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shojizbae · 6 months

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Rave Baby

Spencer Reid x Reader

After a long case, some of the team pitstops at your apartment, and Morgan takes the liberty of searching through some memories. He comes across some scandalous photos that light a fire in Reid.

This last case was challenging. To make it worse, the power had gone out in DC due to a blackout. With a chirp, I told the team that I always had a generator and that we could cool with some coronas in my fridge. Hotch had declined, stating the necessity of returning to his wife and son. I had thrown open all the windows and cranked the AC, attempting to push out all the hot air. With my permission, Derek had distributed beers from my fridge and found a bag of chips.

A battery-powered radio was located, and my CDs were run through to find something to unwind with. With a sigh, Emily sank onto my couch and sipped her beer.

"Uhh, I can't tell you how nice your apartment is."

"Yeah," JJ groaned from the corner, holding her hair up and sticking her face in the AC vent. Derek was still looking through my belongings when he came across a Scooter CD.

"Well, well, well, where did a girl like you find this type of music?" I looked at the album cover.

"Oh, that's from my college days." I tried to dismiss it. This isn't the sort of stuff I would share with my coworkers.

"Really? Let's go ahead and pop this in."

"No don't!" I tried to launch it at him before he could open it, but it was too late. A few photos I took the night I bought that CD slipped into his lap.

"Woah ho ho!" Spencer, who had been content to sift through my shitty romance novels, peaked his head up like a prairie dog at the sound of Derek's chuckle. "What do we have here?" He held up one photo, and I hid behind my beer bottle.

"That was years ago," I whined

"What is this?" Spencer came to the group, attention fully peaked

"It's (Y/n). At a rave." Spencer snatched the photo out of Morgans's hand like a cat but Emily nearly yelled

"Shut up, let me see." she slammed her glass bottle on the table and grabbed one of the photos from him

"No way," JJ stated, following Spencer into the circle to look at the evidence. "I could never imagine you at a rave. I've seen you get upset that you left your clothes in the washing machine."

"They'll get moldy," I whined

"Holy shit. Where was this?" Emily inspects a photo of me in a bikini, fluffy leg warmers, and a matching bucket hat. "Look at your butt where were you hiding this." She makes an attempt to check me out, but I sink further into my couch

"I don't know, I was never sober in the 72 hours around a rave."

"Oh yeah? What did you take?" Morgan begged

"All sorts of crap, mostly hallucinogens. My rave mentor told me music is better when you're high."

"So why'd you stop going?" Emily asked

"I grew up."

"You grew up?" JJ asked, putting the photo on the table

"Yeah," I rubbed my hands up and down my thigh and sighed. I wasn't entirely ready to trauma-dump the team, but here I was. "My uncle, who basically raised me, passed on Thanksgiving in the sophomore year of my bachelor's. Hallucinogens made it easy not to grieve, and loud music blocked my ability to think. I would dance around and tell everyone that 'tonight was the night,' and I was 'finally free,' but I would just see him after a while. He would ask me, 'Why are you doing this, my dove?'. I couldn't ignore him anymore, so I just stopped. Put all my teeny bikinis in a box and put it past me." I cleared my throat, realizing that I had put a damper on the mood

"We could play the CD. I think I'll still remember the rhythm." I switched in the discs and let the synth radiate through my living room. Immediately, I felt the groove, letting it carry my limbs airily around me. I felt myself disconnect as the beat continued to pump. Before I could drift away wholly, Emilie's voice brought me down to earth.

"You packed all this away? That means you still have it?"

"Yeah, in a box in the back of my closet." before I could discover my mistake, she darted to the back of my apartment, and JJ took off with her.

"Oh hell, I gotta see this." Derek got up and dropped the last of the photos. Reid dutifully packed them up and sifted through the photos, stopping on one.

"What did you find, Spence?" I crawled toward him slowly. I gasped at the photo. My Rave mom, Zoe, who was only 4 months older than me, and I were posing together. He sifted through the images with it and stacked them. I gasped at the image. The photo on the top was of Zoe throwing up a peace sign, showing the neon pink paint on her palms, and a green hand was playfully on my throat. Both of our bodies had been splattered with neon ain't, but noticeably, I had two big hands brink on the triangle bikini we wore. One pink, one green.

The picture below was of Zoe and I very dramatically kissing. Zoe had made smudged hand prints on my ass. I had a leg up on her hip, and you could see drool and lipstick around each other mouths.

"I hardly even remember that night, and I thought it was trendy to act gay." I pulled the pictures from his hand and returned them to the case. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why are you apologizing? Y-you had fun."

"Yeah, but you're my colleague. This is embarrassing and you probably are ashamed of me."

"Actually, I'm jealous. In college, I had no friends and didn't go to parties. I was, I am, a loser. You had fun."

"Did you not hear my spiel about using drugs not to think?"

"Yeah, but you were hot." That shocked you. He was only two beers deep, and Reid was spilling his secrets.

You laughed in shock.

"Spencer, you can't say things like that." I slapped at his chest playfully.

"WELL!" I could hear Derek's strained voice. "This!" he put the giant plastic tub on the floor next to us. "This is one heavy bucket of slutty clothes."

"I want to try something on!" JJ greedily popped the snaps on the cover. With giggles, JJ and Emily started pulling out bikinis that looked like they were made out of spider webs.

"Woah ho ho!" Derek giggled, holding up a low-rise thong. "I hope you wore a jacket."

"Alright, that's enough!" I grabbed it from his reach

"Hey, could I borrow one of these?" JJ asked. "Will has been asking for something new."

"Yeah, but don't borrow it. I don't want it back." I made a face of disgust

"Yeah, I might want to just wear one around my apartment?" Emily held something balled up

"Take as many as you want. I won't wear them again. I should sell them. I could finally go on vacation."

"Woah woah woah, if you sell these, what will you wear on vacation?" Derek joked

"Clothes." I snatched another piece of hosiery from him. My knees cracked as I stood and got another beer from the kitchen. "Now, get out of my panties." I swatted him with the bottoms as I walked by

by some stroke of God, the lights flicked back on, and across the street, I could see the surrounding building come back to life.

"Well, I've got to get to my house before my ice cream spoils." Emily stood and collected a few pieces of fabric.

"Yeah, and completely unrelated. I have to call Will." JJ juts out her lip in an admission of guilt. They snuck out the door, giggling and tucking crazy fabric in their bags.

"I should get going too, wonder boy. You need a ride home?"

"No, I should be fine. There's a train in the next hour." Reid was still immersed in the photos.

"Well, don't bug her too badly." He left with a wink

"Why are you still looking at those? They're ancient."

"The date on the back says 1998, making you 20 years old. You're 28." Finally, he puts the photos down. "I'm having a hard time picturing you going to a rave. You only read sappy novels from the seventies. I saw three copies of Tuck Everlasting on your shelves." All the talk from my coworkers and the five beers in my system made me more than angry and bold.

Stupid ideas were my biggest export when I was inebriated.

"Well, I know the FBI has kept me in shape. I'm going to my bedroom and try these on." I gave a coy smile as I took a handful of sets and strutted off to the back of my place.

"W-what do you mean you're going to try them on."

"I've gotta see if they still fit."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #raver girl

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barrenclan · 10 months

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sorry if this is spoilers bc we might learn more later. I'm super confused with Rainhaze's thought process. When he was saying its pointless. like. I get not wanting to go back bc he killed his mom. but what did that have to do with Asphodelpaw? Couldnt he just walk away? Did he see her and decide he wanted to be part of Defiance? And this was the tipping point to prove it? I'm super confused. Was it because if she left she'd tell someone? I assume we'll get a better explanation later?

Absolutely! I've actually been waiting for a chance to really dig into this. Like Rainhaze himself, his issue is written with a lot of confusion and uncertainty, and it's not very straight-forwardly, so I understand why his motivations are easy to miss. So here it is!

Firstly; Rainhaze as he existed in BarrenClan and Rainhaze as he is now are two very, very different beasts. Obviously he's still the same person, but he's gone through a mountain of trauma, violence, and was forced to confront the fact that if pressed, he would kill a family member - even his own mother. Sure, in the moment he was threatened into doing it, but it opens the possibility that he'd even do that. Maybe he would've done anything to protect his family then, but it's been a long time.

Then, over many months, he's subjected to propaganda, murder, and terrible treatment. His mental state from where he was when he killed Dustfeather is massively changed. He's depressed, listless, and much more willing to kill. Not only that, but Defiance propaganda has worked on him.

(Issue 24)

With so much constant killing in his life, and being constantly vulnerable, he begins to see death as a good thing. Something that ends suffering, something that doesn't really matter in the end.

(Issue 28)

So now we're at Issue 31. Rainhaze is in a "doldrum", like Ranger says (a period of inactivity or lethargy). He's so torn between his new life and new beliefs, and his old regrets and old connections to BarrenClan, that he's basically attempting to end his own life through inactivity. Ranger doesn't want this. Here's his plan:

Ranger knows that BarrenClan lives opposite the forest, across the prairie. He specifically orders Rainhaze to "kill something", planting that idea in his mind. He's hoping that Rainhaze will find one of his Clan members, and make the decision to kill one of them. This would push Rainhaze over into whatever full breakdown Ranger wants, and solidify his ties to Defiance. And that is what happens. So why did Rainhaze make that decision?

We already have the basis of an incredibly traumatized Rainhaze. He views himself as he is now, and who he used to be, as different people. And he belives that's completely beyond redemption.

Yes, all those months ago he promised he was suffering in Defiance for his family and Clan, but it's really hard to hold onto those noble morals when you're being put through hell every day. Rainhaze hasn't even seen his family in months. They don't seem real to him anymore.

Then he is finally confronted by Asphodelpaw, the symbol of everything he's put himself through torture to protect, and all he wants to do is go back to Defiance. And here we go, getting to these lines;

Rainhaze is a coward.

He's separated from Deepdark and Ranger, by at least several days. He could absolutely come home with Asphodelpaw and warn all of BarrenClan - they could evacuate in time, be far away by the time Defiance arrives on their territory. But then he'd have to face his family, face his sister whose mother he violently murdered. Have to stand there and have them look at him and know him and see the scars on his body.

When he says, "this is vile, pointless, irredeemable, monstrous", he understands that killing Asphodelpaw is a disgustingly cruel action. He knows that. He understands that he's choosing Defiance over her, and over them. But that's the choice he feels he needs to make to protect himself. He's not thinking about his family any more.

So he does something so completely vicious and irredeemable that he is forced to choose Defiance. Because there's no way that any BarrenClan cat would forgive him for this. There's no way he would forgive himself for this.

And thus, Rainhaze figures himself out, and burns every other bridge entirely. He makes his choice.

#ask #rainhaze #analysis #raz goes insane about rainhaze: the post

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neetily · 2 months

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Party For Two — (SDV) Sebastian

— ✧ warnings: love confession, mutual masturbation, premature ejaculation, creampie, fingering — ✧ word count: 6,077

— ✧ A/N: reposting some favs from my old account! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

It’s the usual hang out night, held at your farmhouse this time round because you insisted on doing your fair share of hosting, only, Sebastian can’t help but feel that it’s anything but usual. What was meant to be a four person TV series watch has now turned into a party for two. Sam, currently sick with allergies and Abigail, busy trying (and most likely failing) to beat ‘Journey Of The Prairie King’— something that Sebastian is sure will take more than one night of attempts, she’s already been stuck on it for a week... And well, he can’t really fault Sam for not wanting to make anyone else sick. If anything, he’s thankful to be the only one to show up besides you. It’s not really that bad of a turn out, not when he’s been secretly wanting to spend more alone time with just you and him anyway. Because see, he’s always been interested in you ever since you first came to the valley, and it’s as time’s went on and you slowly assimilated into his little trio friend group that he found himself thinking: yeah, four is a better number anyway. A small crush, he tells himself. Nothing serious, he jokes with Sam. No I wasn’t staring, he whispers to Abi. But deep down, he knows exactly what he feels, and as you finally come back into your living room with excitement in your eyes he knows it to be true— he wants to see that face every day going forward.

