demo that in a million years. she’s perfect and i love her. it shocks him because he’s been fired by other shops. i tell him she’s an old lady with a high maintenance trim and she takes a lot of time. standard scottie trim, long skirt, like barely off the ground. it is an honest challenge and i never think she looks good. demo has never, ever complained, even when i directly ask him. genuinely makes me want to cry because it is a battle when she is on my table. jodie has dementia and does not know where she is half the time, and is blind and deaf the other half of the time, so she is an all day process.

heavy: blue maine coon named feliks. leash trained. the cat looked to be a normal size in his arms. he weighs in at 27.5 pounds. comes in for a bath and a thorough brush, no clippers nor scissors are to even hover around the coat. dude’s like triple my size so i say “absolutely sir, i will contact you when services are rendered.” feliks is in stellar condition. an absolute star when he’s checked in. i take my time, and the cat reacts with little interest in my badgering. which frankly, when you’re that big and a cat, is an honest to god blessing to my arms. yowls in the bath, but does not try to escape. okay with the dryer on a low setting. must be an express, which halves my bookings for the day. when i tell heavy the price the first time he frowns. tells me to double it. he pays that price and leaves no tip, other than i leave room to be taken advantage of with those pricings. irregular client, but faithful. it’s always a joy when they come in, even if he doesn’t know it.

engineer: brings in a shepherd mix named bingo. comes in for an outline trim. bingo has two dew claws on every foot. bingo would be cool if bingo didn’t feel the need to shit fifteen times on my table and then yell at the top of his lungs when i start trimming his nails. bingo would be uber cool then. but instead, three baths and a couple deep breaths later, i send engie a text letting him know services have been completed. i up the price three times during the process, and the man will still tip. a regular client, which i am not particularly pleased with. but he’s cool enough. if bingo can chill out i’ll lower his price. he never will.

medic: brings in a jet black pomeranian named hypatia. i call her nightmare. her and her owner are absolutely horrid. he will not fill out paperwork, we have to physically place ourselves behind his car to get a signature, and he is annoyed about it. brings in a note with chicken scratch of which all that is legible is his phone number and “call for questions, do not text” that essentially sums up to tight outline trim with a full mane. nicer on the phone than in person, but he will spend twenty minutes making sure i know how to do my job. i chalk it up to him being european. picky, so i take my time on her. he never tells me this dog is trained in german, so it is a consistent fight to render services until i just start trying other languages. once i realize she is trained, just not in english, it is an infinitely easier time with her on my table. makes her owner much more bearable, though i am never happy to see him on the books. does not tip, never seems happy with the finished product, but is a regular, consistent client. so he pays well in the long run. if i ask whether he even likes my work he will wholeheartedly say yes, and i’m not sure whether to believe him because his mannerisms never change. but i start painting her nails. that gets a good reaction out of him.

sniper: rat terrier named dog. chill little thing for a rat terrier. face feet and tail, no spray no bandana. does not like the dryer, so he takes longer than he feasibly should for a little rat terrier. that is the most annoying part of his process. will watch whatever show i have playing on my phone while i work. it’s a good distraction. has weirdly human eyes. when i ask snipes about dog he says he found him in a dumpster and tried to foster and failed. so now he’s got a dog. i think it’s funny, and the dog wasn’t horrible, so i give him a discount. tips whatever small bills are in his pocket, so anywhere from two to ten bucks. smallest tip i ever got was a quarter from him. it’s the thought that counts? twice a year client. i don’t even know why he brings the dog in at that point. nice to make small talk with, though.

spy: the most snobbish poodle owner you’ve ever met, but god is the dog gorgeous. snow white coat, feels like a pillow. dog’s name is beau. gets a continental trim with poms on the feet. topknot long enough to reach jesus. this dog takes me all day. and he is the only dog i can put on my books. and spy is never happy with the finished product. there is always something that can be done better. comes in every three weeks and it’s a nightmare. he wants to talk every time to go over notes and fixes. eventually i ask him why he continues to come to me if he doesn’t like my work. he responds “i don’t want someone else; i want you to get better.” which like, so do i, but not with him as the client. beau is an unremarkable dog otherwise. but it is teeth gritting when his owner is in that building. everyone cries when he starts bringing his cat in, too. we fear we may never escape him.