“Sorry for the wait!” You smile, his eyes drawn to your blushed cheeks when your attention is immediately focused on the TV in front of you. Tonight seems like a good time to confess, because while he certainly wants to do other things with you, it’d be rude not to make his intentions clear in the first place. To be a gentleman, and at the very least provide courtesy before anything else, smiling warmly back at you while you busy yourself with getting comfortable next to him. He likes you, and he’d be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity right in front of him. Alone, with you. There really isn’t a better scenario to confess in, is there?

“S’all right,” He half-grunts as he repositions himself to be more facing sideways so that he can keep looking at your pretty face, as he always does. “You ready for the next episode?”

“Yes!” You beam back at him, remote control in your hand as you glance at him for what he thinks is a final time tonight before starting the weekly show, so he does his best to respond in kind. It’s one that the group had decided to watch together, and though Sebastian wasn’t that interested in the premise, he did enjoy the thought of spending more time with you, which is why he mostly agreed to join in the first place. He’s grown to like the show more anyway, though he’s unsure if that’s down to the (honestly, pretty mediocre) cinematography or because he gets to stare at you for an extended period of time each week. Lovingly, of course, he’d hate to come off as a creep. Always cautious about his looking, but feeling unable to control his desires for too long before he’s eyeing you up and down again. He always waits to dive deeper into his thoughts of you until he’s home at least, mostly because he can’t stand the thought of popping a boner in front of so many people and to be left unable to live it down for the rest of his life, but also because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable at all. Would rather the boner scenario to making you feel any negativity in any capacity. “I’m so glad Sam and Abi said it was cool to continue, I’ve been waiting all week to see what happens next!”

Ah, yeah, the romantic plot line or… Something. It’s difficult to pay attention to the current story when his vision is so full of you each week, but he’s heard you chat about it enough to get a good idea of what to expect next. The protagonist and her love interest, finally, seemingly getting together. It’s cute to see you so invested in something, and he too finds himself thankful that his friends have allowed the continuation of the series in the privacy of a company of two. “Yeah, real nice of them, huh?” He continues out of pleasantries, knowing just how much you wanna get started. Sam promised to watch the episode himself, all bundled up under blankets in his own living room— Sebastian knows his best friend is probably practicing guitar instead, and Abigail will be too stubborn to give up gaming for a show she can catch up on when you ramble about it in the group chat later. Still, there’s comfort in the space they’ve provided him, his chest warm and gaze half-lidded as you press play, the shows intro sequence filling the remaining small space left between two bodies.

He’d like to fill that space with himself, eventually.

Even during the admittedly drawn out intro you’re cutely engrossed, the glow from the TV shining in your eyes so prettily, like there were stars or something, and he cringes at his sappy internal monologue. You’re still far more interesting to watch than whatever the screen is currently showing, and he takes his time when committing every detail of you to memory tonight. The innocent way your eyes are glued to the screen, the unknowing smile on your face as your favorite character shows on screen, the way you edge just slightly off your seat as if to get closer, closer to the screen instead of his arms. He huffs impatiently, low and quiet to himself at the thought. What he wouldn’t give to have you in his lap instead, he’d even still let you watch your favorite show, so long as he could hold you. Softly touching you, kissing the top of your head as a reminder that you are wanted. So deep in his thoughts of you that he doesn’t even realize how much time has passed— it can’t be that much— but he distinctly hears a moan that drags him back to reality. A soft but sinful one, his head snapping to the source of the sound as his cheeks instinctively flush. It’s coming from the TV, an intimate sex scene including those two characters you like so much. Already? He thinks to himself, so much for tension, before he finds his eyes once again falling on you, and he gasps a little at the sight that greets him.

Too many times he’s spent lonely late nights imagining exactly how you look right now, curled up in on yourself as you avert your gaze from the screen with an almost shy look on your face. Honestly, he never thought you’d ever optionally look away when this show was on, but he thinks you’re embarrassed. A sneaky smirk plastered on his face at the realization. It is a little awkward to be watching a sex scene with your friends, he can admit that. But he finds it difficult to feel uneasy himself, too amused at the way you clear your throat as the moans continue to fill the otherwise silence of your living room, keeping his vision locked on you to see exactly how you react to the explicit scene playing out with curiosity. Something he can use again you in the future.

“We can skip past it, if you want.” He offers before really thinking, his heart pace quickening as he tries his best to resolve your discomfort. Sure, it’s fun to watch you struggle, but all he wants is for you to be happy. “Really, I don’t mind—”

“No, it’s— I mean, it’s okay, really.” You stumble over your words, flashing him an appreciative smile before lowering your head once more to the ground.

Well, okay, he thinks. You’re clearly struggling to get through the scene, and though he’d rather you welcomed his help with open arms, he doesn’t mind watching you grow increasingly riled up by the exaggerated gasps and sighs from the show. In his more perverted mind, it’s easy to imagine that he’s watching porn with you right now, a quick look back at the TV screen shows naked bodies rolling around together, sharp inhales and teasing giggles. He wonders if you’d react the same way to him, then just as promptly he corrects himself and knows he’d have you moaning louder than that. And deep down in the pit of his stomach, or a bit lower than that, he feels as though this is his chance to show you that fact too, sighing to himself as he tries to resolve his inner conflict— and obviously fails. Because it’s about you, and he hasn’t a hope in Hell when it comes to you.

“You sure?” His voice is soft, spoken lightly and carried with faux reassurance while his hand stretches out to meet your trembling thigh, sucking air in through his teeth at the way you jump from his touch. “I don’t mind, cause it seems to be… Getting to you, y’know?” He smirks through his words, knowingly teasing you despite his heart wanting nothing more than to soothe. Can’t help it, you’re too cute like this, all blushy and pouty thanks to his words. And given the chance, he’ll do more than just soothe things for you anyway, so he doesn’t feel too bad in his taunts. He notices your thighs squeeze together in response to his words, or maybe it’s because of his feather light touch, he doesn’t mind either way. Regardless, his cock stirs in his tight pants at just how easy you seem to be, how innocent and sensitive you’re acting, shying away from his view at just how quickly he’s picked up on the state of you. You like this scene, maybe a little too much, huh? Not that he’s complaining, his own heart racing at just the light drag of his knuckles up and down your leg, catching the way you shiver into him, the small bite of your lip that causes his cock to jerk against his leg. Ah, maybe confessing can wait a little bit longer.

It takes him a moment to find his voice again when you refuse to answer, and he’s surprised to hear the breathy tone he carries with his words— “You can… Y’know, deal with it, if ya want.” He pauses, gauging your reaction to his invitation to touch yourself. Internally, he’s debating on his next words with extreme caution. Sure, it’s normal to masturbate, everyone does it, everyone knows everyone does it. But, is it too weird to talk about it with your friends? Maybe only if they’re the opposite gender, right? Because he’s had countless conversations about the topic with Sam, but never with Abigail. And he realizes then that it’s because he’s got a crush on you, and rather than it being an invitation, it’s an attempt at begging. “Really, I don’t mind.” He simply settles on, smiling reassuringly at you when your eyes finally meet his. And it’s true, he doesn’t mind, would relish the opportunity to relieve himself in private too if he’s honest— the look you’re giving him going straight to his cock as he imagines fucking his friend right on the very couch you sit on.

And then quietly, almost inaudible, he hears you squeak: “Really? You’re okay with that?” and he all too eagerly nods.

“Absolutely. Who am I to judge what you get off to, right?” He half laughs, attempting to make the otherwise awkward situation just a bit less embarrassing for you, shifting in his seat to hopefully make his hard cock less noticeable. “Take your time, I’ll be right here—”

Oh, wait, you’re undressing right in front of him? Instinctively, he looks at your face for answers, a quick flit up only to be met with a playful grin. Seductive, maybe? He knows better than to assume, though more than that, he knows better than to speak up when your crush is taking the first step towards assumed intimacy. Well, there’s no hiding his hard on now, is there? Your bold actions causing his pants to feel even tighter, his hands frozen in his lap while he carefully watches you peel off each individual layer of clothing slowly. So slowly that he’s convinced you’re teasing him, the continued gasps and groans emanating from the TV fading into the distant background as he instead favors listening to the soft shuffles of your clothes, the muffled thud as they’re dropped carelessly to your floor. Fuck, he already thought you were pretty before, but seeing you take action like this almost makes him dizzy with how attractive he finds you, and his inability to take the initiative back from you due to how in awe he is of your body only further turns him on. He knows you know well enough that he hadn’t meant to take care of “business” right here and now, in front of him on your well worn couch, but he can hardly complain at how you chose to mischaracterize his words when he’s no better than you are right now. “I—” he tries to speak. “I mean— fuck, okay—” He’s laughing, though not at you, and your cheeky side smirk back at him lets him know you understand.

“Is this okay?” You whisper at him.

“Shit, yeah, no, it’s cool. I— I don’t mind, go ahead.” He struggles to get the words out fast enough, but he smiles back at you when hearing your nervous giggle.

Without realizing, he anxiously runs his hand through his hair, thumbing stray strands out his face so he has a better view of your revealing body. The last item of clothing drops and he exhales harshly, unaware of the breath he was holding up until that point. You’re naked bar your underwear, and he curses low under his breath at the mere sight. This is confirmation, isn’t it? That his feelings aren’t just one sided, that he was taking too long to confess and so your hand was metaphorically forced, swallowing hard at the sight of your hand actually dropping to pet lightly at your clothed cunt. “Fuck y’can’t just— I mean I want you to it’s just—” He’s already gasping, replaying scenarios he’s fucked his fist to at night but coming up empty. Nothing compares to you right now, the cute blush on your cheeks, the way your lips part with heavy breathing. Shit, okay, he needs to tell you exactly how he feels. Wide palmed stroking at his painfully hard cock, no shame left in his system when you’ve just given him a wordless go ahead, he’s ready to cum just from your show of want— but he instead just teases himself. Wants to really show his appreciation of you soon enough, but first he needs to take control back. You’ve had your fun, now let him.

He clears his suddenly dry throat while you angle yourself towards him, biting your lip to presumably stifle moans. No, don’t do that, he thinks, cocky confidence taking over his mind with the understanding that you’re waiting, seeking his command like a good girl— and he’s all too happy to give in to you. Watching you drag a single finger up and down your clothed slit idly, eyeing at the growing wet patch near the bottom, fuck he wants a taste— “You can take em off.” He quickly glances up at you, but as if physically pulled back down, he’s drawn to look at your cunt again, his palm circling against the clothed wet tip of his cock as he leaks precum all over the inside of his pants for you.

And though he’s controlled mostly by his cock right now, he’s still a little surprised to see you listen to his words, his voice coming out in a shocked rasp of “Fuck, you’re really doing it…” which is less of a question and more of an admiration. Because yes, while this is the single hottest thing to ever happen to him, he also genuinely likes you. Wants to be with you for more than just this, but a little indulgence never hurt anyone, right? Seems you agree from how eagerly you get moving, his eyes glued to the spot between your legs as you hike them up a little, knees pressed to your chest to give him such a good fucking view, oh my God, of your pretty little cunt before your panties peel and drop to the pile of your other clothing on the floor. His cock hard and wet, drooling over his legs enough to prompt him into at least unbuttoning his pants to offer just a little relief— only a little. Because he’s more focused on you right now, and how pretty your thighs look when pressed together like that, and how tasty your wet little cunt looks as he finds it difficult to keep himself sat in place at the other end of the couch from you, wanting only to dive head first between your legs to eat you dry— he’s never been hornier than he is right now, and it’s all your fault. He’s got front row seats to the best show in the house— you, and he’s filled with need to show you that you’re a lot hotter than whatever they were showing on TV.

“Touch yourself, please— God,” He ends up begging, too turned on to really care for the embarrassment of sounding so needy, and it seems you’re much the same. A small whine escaping your lips that, he swears, almost makes him cum on the spot. So completely fraught with need for you right now that his body automatically turns to face you, one leg bent and pressed against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, his rock hard cock front and center for you to masturbate to— no regret present on his features as he looks to your moving fingers with glazed over eyes, his mouth remaining slightly agape while he breathes shallowly. This is so much better than anything his mind could create, his chest tight with want for you and his balls full of seed, the palm resting on his cock now digging harder, circling his cock faster in a plead to have you match his pace. You must know what you do to him, otherwise you wouldn’t be taking your time so slowly, bitting on the inside of his cheek with impatience until your finger finally meets your slit and your legs magically open. And fuck, what a sight that is. His hips jut up on their own accord once you’re in position, head tilted back slightly as if to try and calm himself down before snapping back to watch you part your lips and drag a finger from bottom to top on your slit.