A LITTLE EXTRA

pauling/admin: miss pauling brings the administrator’s nasty, rotten old bichon mix under the alias “fido” every six to eight weeks with very specific instructions. when miss pauling is in the building, it is almost like every animal becomes twice as anxious. and i really wish they would stop coming. i’m almost willing to leave the industry entirely. the administrator sends pauling with pictures of dogs that do not even remotely look like her dog, and i am crossing my fingers and praying i do it close enough that i don’t get a complaint, but that she decides she can find better. flat out refuses to sign paperwork, and we kind of just shrug. i am consistently filled with dread that the dog is going to drop on my table. it’s old enough to drink.

saxton hale: incredibly aggressive belgian malinois named hastings. must be muzzled while handling feet or he will bite. bites at the water, bites at the dryer, whips around when i’m trying to brush, gives me multiple heart attacks. i charge a pretty penny every time hale comes in, because his dog is taking active years off of my life. hale himself is not the worst guy in the world to interact with, and he understands that his dog is a lot to handle; but his dog is a complete liability and he won’t get the thing trazadone. he honestly thinks it’s funny that i am the one who took the dog on. he respects the moxie. doesn’t feel bad if i get bit though.

[yuurei20]

Ortho Updated Facts Part 6: Ortho and Vil

During Book 6 Vil comments, "Ortho’s been putting on quite the villainous performance. It seems to me he could drop all this nonsense about resetting the world and start an acting career.” Rook asks Vil about Ortho joining the Film Club and Vil responds, “I think you might be onto something there.”

We see Ortho trying to decide on a club during a vignette (the other first-year students are in sports clubs, and Ortho says he is more interested in new experiences than improving his performance), reflecting on how he would watch films “to acquire proper emotive capabilities.”

Before Vil has the chance to extend an invitation for him to join the Film Research Club Ortho asks to be allowed in himself. Vil grants him membership without an audition as he has “already seen more than enough of your acting back on the Island of Woe.”

Vil says, "The level of CG in the Film Research Club's productions has vastly improved since Ortho joined us. The models themselves are higher quality, and we can render long sequences in no time now."

Ortho explains that he first started watching movies in order “to study human emotions. I had trouble conducting myself in human-like ways when my brother first built me. I didn’t really understand when it was appropriate to get mad, or to laugh. Movies helped me solve that problem, though.”

He says that, “Nowadays, watching movies is more or less something I just do for fun.”

Riddle and Leona call in Vil and Crewel to assist with Fairy Gala IF and Vil and Crewel invite Ortho, with Vil saying, “Ortho is essential for your success at the fashion show. No one is more fitting for the theme of evolution than Ortho Shroud.”

Book 5 is Ortho's first appearance in the main story, where he fails the audition for the VDC when Vil reacts to his performance with, “I’ve heard of genreless, but this is ridiculous.” Despite this, Vil seems fond of Ortho. Vil refuses to teach him make up techniques for Halloween as his costume uses a mask, but when Ortho is disappointed in the loss of a learning opportunity Vil follows with, “I jest…I will pick out some skincare products for you.” 

When Idia rejects Ortho’s invitation to Playfulland Ortho confides in Vil and, rather than comment on his ditching of school, Vil encourages him to showcase his acting skills and convince Idia to go with him via “a wholeheartedly tearful performance.”

Ortho invites Vil, instead, who tells Ortho that he is not obligated to spend his every waking hour with Idia or to defer to him, even though they’re brothers. Vil and Ortho end up in a group together (with Floyd and Jade). 

When Ortho refuses to run away from Playfulland without challenging Fellow to a fight, Vil agrees with him.

Vil is less enthused after the majority of the group has been captured, calling Ortho “A spudling with broken brakes who seems reasonable, but resorts to extreme measures at the drop of a hat.”

Vil saves Ortho from a collapsing stained glass window but gets trapped himself, sending them on alone. Ortho exclaims, “Without you, it's just going to be me and two pieces of dead weight. I can't possibly fight in those conditions!”

Vil encourages the group to figure out the situation for themselves and buys them time to escape the puppets.

After they, too, are captured Ortho reflects, “I just became a student, yet here I am, getting turned into a puppet and dragging Vil down with me…”

Ortho gives us a rare example of a student buying a souvenir for someone who is not in their same dorm during the White Rabbit Fes event, when he buys perfume for Vil, saying, “Vil has always been good to me in the Film Research Club, so I'd like to get him something as well.”

When the vendor asks how he feels about the recipient (in order to find a suitable scent) Ortho responds, “He’s very…STRONG!!!”

The vendor recommends a “very warm scent, with harmonious notes of fresh citrus and an amber accord,” which Ortho confirms are compliant ingredients and purchases for Vil.

Ortho says that he pays special attention to movement as a member of the Film Research Club, and he spends a lot of his time off watching movies and livestreams of plays.

He says that lately he has been going to to lunch or tea with classmates and other students despite how he cannot eat because of how much he learns from “observing the way people get worked up about all the little things.”

Ortho explains that he draws on the stories his classmates tell him when he really wants to disappear into a role. (Sebek: “So you use your interactions with humans as fodder for your acting.”)

Vil has a voice line about Ortho wanting to incorporate the sense of humor of the King of the Underworld into his performances.

When asked what dorm (besides Ignihyde) he would like to join, Ortho responds: Pomefiore.

[vikkirosko]

Hi. IDK If you're all right with this request or if you're up for doing it. But can you do? How would helluva boss characters Blitzo, stolas, and Moxxie react to finding out their s/o got hurt instead of stolas because the people took the wrong person who was meant to be Stolas. And since s/o won't give any information or show any weakness, as a last resort now rendered defenseless, Andrealphus resorts to a cowardly act, stabbing a sharp blade into their s/o shoulder and breaking their ribs, savoring every moment of there pain showing it as a warning to them. Also they can't go into the hospital room to see s/o because of the media. What would they do and say about what happened to their s/o.

Headcanons Severely injured

😈 Blitzø x Reader 🐴

Blitzø was calm about the fact that you were gone for a long time. He was sure you were late until he got a call from the hospital. You were there in a serious condition and his number was recorded as your emergency contact. Blitzø was shocked by this news, but when he arrived at the hospital he couldn't even get to the entrance. There were a lot of journalists there and all he had to do was look for another way to get to you

He had to climb up a drainpipe to get to the window in your room, but the sight of you lying unconscious made his heart clench. He didn't leave your room, and when you woke up, he was apologizing for not being there. Blitzø did not know exactly what happened to you, but he intended to find out and find out who did this to you. When you came to your senses, you told him about what happened to you, but your story made his heart sink. You've been through something terrible

You were captured instead of Stolas, but they realized it too late. You knew that a certain aristocrat was involved in this, but you had no idea what his name was. You just called him the Snow Queen. They couldn't find out anything from you, so this aristocrat stabbed you in the shoulder and broke several of your ribs. These were the injuries you knew for sure, but there could have been more

Blitzø was not going to forgive this.He intended to avenge you, because someone dared to hurt you. But first he wanted to wait until you were fully recovered. He couldn't let anyone try to hurt you again, or worse, kill you

😈 Moxxie x Reader 🎶

Moxxie witnessed you being kidnapped. He couldn't let anyone hurt you and rush to your aid. However, when he got to you, he realized that a little more and he would have been too late. He was able to get rid of some of the kidnappers, but the main one managed to escape. Moxxie wanted to catch up with him, but he had more important things to do. He had to get you to the hospital as soon as possible, because you were seriously injured

When he brought you to the hospital, the doctors quickly took you away, but he couldn't even come to the entrance. The reason for this was the journalists. You were kidnapped instead of Stolas and there was a big fuss about it. Moxxie tried his best to get to you, but it was simply impossible to do it through the main entrance, so he went in through the back entrance, hurriedly looking for your room

He sat in the hospital corridor in front of your room for several hours. Moxxie was waiting for you to come to your senses, after which he was allowed into your room. He was sitting with you, very worried about you. He was your personal guard, afraid that someone would try to kill you in the hospital

Moxxie understood that what happened to you could happen again. Maybe someone would want to get rid of the witnesses. You claimed that some aristocrat was involved in all this, which means that you could really have been killed to save your reputation. Moxxie wasn't going to let that happen