No amount of porn could have prepared him for this, the intimacy present in each glide of your finger up and down your cunt, collecting the slick drooling from your hole to drag it back up to your clit. He can hear just how wet you are, heart caught in his throat as he swallows thickly in concentration. “You’re not watching the show…” You mewl, and he has half a mind to pin you under him right there and then.

“Don’t care, this is better.” He’s quick to moan. “Can you— Can you go a little faster?”

You nod, and he has to fight with himself to keep his eyes from rolling back into his skull at the sweet sounds you let out at the increased pace. His fist wraps tight around the bit of cock he can reach before he grows immediately frustrated and instead digs his hands under his pants to free his cock some more, sighing into the relaxed feeling of freedom until he once again starts to palm at himself— then he’s tight lipped groaning. He feels like a dirty pervert, touching himself to you touching yourself, and he wonders if you feel the same. He thinks you should feel like royalty, the full effect you have on him in clear display as he touches himself to you, struggles to keep his hands to himself when you sound so pretty for him. And you’re such a good listener too, his cock jerking to the understanding that you want to please him too, fucking your little cunt faster as per his words, your palm sticky with slick that he wants to lick all clean for you.

He can’t hold back much longer.

“Do you mind if I—?” He asks, alluding to his cock as he nods down to it— still clothed, still rock hard and needy, still leaking precum, still wanting to be balls deep in you.

A quick nod of your head and he’s pulling his pants off faster than he’s ever done in his life, boxers coming with them as he clumsily tugs them off enough to kick them the rest of the way, throwing them into his own pile of clothing on the floor to half match your state of nakedness. He hisses into the cold air that kisses his tip once free, almost moaning as it slaps against his tummy with how rigid he is. “So fuckin’ hard—” He hums, mostly to himself, but he’s happy you’ve heard him too given the soft moan you let out too. “Look at what you did to me, fuck, what you do to me—” He praises you, leaning back against the armrest of your couch to fuck his hips forward, just a little, as if to really show off just how much he wants you, his fist quickly connecting to the base of his cock before he’s dragging it upwards to collect the copious amounts of precum you’ve pulled out of him and pulling back down, coating his whole length wet to tug at. And he’s not shy about it either, too far gone with the lust pooling in his tummy to care much for anything other than the need to get off, to get off with you. As he always does, really, even if most nights he’s alone in doing so, but now’s his opportunity to show you how much he likes you— cock hard and ready just for you, because of you.

He doesn’t mind an audience as he jacks off, so long as that audience consists of you. Hurriedly fucking his fist to a desperate tempo to try and quell the butterflies that fill his chest every time you make a sound, pulling the hem of his hoodie up to reveal some of his toned tummy for you to gawk at, to somewhat return the favor. God, you sound better than he thought you would, his own moans caught and quiet as he does his best to instead make room for you, to listen intently, ignoring the loud schlick of his fist pumping up and down on his dribbling cock and rather focusing on the wet squelch of your little cunt. How fast your fingers fuck into yourself, how he hopes to God you’re thinking of him, wanting to replace your fingers for his cock as he so urgently needs to. No words are said, not that he can think of any anyway— head empty and replaced with primal need, wanting moans shared among friends as he gets off with you. How he wishes he could speak though, to tell you how hot you are, how he’s dreamed of this for so long, how he’s so close to cumming just from watching you— doesn’t even have to be touched by you, just being in your presence is enough to get him off. And he’s focusing so hard on the way you flick at your clit, how fastly you circle against it, learning exactly what you like so he can hopefully mimic it at a later date all while he’s thrusting into his tightly closed fist and mumbling your name like some sort of prayer.

He’s getting dangerously close, and he hasn’t even been able to appreciate you like you deserve, show you exactly how he feels about you. And so—

“You wanna— wanna ride me?” He ends up choking out, acting out of pure instinct and talking before fully realizing his words, eyes rolling to the back of his head despite his best efforts when instead of verbally responding, you start climbing towards him. All of it happens so fast, his knees buckling and straightening out on the couch, sliding further down the length of it so that only his head remains on the armrest and you have plenty room to sit on top. His hands work on autopilot, finding home on your hips to help steady you above his lap as your nails rake up his tummy, digging under his hoodie to drag it further up his chest, causing him to moan into the hunger of your actions. Urgency is what he feels, desperate for the feeling of you wrapped around him as you immediately take hold of the base of his cock as soon as you can, his hips bucking into your touch to seek the tightness of your hole, unable to stop the tense moans tumbling from his open mouth. “Fuck, that’s it, guide it in— Sit on it, yeah?” he hopelessly babbles, fingers digging into the fat of your waist to try and pull you down his cock as you catch the tip to your hole— and then he’s done for. Completely at your mercy as you slow the tempo down, gradually fucking more of his length into your little cunt with subtle bounces until he’s all the way inside and he can finally breathe again. It’s difficult keeping himself held back enough not to hurt you when you feel better than anything he’s experienced before, his jaw strained and appreciative moans high-strung as he wills his hips to still for a second or two, let you grow accustomed to his fat length.

It takes him a second to actually collect his breath though, mind clouded by how tight and warm you are wrapped around his stupidly hard cock— so much so that it’s impossible to form any coherent thought as you sit flush on his lap. “No idea.” He manages to mumble, groaning at the seductive way your breathe huh? in response. Causes his hips to fuck upwards into you regardless of his best efforts, trying to thrust deeper into your tiny hole until there’s nothing left for you to take and grinding his hips against you. “You’ve got no idea how much I’ve wanted this, fuck.” His hands dragging your waist down to circle you on his cock for you, doing all of the heavy lifting simply because he can’t stop. “Can’t believe I’m fuckin’ inside of you, shit, y’feel so good—” he continues to gasp, his ass lifted off the couch under him to really drive his cock further into you. The action causing you to whine his name so perfectly, so sweetly as he circles his cock in you that he’s forced into more movement. Like something inside of him snaps, the last remaining resolve he has to treat you right falling the moment he hears his name sounding like that. And then he’s going, his beg for you to ride him thrown out the window as soon as he thrusts once into you, instead forcing you to fall back down on his cock with every precise hump of his cock into you, bouncing you up and down at his own pace due to how powerful and needy his thrusts are. You’re not riding him so much as he’s fucking you from below, keeping you pinned close to his cock so that he’s barely exiting your perfect cunt despite humping you into the air. He holds on to you like his life depends on it, a droning whine escaping his lips at the increased friction he fucks into you with, spilling loads of precum against your insides that inevitably end up running back down his cock with each speedy thrust. And your tits, God your fuckin’ tits, hypnotized by they way they bounce with his fucks— so badly does he want to reach out and grab one of em, drag it into his mouth for him to feed on while he fucks you raw— fuck he’s fucking you raw. A rough growl clawing up his throat at the thought, feels too fucking good to warn you of his predicament, can’t stop fucking into you like he was under a spell.

A shuddered “Tight little cunt, yeah? Feel s’fuckin’ good, shit— Look so hot riding me like this—” cut off only by a gasp at the sound of you so needy for more, his cock throbbing inside of you with want to preform but he’s so close it almost pains him to hold back. He was right, you are louder than the show girl, self assurance running through him and going right to his tip with the confidence that he’s fucking you better, the loud skin on skin slap resonating in the room to drown out whatever is left of the TV. He’s never felt so good before in his life, unable to even imagine going back to a life of just his hand now that he’s had a taste of your cunt, the feeling of your legs squeezing around him as you attempt to match his speed only to inevitably fail from how frantically he thrusts into you from below is too fucking cute, his balls tight and taut as he nears his end before he’s even truly started: something that would be embarrassing if not for the fact that he hopes you understand it’s because you really do feel that fucking good and he’s genuinely that in love with you that he can’t— he can’t hold back any longer. Fucking his dream girl while she displays herself so completely on top? The sight of your tits, your cute scrunched up face, the feeling of your cute little cunt sucking his cock so well? Yeah, there’s no way he was gonna last very long.

“Sorry— M’sorry, babe—” he whines, a high pitched sound to match his eager humps as he’s unable to stop the predictable from happening, looking directly into your eyes in hopes of communicating just how badly he wants to make it up to you immediately following as he thrusts into you a couple more times, fast and hard, burying himself completely into you before shooting a fat load deep inside your tiny cunt. A soft sob of your name followed by loud, gasped moans, like he’s forgot how to breathe again, his hips still obsessively humping into you to prolong his orgasm— the best of his life, might he add— and to fuck his cum deeper into you in some sort of innate need to claim you, insides and all. He said he was sorry, but he isn’t really. Not even when you let out a pathetic whine from the loss of stimulation, promising you: “Jus’ a minute, gimmie a sec.” With harsh pants as he allows himself to come down just enough to move back into action. He wants to act fast, to build upon what he’s just promised you.

“C’mere,” he breathlessly pleads with you, signaling for you to hop off his cock for a moment, forgetting all about the mess his cum will surely stain into your couch. “Jus’ sit right there, trust me.”

And because you’re a good girl, you listen, and he tuts affectionately down at you to soothe the pout you’re sporting. “Lean back a bit for me, yeah? Let me apologize.” He whispers, soft and flirtatiously, helping to guide you into position on your back, similar to how he was just moments ago while he hovers over you. The confused stare you look back at him with is so cute, and he can feel his mushy affection for you edge back in as his cock controlled brain starts to calm down, now focused solely on making sure you’re seen to as his dominant hand dips and disappears between your legs. Not a second later and he’s collecting the dripping cum he’s just fucked into you from your hole, using it as lube to rub gently at your clit as you look at him with shock. “Told ya.” He smiles, rubbing soothingly at your inner thigh with his free hand while he strokes your puffy clit. “Sensitive girl, made me feel so good, fuck— Y’look so pretty like this,” he dotes on you, hoping his words will help you get off where his cock failed— though he doesn’t think you mind too much. Not with how your grasping so insistently to his loose hoodie for stability, or from the way your legs wriggle and draw him closer, the room filled with your enticing moans each time he completes a circle on your clit. Now, with a clearer head and with you quite literally in the palm of his hand, he coos down at you with intent. “Think I love you. Really.” And he can’t stop the loving smile that tugs on his lips, nor the surprised sigh that sneaks up on him as he feels your locked thighs tremble around his back.

Next time, he’ll have you cumming on his cock. He has to, the sight of your back arching into him, the lewd expression you wear so well with the voiceless moan, fuck, he can feel his cock harden again just from pleasing you. His heart full at the thought that hearing his confession is what finally made you cum, humming quietly down to you while he finger fucks you through your high, thumb still rubbing lightly against your used clit while you gush for him— “So pretty, good girl.” He compliments you, praising you for a job well done in getting him off and satisfying his need to see you finish, too. It’s all he wants, really. To make you happy by any means necessary, and he’s happy to fill the role you had him play tonight any day, gently helping you come down from your high with slowly decreased movements until you lazily smile back at his adoring expression.

“Feelin’ good?” He asks calmly, because he obviously knows the answer already, but he wants to check in with you regardless.

You nod sleepily, followed by a soft “Mhm, thank you.” Before reaching you arms out for him to lean into, and he enthusiastically gives you what you’re seeking, his half hard cock resting against your sticky cunt as he wraps his arms around you too, pulling you in for a tight hunched over hug on your (now) stained couch.

Better than any show ever, he’s sure.

“I meant it, y’know.” He whispers against your neck after a silent moment, nosing further into it until he’s able to place a few light kisses against your heated skin with a smile.

“I know.” You reply, and he can’t help but remain hopeful when you squeeze his body tighter, wrapping your legs around him further to ask for more closeness. “But you made me miss my favorite show, so…”

He laughs a genuine, deep, bark of laughter against your shoulder before he huffs defiantly, pulling himself off your exhausted body with the intent on chastising you for alluding to the fact that your show is better than his sex, but he can’t find any strength left in him to tell you off after catching sight of how pretty you are when all fucked out. So instead, “I know, I’m sorry.” He relents, sitting back into his original side of the couch to stretch out a bit. “We can try watching again after a shower, if you want?”

“Yeah.” You yawn, and his heart hurts with just how much he loves you. The simplistic domesticity of the moment getting to his head as you extend a hand for him to hold, to help you get to your feet. “I’d like that.”

He’ll just have to get your return confession out of you… After your show.

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv seb smut #stardew valley seb smut #sebby🐸

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skyc47su · 1 year

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Beauty and the Beast

An alternate universe where the ancestors of the Sky kingdom was spared from the effects of the Eden shards by the mercy of megabird, and transformed into half-creatures of the land.

When the ancestors lived on as centauroid creatures, they divided upon themselves as dark-taurs (consisting of krilltaurs, crabtaurs, merleviathans etc.) and light-taurs (mantataurs, mermanatees, merwhales, merturtles, merjellies and birdtaurs). Although the two did not see each other eye to eye, they nonetheless lived under one society.

Krilltaurs, crabtaurs, merturtles and merwhales tend to be chosen as guardians or guards. With shells as extra protection, they were excellent at warding off dark dragons and would-be trouble makers.

Deltos, a krilltaur, served as a guard of a humble little town situated in the Daylight Prairie. He met Soleil during patrol when the guard team he was in stumbled on her family's ranch near Prairie peaks. With Soleil sheltered from civilization, she was unprejudiced against dark-taurs, to which Deltos was charmed by.

Soleil is a SkyCOTL OC belonging to "Vanya" :D

This is an "Alternate universe" setting, as Deltos is one of my guard OCs who is the head guard of a travelling caravan.

But the thought of a centaur AU for SkyCOTL tickled my mind~

#skyblr #dark dragon #sky children of the light #skycotl #krill #manta #Skycotl oc #moof art

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rebeccathenaturalist · 2 years

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Environmental Generational Amnesia: When We Forget Nature’s Past

Originally posted at my blog at https://rebeccalexa.com/environmental-generational-amnesia/

One of the most traumatic and formative experiences of my life occurred when I was thirteen years old. The woods that I loved exploring behind our yard were completely bulldozed one day; I discovered this when I got off the bus from school. It was part of the destruction of an entire wild area that would become yet another subdivision devoid of trees and vines and wildflowers, with no place left for bobwhite quail or garter snakes in the flat green lawns. I was devastated, and in an attempt to try to help me my mom chatted with the developer when she happened to run into her in town. “She knows how you feel,” my mom said. “Her woods were the ones that were torn down to make the junior high track.” Not only did it just not make sense to me that someone who had been through what I was experiencing would then go on to do the same horrible acts, but it was also my first introduction to the reality of environmental generational amnesia.

The term was coined a few years ago in a paper by Peter Kahn and Thea Weiss. It refers to how each generation considers how it first experienced a place as its true baseline, and any change that comes after it is abnormal or unnatural. So for me, the track at my junior high with just a line of trees along the creek was my understanding of its baseline, but the developer remembered that land as acres of woods. A hundred years ago it may have been a farm. Go back several generations to when only the Osage lived here, and it was probably undamaged oak savanna, or perhaps a tallgrass prairie.

When you multiply that shifting understanding of the “normal” state of a place by all the people in a given area, something is bound to be lost as generations die off, and new ones are born into the present state. Couple that with a serious lack of nature literacy, and you have fewer people discussing what the place is versus what it once was.

In cases where almost all the land has been significantly changed by human activity for centuries, it can be incredibly challenging to piece together what it was like before we came through and wrought such imbalances. The only evidence may remain in a few remote undamaged patches, scraps of partial plant and animal communities, and oral and written information passed down by people, whether indigenous or colonizing. Sometimes ecologists and other scientists need to look at the ecosystems of neighboring areas to get some idea of what might have been here before. It’s often a matter of trying to piece together an incomplete puzzle, giving best educated guesses as to what filled the empty niches.

If you have a population that has a dim memory at best of what a place looked like before it was changed at all, they’re less likely to understand when there’s a problem. I knew, for example, that it was wrong to tear down the woods behind my home, but my baseline was “mix of trees and shrubs of various species surrounding a creek with a limestone bed next to a twenty year old subdivision.” No one could tell me what that farm looked like before it became a farm, and I didn’t understand at the time that the mix of plants and animals I knew and loved were neither the complete original assortment, nor were they all native. How was I to know that my yard was once spacious grassland, dotted with white oak here and there? How should I have come to understand that the woods I had cherished were badly out of ecological balance compared to what had once been, that they were exhibiting signs of recolonization after multiple massive disturbances before I was even born?

And this is just one example of one person’s understanding of one place. This environmental generational amnesia has rippling effects worldwide, with people not understanding that the rivers nearby aren’t supposed to be as stick-straight as they are, that the coastline should be covered in wetlands rather than open sand, that the dense forest is only there because natural fires were suppressed and allowed the trees to take over the last meadows. There are even those who have no idea that their air, water, and soil aren’t supposed to be loaded with pollutants, because pollution is all they’ve known for generations. It’s tough to imagine an extinct wetland when you can’t even see the water for the trash, and the sky is brown instead of blue.

It’s not going to be an easy task to try to revive the collective memory of Lands That Were. A good starting point is to talk to our elders, both alive and dead. When we ask those who still live what they remember of a place, we can glean important details even if they themselves weren’t ecologists, or formal scientists of any other sort. If we can take them to these places and have them show us where important landmarks were and describe what has changed, we can start to see more clearly what’s been lost. And when we read the writings and view the landscape art of those who are long passed, we get important snapshots of what was there long before any of us today were alive, tracing that ecological story closer to its origin.

We also need, more than ever, to preserve what ancient ecosystems still remain, whether that’s old growth forests, or prairies that never knew the tearing of the plow, or wetlands never drained or polluted. We can’t just miraculously replace them in a matter of a few years, and they offer us crucial pictures of the end goal in places where we are attempting long-term habitat restoration. They are living, breathing records of what places looked like before, of the biodiversity and other natural structures that were in place for thousands of years.

Finally, we need to be talking openly about the disconnect between what is and what was. If I, as an incredibly nature-obsessed kid, was startled to think about how my “normal” was only a faint shadow of past ecological glory, then imagine how jarring it must be for someone who is further removed from nature to understand that the forest they walk through is really supposed to be a prairie. (Especially after many years of being told that “planting trees” is the answer to all the ecological problems we face!)

With time and education we can bring about awareness, and that awareness will help us make better decisions for the future. There are so many people who want to undo ecological destruction and make the world a better place; we just need to have better, more accurate information out there on what can be reasonably done. Much of that hinges on having a clearer idea of what’s been lost, so that we can make plans to save whatever is left, and restore as much as we can.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#long post #ecology #habitat restoration #environment #environmentalism #conservation #nature #science #scicomm #colonialism #wildlife #natural history #outdoors #activism #climate change #climate activism #ecopsychology #conservation psychology

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whitebookposts · 2 months

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*skitters towards your ask box autistically* do you have any teth headcanons :3

OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED ITS BEEN A FEW WEEKS AND I STILL HAVEN'T ANSWERED THIS. I AM SO SORRY I LIVE IN SHAME EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Anyway, Teth! Our deeply beloved forest cryptid. I have to be honest, I don't have as many headcanons about her as I do about some of my other fave elders, which is a thing I should work to change because Teth is awesome. But here are some I do have for now:

CAAAAT I think my good buddy @krillking has already spoken about Teth having cat traits in his animal elder post, but yeah. While in my headcanons, the animal traits are less defined, Teth still very much has cat behavior, like her irises widening or narrowing like a cat's, and she likes to sleep in the sun (which is trouble because. Forest is 90 percent clouds and rain. Thankfully she has the yard behind her temple and the sunny forest segment, though due to the whole thing happening in the kingdom, she could visit those comfort places less and less :<) and most importantly - purring. Which she is a bit shy about, so she rarely does it. If you get to catch her purr, it means that she trusts you enough to do it next to you, though she will still be embarrassed if you mention it out loud. (Also do not leave her anywhere near fancy furniture she will try to rip it with her claws. Yes, lamed learned it the hard way.)

TRANSGENDAAAAAAAAA Idk how to explain it but Teth is just so transfem coded. Goes by both she\her and they\them. It just makes so much sense that I don't even need any proof to know that, she has told me this herself. Gotta give @dogedepan for this one though since I stole this idea from her (like many others. Can't help it Chi your headcanons are awesome)

BEEFCAKE Let's be real, TGC is a bunch of cowards for making her slim. How can you look at this woman, who is a blacksmith, and can catch a giant flying hammer with one arm like it's no big deal, and not think that they have some impressive muscle? If you draw Teth buff I am forever in your debt. PLEASE I WANT TO SEE MORE BUFF TETH ART PLEA-

BESTIE Teth and Ayin are literally fated besties, be they platonic or romantic. Even in early concept art, Ayin was described as "Teth's friend" and held the key to her realm, just showing the level of trust between them. Their realms also work with each other really well, with Ayin being the main supply for Teth's factories which is what allowed her realm to grow. I like to think of them being childhood best friends, and that they have been by each other's side through the good and the bad. Remember that headcanon about Teth enjoying sleeping in sunny places? Prairie is perfect for that, and if she decides to take a nap while visiting it is no rarity for her to choose Ayin as a bed for that (soft). I don't really see em as romantic because I already ship Teth with someone else, but as an aromantic person, it's important for me to show intimacy like that even between friendships. Ayin is always there to lend an ear to Teth, being there for her through her worst, and Teth is Ayin's "EXCUSE ME THEY ASKED FOR NO PICKLES". Although, if we go to the sadder territory, their friendship did suffer a falling out during the turbulent era of the kingdom, with Teth closing off from everyone, including Ayin, too caught in her work and darkstone production to meet the ever-growing demands, and that led to Ayin also drowning in work to keep up the light supply. That is not to mention the different world views about light creatures and how worthy they are of preservation.

CRYBABY I just like to think that despite appearing cold and serious, Teth is a very gentle soul underneath the hard facade she forced herself to create due to her position. But if you get to know her you will find a very soft, shy, and caring heart that makes it easy for her eyes to water, be it a happy or sad occasion, even if she is trying to hide it. She is also a pretty big introvert and starts getting nervous during events with big crowds, esp if they have to do a speech as an elder or something. This gentleness and softness hidden behind a cold surface is one of the things that attracted Priestess to her, which leads me to the next point:

LESBIANNNNNN You may know this already but I'm a big PriesTeth truther, which is the ship between Priestess (the original elder of the Valley from concept art, never made it to the final game but there is a pretty popular fanon that she is the mother of the twins) and Teth. Again, I was enlightened about this ship thanks to @dogedepan she is literally the CEO of this ship god bless. I know it's a bit silly to ship her with an elder who never even made it to canon, but I fell in love with the dynamic of the "serious and cold at first glance but soft and gentle on the inside x extroverted, energetic and mischievous but deeply caring and kind" that exists between them. Priestess was Teth's firework, the bright and colorful in the grey and cold of her life. Never had the elder of the Forest loved someone like she did this bright, giggly, and open girl who managed to always make Teth smile. And it hurt all the more when Priestess was lost. After the death of her partner, Teth closed off completely, lost in her work, just to not feel the pain because the grief was overwhelming. She couldn't make herself go to her backyard anymore, because it was the connection between Valley and her forest and where the two met most of the time, being there was just too painful. Some ancestors say that the rain became much more frequent after this loss.

Milf As I ship priesteth, I also headcanon that Teth is the other parent of Sah and Mekh. Unfortunately, their relationship is very rocky. Priestess died when the two were very young, and due to Teth being too lost in her grief, she simply couldn't care for them, causing the two to be raised by other elders (mainly Tsadi, who is their uncle) and kicked around from temple to temple until they were old enough to live on their own. This caused feelings of betrayal and neglect in the two, and it came to the point that they rarely acknowledged Teth as their other parent anymore. And she feels too guilty before them to try and get them back because she believes she deserves this for her mistakes. But perhaps not everything is lost, and some of this relationship can be salvaged if she finally gets brave enough to reach out.

WORSTIE She and Tsadi have a beef. That's it that's the headcanon. It's not anything serious, it's literally a "cat and dog" type of beef, the two can't even tell when it started, it's just that both will use any opportunity to roast each other. Why do I have this headcanon? Because it's funny.

INSANE SITUATIONSHIP Let's just say that the situationship between Teth and Nesting guide still left the latter one staring at her pictures every day for hours.