🦉 Stolas x Reader 🎩

Stolas knew that his ex-wife would not let him live in peace after the divorce. But he wasn't thinking. That you'd be kidnapped instead. You were dear to him and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt because of him. Stolas tried to find you, but when he found out where you were, he got scared. You were seriously injured and you urgently needed to get to the hospital. Stolas took you there and paid for the best room for you. He was lucky that he managed to enter the hospital, because the exit from it was quickly blocked by a crowd of journalists

Stolas was sitting with you in the room where you were unconscious. According to the doctor, you had a knife wound in your shoulder, several broken ribs, bruises and several other minor injuries. But the problem was also that you lost blood and needed time to recover. Stolas was even ready to take you to his house and take care of you if necessary, but he was ready to cry with happiness when you woke up

You smiled faintly at him and said you were glad he was okay. Stolas was much more worried about you and wanted you to rest. However, you said something that worried him even more. You said that Andrealphus was involved in the kidnapping and it was he who broke your ribs and it was he who stabbed you in the shoulder

The thought of his ex-wife's brother doing this to you made him angry. Stolas wasn't going to forgive him for that. He may have to come into open conflict, but he was willing to do it for you. You were very important to Stolas and he didn't want anyone to hurt you

[entities-of-posts]

My father’s house has mice. We managed to rent the place for quite cheaply, and admittedly it was not in great condition, but we had thought, or perhaps hoped our repairs would have rendered it impenetrable to any rodents.

I had been on my computer, when I turned around in my chair, and I saw it. It was quick, a grey blur that quickly dashed behind the curtain. But I knew what it was.

I screamed. I’m not an easily scared person, but something about the sudden appearance of a pest where you aren’t expecting it really gets me, especially when it’s in my home. I had a similar situation with my mother’s, when a field mouse had managed to slip into the house during a cold snap which had apparently warped the house enough for it to get through. I reacted similarly to how I did here.

My dad arrived, and after some discussion, we decided to let it be, as we could not find the mouse and my father wasn’t looking forward to killing it. We would review the defenses, and that would be that. We could hope Marley, our cat, would get it, but she’s 19 years old at this point so there’s probably no dice there.

And for a while, I forgot about it.

Today, I saw it again. It was slower this time. Like it wanted me to see it. I watched it walk behind my desk, and peered behind it to see it jump behind the cabinet next to it. I did not scream. The fear did not come this time. Instead, I found myself with a feeling of companionship for it.

Now, the paranoia over if that tingling sensation in my dangling feet is merely bad circulation or fur brushing past brings me comfort. The dashes of movement in the corner of my eye brings me wakefulness. And, all things considered, it’s actually rather cute.

I’m not sure if there are others. I kind of hope there is. I don’t want the poor little fellow to be alone.

One time as a child I awoke to find a strange, soft little patch of warmth against my foot. I wriggled and felt it wriggling too. Isn’t it so lovely that a tiny creature such as a mouse would find sleep in my bed, against the warmth of my skin, giant that I am to her? Hello little cutie! We are distant family! How wonderful to find safety together!

Of course, in this case, I did not have to worry about pathogens, as it turned out the little sleeper was my own escaped pet mouse, who in the large unfamiliar landscape of my family house had found me to cuddle with instead of disappearing forever under the floorboard. But my point is that I should call this the Corruption, I suppose, but the real truth of it is that mice are so cuties and though I know the practical reasons why they shouldn’t be left to infest a home, I wish it were possible to just let them share with us those nice, warm, dry caverns we’ve built. I don’t want to relate this companionship to Dreadful influence, when it is so sweet in my eyes.

[thechosenone-if]

DEMO

Last updated: 21 June 2022. Wordcount: 24k words (average playthrough of 17k word)

Rating: 16+ (mentions of mental illness, violence, blood, sexual themes, strong language, transphobia, chronic pain)

The Chosen One is a text-based fantasy epic story where, as it often happens, you are the one chosen by the Prophecy, destined to fight in the Last War under the King. Unlike your average tale, though, you most certainly know to be the Chosen One and you have spent all your life waiting for your King's call.

You will NOT be the victim of events out of your control, nor you'll be an unwilling participant. You are not an orphan, and your family will not be slaughtered in order for you to unravel your true purpose in this world.

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

Instead, you are prepared and in control. You are powerful, more powerful than any other being that ever walked through this land, and you are ready to fulfil your destiny.

When the story begins, you are in the North, waiting. And when the call finally, finally, happens, you have to set off for the South with your Mentor, as specified in the prophecy. The Last Journey has begun.

Every interaction counts, remember that. But remember also that you are the Chosen One: you can do what you want, you have the power to forge whatever future you want for the Regions and for yourself.

LOVE INTEREST

RASCIA | The Forgotten One Healer (gender selectable M/NB/F): the colour of their skin, as well as the arcane language that litters it, marks them as kaehan, a native of the very kingdom you are prophesised to fight against. But destiny works in strange ways and maybe, after all, they were the one you needed all along. You will have to travel far before you meet them, though, and you will have to fight and to lose more that you ever thought you could shed. Because before you rise, you have to fall.

Rascia is a tall (1.79 m/5'11") person, with wavy waist length sapphire hair, a coral complexion and bright sea blue eyes. Their lean body is almost totally covered by religious silver tattoos, now rendered useless by their condition. As a result of their loss of faith, Rascia is completely colorblind.

OTHER CHARACTERS

The Mentor: they, as you, are part of the Prophecy, chosen to accompany you in the Last Journey. Your bond is... strained. You only want to be looked at with some sort of pride but all you seem to find in their eyes lately is doubt.

ASHEN | The Hero: you'll soon meet them. Remember this, though: keep your jealousy at bay before it starts consuming you.

The King: not much to say to that. They are the king of the land, you never obviously met them and their true intentions remain unknown.

FEATURES

customize your MC's name, physical appearance, gender (M, F or NB, cisgender or transgender) and preferred magic (elemental magic, enchantments, illusion magic).

play as a semi set character, with a sharp tongue and a very strong personality, but with a soft spot for plants and kind healers

choose the rune that's engraved in your skin, and choose carefully because every Region will react accordingly.

build or destroy relationships with the cast, and find, in the midst of the Last War, the only one you can truly be yourself with.

The story will be released on Itch.io chapter by chapter (with a not so accurately estimated total of 9 total chapters) and will be completely free form start to finish.

[forallnumbersosc]

Can algebraliens get rabies

WHEW Sorry for the huge break everyone, but we are back!! ...more or less-- Let's jump right in!

[This post contains some horror and may trigger those with scopophobia!!]

The strange thing about algebralien immune systems, at least from what I've gathered, is that microorganisms don't seem to have the ability to survive within these guys, or rather... they don't really actively attack their systems? It's a bit like a germ resting on a rock rather than in someone's bloodstream... There just aren't any proteins that the germs recognize to try and react to!

...However, that does NOT mean that algebraliens do not get "sick"... they can indeed go into certain states given the right conditions, and the results are very erratic.

The one I know most about, and the one I'm sure you all have seen on the show, is of course the zombie outbreak.

This notorious infection is caused by a common gut microbe present in most objects that rapidly mutates and gets very erratic when stimulated with intense heat! ...Most of us don't eat superheated rock, and those of us that could, such as Firey, don't typically have this germ present in our bodies.

In a typical object, the microbe present when it enters our bloodstream, quickly replicates and attacks our nervous systems, weakening it and rendering us to a sluggish state and compelling us to attack and bite others...

But when exposed to an algebralien, something... different takes place...

Rather than a physical infection, there is a specific chemical created within the mutated germ that causes an imbalance within an algebralien's body, causing their system to "overclock", changing their behavior and causing them to rapidly lose control of their shapeshifting...

It was... um... an experience to encounter that out of nowhere to say the least--

This imbalance causes their behavior to become far more... "primal" i suppose? Algebraliens don't hunt like animals do, so rather they tend to retreat to what I can best describe as an "id" (in reference to Freud's theory of the mind). Two could only think about the closest things they had an instinct to do (which... was thankfully was something harmless like bringing us to the elimination area).

Two still feels... a bit guilty for scaring me despite not being able to control it, but I could never hold it against them...

...but hey at least something like that is WAY too unlikely to happen again right?