Hobbies Other than being a blacksmith, Teth enjoys all types of crafts, like sculpting from clay or woodworking. Girlie doesn't need any IKEA, she can make all the furniture herself (I mean, the Nesting guide had to learn this from someone)

Anddddd.... That's all for now! There's probably more headcanons but I can't remember them all rn. I hope these were written good enough and sorry for any grammar mistakes! AND SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT SO LONG I PROMISE I DIDN'T IGNORE YOU DJHGDJGDJ Teth is best forest mama, and I really should put more thought into her, thank you for sending me this ask so i can brainstorm about this gal.

#sky: cotl #priesteth #priestess x teth #priestess my beloved #teth #priestess samekh #ayin #tsadi #sah #mekh #samekh #samekh twins #forest elder #wasteland elder #valley elder #valley elders #valley twins #prairie elder #valley priestess

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a-roguish-gambit · 2 months

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All through the school year rogue complained she missed the meadows that would fill with fire flies in june, and the cicadas and frogs crying out. Kurt had missed the same back in the prairies on his parents land. While still america, new england was such a vastly different place from either of their home states, filled with strange plants and animals, pine forests and mountains instead of marshlands or plains, a winter more bitter than either had experienced before, and neither one of them had heard the cheerful tune of a meadowlark in months. And the stars seemed to so much dimmer here so close to the city lights. Homesick could not begin to describe them, even for rogue, who despite never wanting to go back to Mississippi and mystique, still missed the things about it the woman hadn’t poisoned with her memory. However, before the school year came to a close in late may, Kurt found something absolutely extraordinary a mile or so away from the institute. A little meadow for sheep, and while it may not have blue grass, compass plants, or prairie roses, nor did it have a single willow or magnolia tree, it did have a few things: the stars shining bright above, the calls of crickets and cicadas, bullfrogs and tree frogs calling out into the night, a lonely old barred owl chanting its universal hoot no matter where you live “who-cooks-for-you?”, and thousands of brilliant fire flies as far as the eye could see. For a second, it was like a little piece of home was brought to them.

#rogue x men #anna marie darkholme #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #sweet-tea #x men evolution #xmen evolution #my artwork #turn of the century au

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lichmyass · 3 months

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Yautja WIP - 18+ / Trigger warning

Will eventually be a romance...maybe. again, super long. NOT FOR MINORS. TRIGGER WARNINGS- ALL OF THEM. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRESION.

Flies buzz among the hides left to tan under the baking sun, drawn by minuscule fragments of fat. My mind lazily floats in a haze of childhood memories as my eyes stare at nothing.

Acrid air thick with cigarette smoke, the smell of overflowing trash bins, cicadas screaming en masse, and the summer heat distorting the air outside the dingy window visible beyond the nails driven into its rotting wooden frame. Muffled screaming from another room as my mother fights with one of the many men she dubs 'boyfriend.' Anxiety pulses through my body, matching the dull aches left from bruises and broken bones.

The throbbing pain from my early memories isn't too different from the numb pain radiating through me now. I shift slightly, and the heavy chain tethering me to the ground by the ankle clinks, drawing me from my thoughts. Sweat drips down from my hairline, dampening my brows. The heat from the cracked, baked earth rises, fading into my sore body.

I’m unsure what to feel in this situation. Initially, there was panic, fear, and icy horror at the surety of imminent death. I witnessed men torn apart in ways that made reality itself quake and tremble. These men, who seemed to be made of diamond and steel, violently broke my body as if it were made of paper.

The men shattered bloodily, as if by the air itself, until waves of their blood bathed the forms of invisible monsters before my eyes. It was over in less than a minute. When I blinked, the monsters became real, and I was circled by three titans.

I held my breath, awaiting the verdict of their silent judgment.

A full night and half a day passed. Now, I sit chained to the ground where they had deposited me before shimmering away into the ether. If they don't unmake me like they did the others, the sun will surely burn away what little life I have left. I’ll be little more than a dried-out corpse in no time, like a worm on a sidewalk.

Living in a rural township in Oklahoma, I was already secluded. Now, I've been carted off further into sprawling, long-abandoned farmland withering in the record-breaking summer heat. The only ones likely to find my body will be buzzards and coyotes.

My skin stings, and I know the burns will blister and scar. My throat feels as dry as the dirt I sit on. Wasps rise and buzz away intermittently from the cracking brown stalks of prairie grass around me. I hope to pass out soon, letting death overtake me as painlessly as possible.

I let my body slowly fall from my sitting position to lay belly-down, relieving my strained back muscles and letting blood circulate through my legs and rear. The dirt itself somehow smells like heat. I cast my eyes to the only shade around, the small puddles under the hides stretched over makeshift racks of bramble. I envy the insects that seek refuge there.

The hides, remnants of men who are now little more than muffled memories. I hadn't really known them, scarcely able to summon names to their faces. Only a familiarity from living in a small town, seeing the same faces from the other side of the register during my shifts at the local food mart. One might have been in my graduating high school class, but nearly two decades and evident drug habits had made that idea more a suggestion. Another wore the uniform of the local prison staff—the prison being the county’s only notable feature.

Their looks made me uncomfortable as I scanned their beer and cigarettes, but I maintained my standard retail employee fake smile and wished them a good day. Not long after, the store manager announced a prison break over the speaker, advising everyone to return home.

Prison inmates escaping wasn’t unusual. One or two managed every year. The news was more an annoyance. As I shut down my register and counted my till, I noticed more police officers on the streets than usual, several from other counties. That wasn't unexpected either.

What struck me as odd, as I walked through the store to the office and past the front windows, was the strained expressions and tense body language of the officers in the parking lot. They gathered and discussed something urgently. Typically, they got excited, even giddy, at such events. It was usually the most activity they got all year.

I clocked out and exited through the side door into the alley beside the train tracks, which I always followed for about a quarter of a mile home. I never made it that far. The men had been waiting behind an abandoned auto-shop, a blanket of empty beer cans and cigarette butts littering the eroded cement around them.

As a woman, I was aware of the statistics. But a tiny part of my brain had always assumed I wouldn’t contribute to them. Boys in school wouldn’t have touched me with a ten-foot pole and were vocal about it. A tiny reassuring voice always piped up, ‘oh, you won’t have to worry about all that,’ whenever a newscaster reported an attack on some poor woman. The photos always showed pretty little things a quarter my weight.

I thought I’d be safe from that particular danger, more likely to get bitten by a copperhead on my way home late at night than singled out by men with ill intent. I was wrong. It took me a shameful amount of time to recognize the threat as I walked past them with barely a second thought.

They followed me almost the whole way home. I didn’t notice until I smelled cheap beer on their breath and felt a grimy hand clamp down on my shoulder. One grabbed a handful of my hair at the base of my skull as another punched me so hard in the gut I threw up. I was dragged through a vacant lot into what had once been an RV park, where they started beating me.

Beatings weren’t new to me. Strangely, a part of me was resigned to lay there and let it pass. A morbid feeling of familiarity rustled inside my skull. It wasn’t until belt buckles clicked and wheezing chuckles filled the humid air that panic pricked at my skin. Two of them held me down, pressing my arms into the ground as gravel embedded itself into my belly. I began kicking furiously and screaming, my voice a death-rattle. The back of my head was struck, and I saw stars as my mouth opened and closed like a fish in desperation. I felt dirty fingers tugging at my waistband, and then everything stopped.

For a moment, the world froze around me. Then came the screaming and the blood.

And here I am, wondering if this situation is any better than the fate I would have had. I know I won’t last much longer, and every second I do will be hell.

Fractional relief comes once the sun sets, though the slightly decreased temperature and lack of sun exposure come at the cost of swarms of mosquitoes descending upon me, irritating my already blistered flesh. I close my eyes lightly, to avoid stretching my stinging skin. My head swims as pain throbs in my bones.

The insects abruptly silence around me. I crack my eyes open and stiffen. Somewhere to my right, something emits an ear-piercing scream that makes my hearing fuzz out. Suddenly, I’m on my feet quicker than I thought possible, crouched low and heart pounding. It’s not the sound of any animal I know, though it resembles a coyote’s scream. There's a quality about it that---

struck me as inherently wrong. Thankful for the small amount of light from the nearly full moon, I scanned my surroundings for something, anything, to defend myself with as the tall grass rustled before me. Gritting my teeth, I slowly crouched lower and began to wind the chain tethering me in my hands, stopping when it grew taut.

The grass stilled, and there was a low hiss, akin to a cat’s. I could just make out the moonlight glinting off something dark and smooth, coiling as if about to strike.

With strength I didn’t know I had, I strained my muscles to the breaking point and ripped the long metal spike pinning the chain into the ground free. No sooner had it come loose than the creature launched itself at me. Its body struck, and I hit the hard ground with a thud, the air forced from my lungs.

Sharp claws tore at my shoulders. Instinctively, my hand found the metal spike, and I drove it as hard as I could into the creature’s head—elongated and slightly curved, with no visible eyes. I wasn’t strong enough, a part of me noted grimly, as the creature screamed and flailed in rage.

Scrambling frantically, I managed to push myself out from under it as its long tail slashed through the air and its maw snapped shut. I rose to my feet as it hissed again. The bottom of my shoe found the head of the spike. With a scream of desperation, I put all my strength into it, dropping my body weight onto it. Relief flooded me as I felt, rather than heard, a sickening pop and crunch as the creature fell limp.

My brief victory was cut short when the bottom of my foot began to burn. I ripped my shoe off quicker than lightning, watching it melt away on the ground where I’d dropped it. Plopping down on my butt, I gathered my foot to inspect it, wincing when I ghosted my fingertips over the sole. Luckily, it didn’t feel worse than a slight burn.

I realized I was breathing hard, practically panting, my veins buzzing. I eyed the creature for a long, hard minute before letting myself fall backward with an exhale, satisfied it was truly dead.

I breathed in and out, closing my eyes for a moment. When I rose and pulled the chain, I found most of it dissolved like my shoe. The remaining length was awkward—too short to carry but long enough to trip me up or catch on brambles. With a huff, I removed my other shoe and pulled the laces free, wrapping the chain around my ankle and securing it with the laces. I didn’t want the chain making any unnecessary noise; not if I was going to try to make it back home without another one of those things finding me.

The terrain would be hard on my bare feet, but it wouldn’t be any worse than what I’d already suffered.

Taking a deep breath, I took a few steps in the direction of home, promptly hitting the ground as my overly strained muscles turned to jelly. My brain filled with curses as I balled my fist and hit the ground, letting out a growl of frustration. I got on my hands and knees and began to crawl. I didn’t care how long it took; I just wanted to get home.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t made it more than a few hundred feet—my knees already raw and bloodied—when rapid clicking sounded around me. I froze. I knew this sound. Them.

My eyes frantically darted around, but I saw nothing through the dry blades of grass I was hidden in. If I was lucky, maybe I could stay hidden and wait them out. I tensed and held my breath, heart pounding in my ears. The grass around me rustled softly. I felt like a fox surrounded by hounds, fighting the urge to bolt. I knew I wouldn’t make it far. I doubted I’d even get to my feet, let alone run. Even if I could, I wasn’t a fast runner by any means.

Abruptly, I was pulled backwards. I found myself huffing out and blinking skyward, my brain stuttering.

A large, masked form stood over me, chittering like an insect. In the moonlight, his mesh-covered scaly skin looked almost iridescent, like an oil-slick. His hair-like tresses, not dissimilar to dreadlocks, swayed slightly as he cocked his head. I tensed as he suddenly crouched, massive claw-tipped fingers reaching up to pull small hoses from his mask with a hiss before he removed it. My eyes widened.

Glowing orange eyes set deep within their sockets above a quartet of long digits growing from each cheekbone and either side of his jaw, connected by a thin membrane like a bat's wing over a wickedly sharp fanged maw. No discernable nose or nostrils. A large sloping forehead ending in a fanned crest tipped in subtle spikes. His mandibles spread slowly, only to close just as slowly as my eyes numbly took his visage in.

I emitted a sound, low and scratchy, like a brooding hen. He blinked.

Shimmering into my vision, his two companions stared down at me, their own steely masks affixed as the trio exchanged what I assumed must be words of some kind—a series of clicks and vowel sounds. The individual before me rose, addressing the one to his left and my right, moving his large hands expressly as he seemed to speak. I flinched as he gestured to my ankle, then back toward where I had been. The one to my left spoke, and silence fell as three sets of eyes focused on me.