[Green Six belongs to @dragiani teehee]

[indigo-scarf]

Parental abuse & the Malfoys

The most common way I've seen parental abuse portrayed in fanfic never resonated with me. In fic, the ethos of an abusive parent often reads as: "I want to hurt you as much as possible, because I hate you" — and that doesn't reflect my own experience.

Of course, it might reflect other people's experiences, or the fics might not even be aiming for realism at all, so I'm not here to argue that you can't write like that. But to those interested in another possibility, I want to share my perspective.

The way I understand my parent's (twisted, unacceptable, but genuine) logic is:

"I love you. I want to get along with you. Us having a harmonious relationship is the default state, until you do something that hurts me, or shows that you don't value the love I am offering you. Then I have to discipline you, or I react aggressively because I've been aggressed upon. If you only behave, we can be the happy family I want us to be."

And in my view, this applies to Lucius Malfoy too.

The Borgin & Burkes scene in CoS suggests a heavy-handed intention of JKR's to portray Lucius as the shallow trope of an unidimensionally cold father, but if that's what she was attempting, she failed. Lucius and Draco do seem to get along most of the time.

As many have pointed out, Lucius is willing to listen to Draco's rants about Harry Potter; he shares news articles and sensitive information with Draco; he gets extremely involved in Draco's school life, and attends his every Quidditch game; there is always a sense that Lucius and Draco are gleefully teaming up to get in someone's way.

Lucius didn't suddenly realise in Deathly Hallows that his son was important to him, he's always known that. Even Voldemort knew that, hence his conclusion that targeting Draco would be the worst way to punish Lucius.

However, the Borgin & Burkes scene does add an essential layer to their relationship: Lucius cannot handle frustration.

He wants Draco to succeed, but if he doesn't, that is a threat to Lucius's ego. He can't have a son bested by a Mudblood! That kind of shame terrifies him, and renders him not only aggressive, but frantic.

Because why would Lucius Malfoy want to humiliate his son in front of "riffraff" like Borgin?

Why would he want to broadcast, "Hey, people who should admire my family as your superiors, look what a failure the Malfoy heir is, he can't even beat a Mudblood at school! He'll end up a lowlife criminal!"

I imagine this kind of berating is not uncommon whenever Draco threatens Lucius's ego by doing anything he fears will reflect poorly on him — but it would be kept behind closed doors. To the world, both Lucius and Draco are interested in presenting the best image of their family.

For Lucius to do this in public, he must be really feeling the pressure of Harry Potter's reappearance, and all the threats to his status that came along with it. He might be so sick of hearing about him not because he's sick of his son, but because Harry is making him feel so destabilised.

Now, of course Lucius would never admit he made a mistake, or stoop down to apologising to anyone, much less a child he wants to respect his authority. He would just convince himself Draco deserves whatever harshness he incurs when he fails to be a "good team player", and then the game goes on as it should — as a loving, harmonious family.

It's not so much lack of love, but the conditional nature of Lucius's love that makes Draco vulnerable to Voldemort.

[kuubiubiyang]

YAAAY, my pawssss finally got around to finishing it~

i did it a long time ago, but i only finished it today^^

im sorry in advance for any mistakes, if any :')

«____________•NOVAKREIS•____________»

Novakreis is Nemesis mechanic. Alt form: modified(?) fighter plane. Previously served as a seeker under Starscream's command, Novakreis was seriously wounded by shrapnel from a homing projectile in his first battle, rendering him unable to fight effectively.

«__________•appearance??•__________»

«______________•lmao•______________»

«______•a couple more things•______»

Thanks to his predisposition to engineering and good technical memory, he was able to remain on Nemesis as a mechanic of the ship’s internal systems. Novakreis himself outwardly takes his situation calmly, sometimes complaining about the unnecessarily slow and painful transformation. But in fact, the con regrets that at the time of the battle he did not react quickly enough and came under fire from his faction.

Novakreis has no built-in weapons - the original connectors for blasters were damaged and are now inactive, and he was denied a personal weapon due to the lack of need for them aboard the Nemesis (no, he just didn't learn how to use it properly, lol... he hurts himself more easily than anyone else).

Novakreis is capable of performing delicate repair work - for a better result, he files his claws, reducing the area of ​​contact with the parts being repaired for the sake of jewelry work on them. Filing the claws is an unpleasant, slightly painful procedure, after which it is necessary to treat the claws with anti-corrosion oil to prevent rust.