I tried, and failed, to sit up. The trio cocked their heads. I sighed and closed my eyes. I didn’t have any strength left. None at all. Silently, I hoped they’d just leave and let me die in peace. No such luck. The unmasked one crouched again, grasping my upper arm and simply pulling me to my feet like a ragdoll. Once I was standing, he released my arm, and I gasped, clutching his hip—just under chest height for me—to stop myself from falling.

The creature hissed and swatted my hand away. I fell back to the ground with a hard thud and a groan before another repeated the first's action, keeping a firm grip on my arm to keep me steady. When it became evident I could only move at a slow hobble at best, I gasped again as I was swept up into giant arms, carried like a child, over-tired from play.

The rough texture of scales rubbed painfully against the burnt skin on my shoulder as I was awkwardly carried back to the site with the tanning racks. The one carrying me obviously wanted to minimize physical contact, one hand spanning my right shoulder and the other bracing my lower back from the left.

Back where I had been tethered, another interacted with a gauntlet on his right forearm. A structure shimmered into view—a large ramp descending silently. I distantly realized it was some sort of aircraft as I was carried inside and deposited roughly onto a large stone platform covered in animal pelts.

My eyes roamed over strange carvings on the metal walls, pausing on the far wall which displayed an armory of strange weapons—spears, knives, whips, and other sharp metallic objects. The trio exchanged more words as one rummaged through large metal crates and another exited briefly, returning with the head of the creature I’d encountered earlier. He strode across the room and behind a large partition made of hide. The unmasked one regarded me from where he stood before me, clawed hands on his hips.

The one searching a crate paused and lifted something out, showing it to the unmasked one, who simply nodded and stalked over to me, large hands pinning me down by the shoulders. I frowned and clenched my teeth as the other appeared to my left, brandishing what looked like the world’s biggest needle before jabbing it into my side without ceremony.

Pain unlike anything I’d ever known seared through my body. All I could do was gasp like a fish as my vision went white, too overwhelmed to even scream as massive hands kept me firmly pinned down. I wasn’t sure how long it lasted. Feeling nauseous sometime later as the white-hot waves of pain began to ebb, sweat slicked my skin.

I blinked rapidly up at the alien face regarding me stoically. Its molten gaze seemed almost…curious.

“Ouch,” I croaked out, surprising myself as much as the alien above me. I hadn’t meant to speak, but maybe the look he’d had inspired me to provide an unasked-for response.

The one who’d injected me made a sound then—a low, rasping series of growls that sounded like laughter. I glared at him for his audacity. Returning my gaze to the unmasked one, I lifted my brows at the mirth I found there as he slowly released my shoulders and took a single step back.

I sat up, mouth parting as I felt my strength returning. Slowly, I raised my hands to run my fingers carefully over my face, finding that my skin was smooth and unburnt. I turned my head to scowl at the one who had injected me, who only laughed more.

The unmasked one had scales composed of shades of black and gray, reflecting light and reminding me of a mythical dragon. The one who had healed me looked more crocodilian with dark green scales mingling with lighter green and pale yellow on his palms and exposed belly. The third one, who had disappeared across the room, had similar coloration but with more earthy brown mingling with his green, and the paler parts were more tan.

Faster than I could process, I was jabbed again, this time behind the ear. I squawked and clapped my hand over the newest injection site. My tormentor held his hands up in peace, what appeared to be a piercing gun dangling from one large finger as he continued to chuckle at me.

My ears rang, and I clenched my eyelids shut, letting out a hiss as the ringing slowly faded. I reopened my eyes to glare daggers at the needle-happy sadist as the unmasked one leaned forward with interest. Both he and the masked one stared at me, unblinking. I blinked back at them.

“Did it work?” asked the one who had injected me, in perfect English. I gasped, looking at him with my mouth open. “Ah! It seems to have worked,” he added, stepping back and tilting his massive head. The unmasked one crossed his muscled arms over his chest, fixing me with a slight glare of his own.

“Why doesn’t it speak?” he asked, his coquelicot eyes narrowing at the other, who merely shrugged. “Perhaps it is defective?”

At this, the other placed his talon-tipped hands on his hips indignantly. “Veidei, you of all should know that my technology is without fault, and I—”

Veidei silenced him by raising a hand. “No, you fool. I refer to the ooman. Perhaps it is defective,” he spoke, scrutinizing me.

I frowned as they stared at me, mirroring them as I crossed my own arms over my chest. “Maybe so, but I can speak,” I managed, my voice rough. “Why did y’all save me?”

They regarded me silently. The dark one—Veidei—inhaled deeply, casting a knowing glance toward the other.

“Routine planetary scans alerted us to the presence of Kainde Amedha here, and they are not permitted to be on this planet outside of a sanctioned Chiva. So we were dispatched to eliminate them and investigate the nature of their presence here. It seems that your governing body purposefully introduced them to your ‘prison’ in what we can only assume was some form of idiotic experiment,” the green one stated matter-of-factly. “We destroyed them, the site, and all involved. Except for the singular one that you yourself seem to have dispatched, somehow.”

I let this information sink in. The ‘Kainde Amedha’ wasn’t something the apparent translator implanted behind my ear could parse. Given what he’d said, it was obviously the thing I’d killed. The concept of more of those running rampant inside the prison made me feel queasy. I shook my head to rid the image of the creature from my mind.

"That's all fine and good," I began, leveling my gaze at him as best I could despite the metal mask he wore. "But that didn’t answer my question."

He cocked his head, and his mandibles clicked behind his mask.

“I will elaborate, Tho’ka. It was on my orders that we acted,” spoke Veidei, leaning down a bit to better catch my gaze. “We were scouting the area and noticed one of the males exiting the site. We followed him, thinking he might reveal more information. He did not. We watched as he and the two other males became intoxicated and were about to return to the site when they acted dishonorably. So we dealt with them.”

I furrowed my brow and shifted uncomfortably where I sat, my fingers finding a loose thread at the hem of my shirt and worrying it. “Dishonorably? So you killed them because they tried to rape me?”

Veidei and Tho’ka cocked their heads in tandem. “Of course. It was dishonorable,” stated Tho’ka, as if confused that I didn’t grasp the concept.

“But...you don’t even know me. You’re not even human,” I replied numbly. “Why? Why bother?”

Veidei reared back as if he’d been slapped and let out a rumbling growl. “We are Yautja. We have Honor. Do not think we are like oomans who would permit such acts to go unpunished. When you stand by and allow dishonorable acts to happen, you may as well be committing them yourself. We honor Paya by remembering this, as we honor ourselves by remembering the codes of our people,” he spoke, eyes burning with passion as he stood tall.

I blinked as Tho’ka nodded in agreement.

“So then you tied me up and left me to die of exposure,” I deadpanned. Just like that, Veidei looked like a kicked puppy so quickly that I might’ve laughed if my mood had allowed for it.

Tho’ka strode around the platform I sat on to reassuringly touch Veidei’s shoulder briefly before he turned slightly to face me. “We might’ve underestimated how long our hunt would take, a little,” he spoke, having the courtesy to sound a bit regretful.

“Fine,” I said with an exhale. “So, now what?” I added, brow raised.

Tho’ka removed his mask and clipped it to his belt, stretching his mandibles slightly and leveling a citrine gaze at me. I braced myself for what instinct told me would be bad news as he took a small step closer.

“Our laws prohibit us from leaving witnesses,” he began steadily, raising his large hands slowly in a demonstration of peace. “But you were unworthy prey—killing you would have been against our laws as well.”

I stiffened, my eyes darting around, looking for exits as Veidei shifted to block me in from the right and Tho’ka blocked me in from the left. My hackles rose as I realized that, at some point, the other one—whose name I hadn’t heard yet—had come to stand behind me without making a single sound.

“So...” I stalled, gulping.

“You dispatched one of the Kainde Amedha. Which means you now qualify as worthy prey,” spoke Veidei, his voice low. “However,” he added when my panic spiked, “if you were Yautja, it would mean you were now a blooded warrior.”

Silence fell heavily as my heart pounded in my ears, the air thick with tension.

“We can either hunt you, or...” spoke Tho’ka, casting his gaze to Veidei curiously, as if he himself were unsure what the final decision would be.

From what I could gather so far, Veidei seemed to be the de facto leader of the trio. My eyes scoured his for any indication of his intent.

“Clearly, it is ill-suited to be a sain’ja,” spoke the one behind me.

“Perhaps an ‘aseigan,’” he added.

“Nah’kou offers a viable option, Veidei,” mused Tho’ka, as Veidei tilted his head in consideration.

I had no idea what an ‘aseigan’ was, but it sounded better than dead. I bit the tip of my tongue between my teeth and awaited Veidei’s decision.

Veidei's eyes, a fiery coquelicot hue, studied me intently. His mandibles twitched slightly, indicating deep thought. Tho’ka and Nah’kou, the one behind me, watched their leader, waiting for his judgment.

After what felt like an eternity, Veidei spoke. “An ‘aseigan’ is one who serves the Yautja, often a mark of great dishonor or redemption. It is not a role given lightly.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “You have proven yourself resilient, if nothing else.”

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “What does being an ‘aseigan’ entail?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

Tho’ka stepped closer, his mandibles clicking softly. “It means you will serve us, follow our commands, and prove your worth over time. You will not be hunted, but you will not be free.”

Veidei nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. “Your life will be spared, but it will be a hard one. You will earn your place among us, or you will die trying.”

The reality of my situation sank in. Serving these alien hunters, living by their rules, was far from ideal, but it was survival. I nodded slowly, meeting Veidei’s intense gaze. “I understand,” I said. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Nah’kou let out a low, approving growl, while Tho’ka’s eyes glinted with something akin to respect. Veidei, satisfied with my response, straightened to his full height.

“Very well,” Veidei declared. “You will be our aseigan. Prove yourself, and you may find a place among us.”

With that, the tension in the room shifted. The immediate threat of death was replaced by the daunting challenge ahead. I knew my journey was far from over, but at least I had a chance to fight for my survival.

Tho’ka and Nah’kou began to converse in their native tongue, their voices a mix of clicks and growls. Veidei motioned for me to follow him. As I stood, I realized the gravity of my new reality. I was now part of their world, bound by their laws and expectations.

We moved through the ship’s corridors, the alien technology both fascinating and intimidating. Veidei led me to a small chamber, sparsely furnished but functional. “This will be your quarters,” he said. “Rest now. Your training begins tomorrow.”

I nodded, stepping into the room. As the door closed behind me, I felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. I had survived the immediate danger, but my new life as an aseigan would be a constant test of my endurance and willpower.

I sank onto the small cot, exhaustion washing over me. The events of the past days played through my mind, a whirlwind of fear, pain, and unexpected allies. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself a moment of respite, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges and unknown trials.

For now, I was alive. And that was enough.

But as I lay there, the enormity of my situation loomed. What would this new life demand of me? Could I rise to the challenge and find a place among these alien warriors? The questions swirled in my mind, refusing to let me rest.

A soft hum emanated from the walls, a reminder of the ship's vastness and the world beyond this small chamber. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead. This was not the end of my story—only the beginning of a new chapter.

Whether my future held redemption or further trials, only time would tell. But one thing was certain: I would face it head-on, with the same resilience that had brought me this far. As sleep finally claimed me, I made a silent vow to survive, to fight, and to find my place in this strange new world.

Whatever it takes.

#Yautja #predator #monster fucker #terato #terat0philliac #My writing

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outsidersheadcanons · 2 months

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Hey!!! so like could we get some Curtis parents hcs or scenarios? what do you think they were like and how did they treat darry, pony, and Soda

Yess ofc u can :D

So these boys were loved SO MUCH. More than anything in the whole world. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis's whole lives were their boys. They always made an effort to hang out w/ them and eat dinner as a family every night. If any of them had a sports event or an awards ceremony yk they would be in the front row. They never raised a hand to any of them.

Mrs. Curtis always had the best snacks. She was always making smth good like cookies or cake (and her dinners were LEGENDARY. Darry still uses her recipe cards but no matter what he can't make it taste as good as she did).