By nature, Novakreis is choleric, purposeful and uncontrollable, expressive. He easily finds a common language with the colleagues, developing an individual approach to each cons. Sometimes he is too harsh with his superiors, causing problems for himself, but almost always gets away with it thanks to his positive reputation. The only Decepticon Novakreis avoids is Megatron.

Despite his talent for mechanics, he sometimes gets the job done wrong if something more interesting is on the horizon. Due to such conditions, Nemesis spare parts supplies are slightly lost.

While working in the repair bay, Novakreis had plenty of time to rethink his position in life. He is not a radical Decepticon, but still treats transformers of other factions with prejudice and suspicion. In an unfamiliar environment, Novakreis... is somewhat paranoid, so don't worry if you find a wiretapped bug on you - this is purely for self-defense ;>.

«________•INTERESTING FACTS•________»

•Novakreis is slightly taller than Starscream, but shorter than Megatron.

•Sometimes, while offline, Novakreis has nightmares about his execution on Cybertron.

•Novakreis hates being addressed as "Nova". "Novakreis" is better, or "Kreis" as a last resort. For the nicknames "Novi" or "Kri" or "Novakri" Novakreis is quite capable of hitting something heavy...

•Novakreis was never on Cybertron, his protoform was activated at the height of the last war between the Autobots and Decepticons - on Nemesis, in outer space. During the time when the Decepticons were expelled from Cybertron, several protoforms fell into their servos.

•Novakreis often neglects his health (and the integrity of his hull) if he gets too carried away with his work.

•Novakreis is not afraid to directly criticize the actions and decisions of superior Decepticons - but only in his thoughts and, preferably, not in their presence.

•Due to injury, some of Novakreis's mechanisms require constant calibration - in particular, his optics. Due to the small and painstaking work, the focusing of his vision quickly becomes upset, but, due to altruism (or stupidity), the con will not engage in calibration until it is absolutely necessary.

•The sound receivers, by the way, were not damaged; Novakreis hears better than many in his circle.

«______________•that's all•_______________»

if you've read this, then i give you all my gratitude and a kiss on the forehead, if you don't mind~~~

[iamhollywood]

I want to talk about Jesse's possum story from Fly. most of this is just word vomit from my notes so it might not 100% make sense just bear with me here.

We know Jesse's aunt Ginny died of cancer. It's not really discussed much in the show, but it seems to have affected him quite a lot, especially in his relationship with Walt. In Fly, Jesse is particularly thrown off by Walt’s sudden obsession with the fly because of how much it mirrors Ginny’s reaction to the possum (“Scrabble”). In both cases, a person Jesse looks up to, who has a tentative health condition, is being driven mad by an animal trapped in an enclosed space. Both of them are desperately trying to regain control over a situation where they have none – for Ginny, this is her cancer, for Walt, this is his life of crime – and going to more and more extreme lengths to do so. 

Eventually we find out that Ginny’s obsession was caused by brain cancer. This does two things. First, it leaves us to wonder what’s wrong with Walt – what’s causing him to act like this? His cancer is in remission, so it can’t be (or probably isn’t) brain cancer. This question is answered later, in the scene where Jesse kills the fly. Walter is experiencing guilt and regret for the first time in the show. He very rarely experiences remorse, so of course this version of him is alien both to us and to Jesse. By the end of the episode, the fly, symbolising Walter’s guilt, is killed, and he returns to normal.

Second, it gives us insight into Jesse’s emotional state. His trauma from his aunt’s death is being triggered, which is why he acts how he does in Fly. Ginny died when he was much younger and had no experience of such a situation, which rendered him powerless to react. Now that he is older, he sees the same situation playing out in front of him and is desperate to change it. He tries to help Walter, by trying to kill the fly, and by drugging him to sleep (the drugging also mirrors how Ginny was given antipsychotics). He is both trying to resolve the situation and soothe the pain it is causing.

All in all, I really like this scene for what it symbolises and how it gives us an insight into Jesse’s past experiences of cancer and how they affect his interactions with Walt. I feel like Aunt Ginny isn’t really explored that much but she really does have a massive impact on this part of the show. And despite what Walt says, there IS a discernible point to this story :)