I think they were very open minded people as well. They never forced anything on their sons (Ever since Pony was a little kid they knew he was different than anyone else, and they never tried to change him (even when he showed interest in art and things that weren't considered "masculine", or if he cried or smth. They were very much into letting their kids do their own thing))

To extend on this. They didn't really mind that Soda was hyperactive. They'd find ways to work around it (like buying him a bike so he could get the energy out of his system, or just. not forcing him to wear shoes if he didn't want to (with reason ofc. but Soda likes to be barefoot inside and they wouldn't force him not to be)).

They were a very active family as well. They'd go out on hikes or swimming all the time, one of their favorite activities were weekend picnics in the prairie.

Tbh I think they were just very kind people in general 😭 everyone loved the Curtises. They had no enemies (except for maybe the Cades and Mr. Randle) and they were always helping people out at the church or at school.

Mrs. Curtis was pretty smart and she'd sometimes work as a tutor at the junior high school the boys went to, and she helped Johnny out a lot (and most of the tutoring happened at lunch, so him and Pony would chill in the classroom it was in to avoid the crowds in the lunchroom).

#the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs

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thestalkerbunny · 3 months

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I had a dream last night and it was so fantastic, I'm gonna fucking share it and eventually draw and expand on it-but this is basis of it.

They finally made Fallout 5.

TLDR: Where the actual First Nation's People went, history threatening to repeat itself, finally the non-romancable npc is that way for a GOOD REASON.

It actually takes place in the middle of America; and it's established when the bombs dropped-it was mostly on major cities near the coastal areas-such as Las Vegas,Boston,Washington Dc, etc. etc.-but with the radius, there is a part of the US that recieved the least amount of radiation.

(A poorly made map by your truely, probably not all accurate where bombs dropped but like. The darker places is all the places I'm pretty sure we've been. Probably wrong but I don't care to look up for accuracy.)

And it's this odd massive strip of land right down the middle. It's not COMPLETELY devoid of radiation-but it's a small part of the whole of USA that received the LEAST amount of it and over time was able to recover successfully, similar to Chernobyl years after the Nuclear Meltdown. Still toxic levels of radiation if you do things like upset the dirt or go in too deep-but otherwise harmless to explore and live in if you're tolerant to those levels of radiation. And in Fallout where RadAway is a helpful common place medication tool-it could potentially be a paradise. The wild life is actually very plentiful and you can honestly spot a lot of normal looking wildlife like normal looking deer and occasionally-a one headed cow. But it's still vast and ominously empty at the same time. Like wandering through thick forests and open plains and prairies with nothing around for miles.

But it was the answer to where the actual Native Americans were in Fallout-they're in this place that everyone in the game referred to as The Holy Strip. A lot of the settlements and cities are a part of the First Nation and one of them I specifically remember was the biggest city called Cherokee City-and it had a collage where for caps or certain items you could move around a point of your S.P.E.C.I.A.L stats if you felt it like it's better used in a different spot-and it was flavored as that's where all the academics flocked to share survivalist knowledge so when people venture out into the Wastes they'd at least have a basic grasp on things. And for the most part, all the cities in The Holy Strip got along-there was a sort of system where each city had an elected person on a council and everything was voted on before major choices were made, etc. etc. all in all the most high functioning areas in Fallout at least in that sense. There's of course tiffs and occasional spats-but other than that-not a whole lot of blood is shed.

And of course there were other factions outside of The Holy Strip who wanted the area for themselves; rather they wanted to affirm governance over the entire area (We know what this is an allegory for, Government trying to run off Native peoples.) And the game gives you the option to either side with the outside Factions-each with their own reason for wanting control of The Holy Strip or siding with The Holy Strip and the people who were there from the start and helped that area STAY as nice as it could be in an irradiated hellscape. And it's not just the theme of 'War never changes' but also the theme of 'History always threatens to repeat itself.' and you have to decide which part of this repeat of history you want to be on.

And there were like....4 Specifical companions I recalled.

One was a woman named Angora and she was a porn actress-and in some of dialogue, it's insinuated she's from New Vegas or that area because in her idle mode she'll tell raunchy jokes-specifically 'Did you hear about the mailman with a bullet in their skull?' Her specific quest is to destroy the holotapes of shoot that had gone wrong and turned into an assault and the footage still was spread out in the public. And the destruction of these holotapes is her reclaiming agency over herself.

Another was a Vietnamese woman named Jun who was a botonist looking for the national seed depository in Colorado that happens to fall within the area of the Holy Strip-she's got the pass key to get in there and she wants to use this time since The Holy Strip has shown such successful progress and good soil ph levels-to start cultivating and distributing seeds to the settlements so more food can be grown. Her idle animation if you leave her alone long enough, she'll start planting saplings and if you come back to the same area she plants in later in the game, you'll see them growing slowly.

There was another one-who was like I feel like....a teen girl? Put her at 18? 19 Maybe. A short girl who kinda reminded me of the girl from Atlantis the Lost Empire. She's a tech mechanic and builds guns, improves them, repairs broken things and she's looking for her younger brother whom she got separated from. I think her name was either Delilah or Tuesday. I don't remember clearly. She was a fan favorite for actually normal reasons cause she had such a teen energy to her to say out of fucking pocket shit all the time and sasses you constantly-but in like a fun way.

The final one I remember is a Ghoul you meet at one of the First Nation Settlements. I don't remember his name-but he is of the First Nation and sort of nomadic lifestyle drifting between cities and settlements, helping people where he can when he can. While the Holy Strip is nice-there still is a level of ghoul discrimination and he just preferred being on his own. But when he becomes your companion you learn that he makes a lot of jokes about the 'Native American Wisdom.' One being

"How did you know I was from a Vault?"

"I heard it on the wind....I heard it from the birds....I felt it in the sunlight on my face.....Also you've got the word VAULT 29 Plastered on the back of your stupid blue jumpsuit."

He also liked Romance paperbacks. You meet him during an escort quest he's doing, helping a pregnant woman get to one of the vaults (that apparently she was born at? And she wanted her kid to be born there too.)

And there was new romancable companion functions-where you could gift them items they liked (like Romance books for the ghoul, Seeds for the Botonist, etc.) that would not only boost their affection for you, but give you a temp boost during a fight. ( the 18 year old is the non-romancable option in the game. For once a Non Romancable NPC that makes SENSE.)

And for the most part it was well received? There was still people who bitched a lot about it, complaining they 'needed like 50 million mods to make it acceptable' and people complaining about the ghoul being 'such a sterotype' where most of what he did was ironic and prodding fun at the trope similar to Raul wearing the spirit halloween costume as a joke for his sister. Then there were the freaks who were mad they couldn't romance the 18 year old.

But pobody's nerfect ya know. All in all I now have a game I cannot play.

#TSB talks #Fallout 5 #Fallout OC #Dream #Bethesda get on it #Make it happen #I will promote the fuck out of this and do designs for you #Fallout Au?#I don't know how to label this at all #Fallout #Fallout Fakegame

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laurolive · 2 months

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McCartney six months after Linda’s passing: Wife meant "everything”

Tampa Bay Times Oct. 21, 1998

🌹

It was one of the 20th century's most famous love affairs, and it ended tragically six months ago when Linda McCartney — celebrated photographer, committed vegetarian and long-suffering Beatle wife — died of breast cancer.

Now Sir Paul McCartney has talked for the first time about his adoration of Linda, the woman who meant "everything" to him.

In an interview with British television host and musician Jools Holland, McCartney spoke touchingly of his romance with Linda, who shared his life for more than 30 years.

"As a wife, Linda was the best that anyone could ever want," he said. "I always thought of her as my girlfriend. I still do, really. And even though we kind of spent years together, our relationship never really altered much.

"We grew to know more about each other, but it was just sort of girlfriend and boyfriend. So, as a wife, she was fantastic. She was very supportive.

"I'd write bits and pieces of poetry, so I'd come back after a jog or something and I'd thought of a couple of lines of poetry, and I'd tell them to her, to remember them before I wrote them down. I'd try them out on her, and she often said, "What a mind.' As a guy, it's great to hear that. Your little heart just goes boom, boom."

Linda died at age 56 last April after a long battle against cancer. McCartney, 56, said he knew she had only days to live a week before her death but decided not to tell her. "I didn't think she'd want to know," he said.

The pain has been unbearable for him. He didn't sleep for three nights after she died and has sought counseling to overcome his grief. He said he still thinks about her constantly. "The worst thing about losing Linda is that I enjoyed being with her so much," he said.

They met in the late '60s when the Beatles were at the height of their fame. It was not an easy relationship initially because they had to bear much sniping from the media and fans.

"I think Linda, when we got married, was perceived strangely by a lot of people _ the media, the fans _ and we never really felt like we had to justify it. I just said: "Tough if they don't understand it. It's our marriage, it's not them.' So we never went on talk shows, saying, "She's all right, she's okay.'

"There was a lot of jealousy I suppose, but the media used to make fun of her. They used to say, "She plays with one finger on the keyboard.' Well, anybody who knows anything about Moog synthesizers, which is actually what she played, you can only play this mini-Moog with one finger, so they were ignorant, and she was doing the right thing.

"She did actually often play the electric piano with more than one finger _ they just weren't looking then. So she took a lot of flak, and it was very painful to her."

The McCartneys had four children _ Heather, Mary, Stella and James _ who were constantly at their side no matter where they toured in the world.

Asked how Linda would have liked to have been remembered, McCartney quickly replied: "For being a good mum. Between us we've got quite a few achievements, and we used to say, "Our greatest achievements are the kids because they're really good kids.' "

One of his greatest regrets is that her cancer was not diagnosed sooner. "Unfortunately, in Linda's case, we really got to it too late.”

"If you were to ask me or ask any of our kids what Linda meant as a mother, they would say "Everything,' which is a little expression we have."

The interview is likely to be shown on British television soon, but it has not been decided where.

An album of Linda McCartney's songs entitled Wide Prairie will be released next week.

💘

#paul mccartney #linda mccartney #linda and paul #paul and linda #paul and linda romantic #paul and linda forever #linda louise mccartney #linda eastman mccartney #lovely linda #linda mccartney and wings #beatles wives #beatles girls #the beatles wives #paul and linda mccartney #mccartney family

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 29 days

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Hi there! I adore your hc’s, they never fail to brighten my day! Any chance you may have some for Shiro and/or Ysabelle? I just got the RSV expansion and they’re owning my heart right now

Hewwo Ridgeside Village enjoyer :3

I have a couple headcanons for the two of them, thanks for your kind words and for your ask! 🫰💕

_________________________________________

Some random RSV Shiro headcanons:

After 2 ❤️ event when Shiro, along with Farmer, cooked breakfast for Yuuma, the oldest brother in the Kobayashi family thought to himself: why stop at just scrambled eggs? Cooking is fun, and an inspired Shiro wants to find a book with uncomplicated recipes in the Pelican Town library. Of course, he takes up the kitchen spatula when he feels up to it, lest he get in trouble (and his little brother worry). Although Yuuma will still lightly scold his dear brother for cooking without his help, but the boy's eyes lit up with joy when Shiro served him the apple strudel.

Besides patient-therapist talk, Shiro doesn't mind hearing from his friend Phillip news about comic book and manga releases. His favourite genre is mecha. Cool huge robots fighting alongside humans against evil.... It's all mesmerising. Shiro loved reading comics about them even before he went into the service and got injured. Robot stories brighten his days when he has trouble getting out of bed.

He is the proud owner of an entire book of unique yoghurt jar stickers featuring all the heroes and villains from the Journey Of The Prairie King. He doesn't care if anyone calls it childish. It's one of his favourite movies, plus the yoghurt is delicious. But most importantly, Yuuma, also a fan of the game and the film, shows his childish delight when he and Shiro make a sticker exchange between them and look at the collection. It's a joy for Shiro to see that, at least sometimes, his little brother enjoys the usual childhood things apart from the regular tasks.

Some random RSV Ysabelle headcanons:

Ysabelle comes to the Flower Dance a little early, making beautiful flower crowns. Her work is truly wonderful and she feels it is her duty to make a crowns for her friends from Ridgeside Village and Pelican Town, even if they are not dancing. And Ysabelle chooses the flowers carefully so that they look harmonious with white clothes and are the wearer's favourite flower (also so that one of the girls isn't allergic to a particular flower). Haley and Corine usually help Ysabelle with weaving the flower crowns too and handing them out to all the girls.

Brave Little Sapling is her special cartoon not only because she loves the story. As a very young child, Ysabelle remembers when her parents did not yet force their daughter to practice ballet dancing for days on end, and she sat in the living room with her grandfather and (still alive) grandmother, eating a delicious cake and crying with them because Brave Little Sapling had overcome all the difficulties on it's way. The world seemed beautiful and bright then, and even Ysabelle's parents back then just let her enjoy her childhood. Sometimes she turns on an old cartoon cassette to remember that time...

#ridgeside village #rsv #rsv shiro #rsv ysabelle #rsv headcanons #thanks for the ask!

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ficzhub · 7 months

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A Legacy: A Snowbaird fan fiction.

Chapter 1

Relief doesn't begin to describe what he felt when he realized he was in fact, not a ephebophile. Simply a man still in love with his lost girl. It wasn't easy to find her, the wilds are difficult to navigate even with the most advanced technology available. But persistence is key, he never gave the search a day's rest. The moment he came into enough power to delegate the necessary steps that would go into finding her, he did. My, is he glad he did. He found so much more than he could've imagined. He almost regretted having to eventually pluck her from her prairie. Here she was, perfect little wildflower. Dark curls braided out of her sable face, small sylvester flowers rained on in a crown forshadowing the metaphorical crown she'd soon wear as his darling girl in the capital where they belong.

Despite the constant frigid temperatures of the wilds beyond the desolation of 13, the sun still shone bright in the early spring. Excellent light but did little to warm anything. Still, watching the bright sun shining off her rich hair and pebbled, freckled skin sheened slightly in sweat from her labor brought him a calm he hadn't experienced anything even close to since he'd been in her presence. He could watch for hours as she went through her morning routine in the tiny cabin she shared. Getting water to boil for their mushroom tea, gathering honey to sweeten it. Wondering if she had to risk getting her nearly onyx eyes or dainty hands stung to obtain it. Eating a few bites of whatever game the traders exchanged with her. The bulk of it being fish, sometimes uncommon sea creatures like octopus or such but as good for sustenance as he could wish for them, explaining the surprising but delightful realization that Lucy Gray looks better fed here than she'd ever looked back in 12.

The changes of her body, though mostly welcome, did confound him briefly. The previous night she'd disrobed before sleeping and he saw the widened flare of her hips, the greater swell of her breasts and darkening of her nipples, the beastly diagonal claw-like marks on her flat but loose abdomen and pert backside. It all made sense when he caught sight of him, Silas Ochre. A boy of eleven, and already much taller and more muscular than he himself had been at that age. Vindicating his theory that if Coriolanus been properly fed, he'd be a much more physically imposing figure. The boy opened the door with his free hand, his left occupied holding basket containing a variety of plants the camera can't completely capture from this angle.

It was agony finding her and knowing it would take a few days before the undetectable cameras would be remotely set up to use. All his men had told him after finding her was that she was living in a cabin with a boy and a woman around her age. He'd figured she'd run into a mother with her son and came together with them but the mother in question had been her all along, and what a mother she's turned out to be. Silas Ochre is an incredibly intelligent, resourceful, capable and beautiful child. His hair is a golden shade of brown with curls that shine blindingly in the sun, clearly his hair had had to have been lighter ages ago, much blonder like himself. His skin is much like that of his mother, the color of strong black tea with a dash of milk and his eyes a dazzling shade of blue, like everything else, darker than that of his father. It's as if the deeper pigment from his mother protected him in a manor his father's lightness couldn't.

Silas Ochre hunts like he was born to it. No cruelty is ever caused with his knife, only quick, merciful deaths the creatures never see coming, so unlike the offspring Coriolanus has produced with Livia who'd relish in the gore. The boy named Calix in his home borderline disgusts him. His petulance grates at his already strained nerves, his entitlement irritating him to the point of near violence. Livia's family would withdraw any support they provide if he ever did anything to properly discipline his miscreant son. The boy is turning nine and still throws tantrums like when he toddled. If his father's legacy is left to him, he'll destroy everything he ached building in a matter of a few short years, squander it like a common fool. At first glance, there's resemblance between he and his son. But Coriolanus knows, Calix's palor is that of his mother's. His shade of blond, the blue of his eyes, the shapes of his nose and mouth, all Livia's.

The likeness between Silas Ochre and his father is more subtle but obvious if one knows what their looking for. The forms of his young son's still developing muscles so like his own, visible after his peacekeeper's duties and thankfully not lost since. The proportions of his body, long arms and legs good for reaching high and running far. His lips are shaped like that of his mother's sweet mouth, but fuller like his own. The slightly downward slant of his eyes is like his father's despite the darker shade of blue inside them, the flare of his nostrils at the end of his long nose completely unlike the button nose his Lucy Gray dawns. The broadness of his shoulders to the tapering of his waist, his hairline, the shape of his strong hands. All obvious indicators of who impregnated his mother.

Coriolanus blazes to see Lucy Gray as she was when she was pregnant with him. Face rounded, arms, legs and tight bottom cushioned for her and his son's comfort. Hips broadening more as each day passes, breasts growing to become fit to feed their child producing a milk he can only imagine was a luscious nectar. Finally, belly growing bloated with their perfect progeny. The need to keep her full of his babies is one of his main purpose for wanting to keep her close to him, here in the capital despite their idyllic lives in the forest. Silas Ochre was a good example of how flawless their children would be.

Livia is pregnant again with another boy and as much as he knows he's supposed to, he doesn't love the children he has with her. The feelings of obligation and basic familial commitment pale in comparison to the fatherly love and adoration he already feels for the nearly teenaged boy, who likely has no idea who he is and who Coriolanus has never even laid eyes on in the flesh. He knows more clearly than he knows he loved his mother and Tigris, that he'd do anything to protect this child. The ferocity, the potency of his emotions overwhelmed and displeased him. So much like when he fell in love with his Lucy Gray, he knows this boy, like his mother, could get anything they want out of him. He'd relinquish it with a smile on his face as long as it made them happy. That vulnerability frightens him more than any threat any of his enemies have ever made.

The rabbits, squirrels and other animals his more competent son obtains are used in their entirety. He guts and skins them so his still sensitive mother never needs to see such ugliness. He simply presents her with the pelts for her to use as needed and gives the innards to the woman they live with for her to do what she must with them. Lucy Gray treats the fresh skins and furs in their tiny fireplace, cleans them in the river nearby and hoards them until she has enough to make a full article of clothing with them. He's spent days watching them, learning their habits and observing their behaviors. The traders come by twice a week, she'll trade fresh garlic mustard or wild ginger for whatever she and her friend "Holly May" had asked for during their previous visit. Dairy products such as butter or cheeses, salt, even sea shells on occasion are taken in exchange of safe plants to consume and fresh land game and even baby soft fur overcoats to brave the harsh conditions farther north.

Holly May was clearly responsible for teaching his son how to sustain himself. Lucy Gray might've taught him how to tie intricate knots, gather fresh fruits and render oils from any plants they might find but Holly May taught him how to be an efficient killer. A skill not to be overlooked or undertrained in when in these circumstances. The traps they use are expansive and detailed, anything that wanders in will be done away with in a matter of seconds with almost no time to realize they're dying. She taught him how to gut and skin the animals quickly and cleanly, not letting the food become contaminated by any filth by letting the pelt cover everything until every organ is removed and placed in Holly May's hands to be cleaned in boiled, cooled water and coated in salt and spices to preserve for harsher times.

The traders this time traded a small spile for two dark brown coats. Coriolanus couldn't understand why Lucy Gray would make what seems like such a poor exchange, she handed the tool to Holly May and she hammered it into a tree. The cold wood didn't let her penetrate without a fight, bouncing off the metal a few times before finally piercing through to the tenderer wood inside. She instructed Silas Ochre to fetch something and he returned promptly with a bucket and some sort of covering. She placed it beneath the tree and simply left it there. It wasn't until a few hours later he realized it's a maple tree and Lucy Gray was clearly craving some sweetness honey can't provide, given the persistent medicinal taste that lingers after you eat it.

Coriolanus found himself envying their simple lives. The grueling work of finding their food and their warmth daily, knowing the next winter might be harsher than the last and not knowing if the previous harvest will be enough to hold them until it's over. But never having to worry about large scale betrayals, or political intrigue. Never concerning yourself with the competition because there hardly is any. Your competition around the cabin are other animals not nearly as strategic as you are and always good for thicker furs or emergency meat. On the rare occasion that a passerby might make things more difficult for you, you can always dispose of them fairly simply.

He ponders if his son, just beginning pubescence, would be capable of that.

********

The observation period lasts weeks. Coriolanus finishes work and returns home to watch the recordings that have been gathered, sometimes not even bothering to eat or wash up before sitting to watch his distant family go about their business. He's ambivalent about his realization that Lucy Gray was better off without him than he would've guessed. On the one hand, had she not been better off her and their son would've died likely before he was even born and then where would he be? Just a bitter man of nearly thirty living a life with nothing bringing him any genuine happiness the way just watching his amazing son and still gorgeous songbird does. A cousin who raised him but now nearly ignores him, a wife he can't stand who's given him sons that were meant to be a continuation of the Snow line and legacy but one only inspires irritation and resentment in him and the other is yet to be born but he doesn't hold out much hope for. He knows he'll feel little affection for him, too. He'll be too like his insipid mother, and have too much of Coriolanus' most distasteful traits, like Calix.

On the other, he relished in knowing his Lucy Gray needed him. In his most self indulgent and self-aggrandizing fantasies, she always needed him. Either needed him to save her from some kind of evil, a touchy ex-lover, a murderous and petty mean girl with a senseless vendetta against her, an incompetent man with too much power like Mayor Lipp, which he in fact made sure to scrap from office as soon as he had the authority to and place someone more fitting in his place. Someone he knew wouldn’t give The Covey any trouble.

Other fantasies have more masturbatory wishes. She needs him because he’s fed her, needs him because he’s given her water to drink when she was deathly thirsty. She needs him because she’s horribly sore and he can do away with her aches and pains. Because she needs him to satiate her desire for closeness and pleasure when in reality it’s him that needs satiating. He that feels a desperate longing to touch her again because nothing and no one else feels as good.

Every day he gets to watch as she fetches water from the river that runs near her shoddy, unprotected home, brings it back to boil clean on her fireplace in a large metal pot. She collects the water in a separate container and lets any debris settle at the bottom, carefully brings it outside and waits for it to cool. She takes out a soap either she traded for or made on her own and undresses. He feasts his eyes on her, angry that any of his men might’ve seen this footage before he did. Notices her dark nipples puckering in the cold, thankfully there’s not much wind. He’d hate for her to get sick. He laments the camera quality isn’t fine enough to zoom in on her, to see her tender flesh develop goosebumps. She slowly pours the purified, hot water over herself and starts scrubbing her skin with the soap and an old, filthy looking rag.

He wonders what the soap smells like, if it’ll interfere with the aroma he remembers her having. The wild rose and fresh, ripe peach that no amount of synthesis has been able to replicate to his liking. Either it smells too manufactured or the rose scent is too clean, or the peach fragrance is too saccharine, or they don’t quite match the slightly musky trail she always had. According to the perfumers, it has a great deal to do with the pheromones one produces and picks up in another’s. Biology dictates that unless you’re wearing a strong perfume or cologne, the way you smell is subjective to whomever may be smelling you. Sometimes it permeates through even the strongest of artificial fragrances. He knows there’s no way Lucy Gray ever made enough money through her performances to buy a perfume of any kind, despite her immense talent. Much less a strong, manufactured fragrance that even in The Capital, people struggle to afford. No, of course not. Her hygiene perhaps, some rustic soap much like the one she uses now, purchased at The Hob is what she used, and a rag with any water she could find was used to keep herself clean. The scent Coriolanus remembers so fondly is all their own, produced by her and to be inhaled by him.

He ponders what he might’ve smelled like to her, if she enjoyed his scent even half as much as he delighted in hers. If his resulted in the same warm sensation in her groin that grew in his whenever he inhaled by her neck, slick with the day’s sweat.

#snowbaird #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #lucy gray my beloved #abosas #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #coryo x lucy gray #coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird #coryo snow #coryo x lucy gray baird #lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #lucy gray x coryo #snowbaird au #original characters #yandere coriolanus snow #stalker Coriolanus snow

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