#i s2g if this gets taken down...

[dddrunkderella]

kinktober day 20: showering

[holyratrimony]

Summer Love at Bighorn Ranch

Pairing: John Marston x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his divorce from Abigail, John Marston is a mess. A series of rash decisions lead to John purchasing a rundown piece of land called Bighorn Ranch. As the ranch grows, so does the need for extra hands. When you show up, ready for your new job, John is immediately taken with you. When you get caught in a thunderstorm and show up on his doorstep, soaking wet, will he be able to keep his feelings to himself, or will he confess everything? 

Word count: 9.7k (how does this keep happening?)

Warnings: minors dni, 18+ only, I’ll kick you in the knees I s2g, do not read this,  dry humping, premature ejaculation, coming in pants, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, older man/younger woman

A/N: This takes place during the 90s, John’s in his forties, R is like mid-20s, Jack is like 10 in this, hedgehogs are not rodents but John doesn’t need to know that, also R wears John’s clothes at one point (as someone who's plus size I think John would own pretty baggy clothes), John is mega horny in this (in like a very pathetic way), how’d angst get in here? (it's just a lil bit), John thinks he is in charge but R has him wrapped around her finger, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, not beta read

To say John wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. After the divorce with Abigail, he’d hit a bit of a midlife crisis. The first step was moving out and subsequently crashing in Dutch and Hosea’s guest room. The two older men were patient with him, lending him some much-needed emotional support as he processed his feelings. After about a month, one drastic haircut, and a new earring, John finally was ready to move out to a place of his own.

He’d decided to return to his roots, taking out a rather large loan and purchasing a run-down ranch on a large piece of land in the middle of nowhere called Bighorn Ranch. The land was green and vast with a mix of plains and forests. It only took three days of him trying to lay the foundations for the house alone before giving in and calling Charles and Javier for help. The two men had come to his aid quickly, and with three hands they were able to get the ranch house built within just a few months. Then the barn, stables, and coup went up, followed by a half dozen small cabins about a mile from the main house. Both Javier and Charles opted to live in the cabins despite John’s protests, stating that they wanted to give him his space in the house. Ranching made sense to John. It was something he was good at. Whether it was keeping up with all the chores or breaking in the wild mare Charles found wandering the plains. As the ranch grew, so did the need for more hands. Javier had been tasked with taking the truck into the nearby towns, the closest being 30 minutes away, and hanging up help-wanted posters. The new ranchers would live on the property in the remaining cabins and would be responsible for a mix of construction, maintenance, and handling of the animals. Within a few weeks, four new hands had joined the ranch. The hands were set to arrive on a sunny spring afternoon. John was waiting on the porch with Charles and Javier, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His hair was still growing back since the regrettable impulse cut, the ends reaching his ears. His beard was short, little more than stubble. The scars he’d gotten from a neighborhood dog when he was growing up cut through the dark hairs. He’d kept the small gold hoop in his ear despite the light teasing from Charles and Javier. The three men were discussing the horse show that was coming up next month when the sound of a car cut them off. The red and white Dodge Ram 2500 rumbled up the dirt drive, kicking up a small cloud behind it. The truck pulled up in front of the house, stopping next to John’s teal and silver Ford F-150. Three men in their twenties piled out of the truck, each sending a friendly smile and wave toward the older ranchers. John, Charles, and Javier made their way down the porch steps, John stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. The new hands introduced themselves, apparently all childhood friends which explained why they arrived together, shaking hands and giving names. After introductions, John showed the men around the main part of the ranch. Showing them the stables, the coup, and the different paddocks for the sheep, goats, and cows took up the better part of an hour. As they headed back towards the house John let them know that that was probably enough for right now. Once they were on the porch he explained the basic amenities in each cabin. They’d have electricity, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, and a landline. John handed them each a slip of paper with the number for his line, letting them know that if they needed Charles or Javier they’d be living right next door. Charles offered to take the boys down to the cabins and Javier offered to join, citing that he needed to change out of his dusty work clothes. The boys hopped in their truck and followed after Javier and Charles, the cloud of dust slowly getting further and further away. John took a seat on one of the chairs on the porch, looking down over the property. There was still one new hand that was supposed to be arriving, likely within the next hour. John pulled another cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around his lighter as he flicked it, protecting the flame from the wind. Heady smoke filled his lungs as he leaned back. The three boys seemed nice. All were well-mannered and friendly. One of them, Riley, John thought his name was, said he’d worked at the MacFarlane’s ranch for a few years, dealing mainly with the horses. The other two mentioned they’d worked doing construction for the last few years. Apparently, they wanted more exciting work and while the MacFarlane’s didn’t have any more jobs available, they knew Bighorn was hiring and sent the boys in John’s direction. Javier had handled the applications, of which there were few. He was typically in charge of the business end of things despite the ranch belonging to John. Javier had a charm and refinement that was perfect for dealing with people and local businesses that John seemed to lack. John’s mind began to drift, as it often did when he was alone, to Abigail and Jack. He had Jack for a few days each month. The last time Jack came to visit, John had shown him how to ride. The two of them didn’t talk a whole lot but the time they spent together always felt special. Jack had a room in the ranch house, filled with his medieval fantasy books, a couple of his toys, and a small gaming setup with a sega genesis and little box tv. Jack had tried to teach John how to play Sonic but John was hopeless. His fingers were too big for the little buttons and he just couldn’t get the hang of moving that damn rodent around. He missed Jack, every damn day. Abigail too, but that was getting easier. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires on the dirt road. A grey and blue Chevy Silverado pulled up the drive. John stood up, a slight groan leaving his lips. He was only in his forties but his years of hard living seemed to be catching up to him. He moved down the steps, his eyes trained on his boots until the sound of a car door slamming shut had him looking up. John’s heart stopped. Or he couldn’t breathe. Or he died. He wasn’t sure. All he could tell was that the woman in front of him was like a dream. The late afternoon sun shone on your form, bathing you in a golden glow. Your eyes were covered by sunglasses, a black shirt adored your torso while your legs were covered by a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of brown work boots on your feet. Your smile was easygoing as you raised a hand in greeting. Your voice was kind and warm as you greeted him. “Hi! I’m one of the new ranch hands. Are you Javier?” John let out a laugh at that, trying to compose himself.   “No, no, I’m John. John Marston. I uhh… I own Bighorn.” He was trying not to let his eyes drag over your body but he couldn’t help himself. “Jav-Javier’s in charge of the business side of things, you’ll meet him later.” “Nice to meet you, Sir,” A spike of heat seemed to pierce through John at the title. The smile etched on your face was radiant as you gave him your name. God, you were pretty. John cleared his throat as he attempted to avoid looking directly at you. “The other hands got here bout an hour ago. They’re down at the cabins right now. Ya wanna join them or do ya wanna tour of the ranch?” His hand rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly. He couldn’t help but wishing you’d take the tour. Selfishly hoping to get some one on one time with you before introducing you to the other men. He finally mustered the courage to look up at your face. Your smile seemed almost shy as you replied, stepping towards him slightly, “I think I’d like to see the ranch, Sir.” He was fucked. ~~~~~~ Having extra hands on the farm proved to be endlessly helpful as spring turned to summer. The animals that had been born only a few weeks after you and the boys arrived were growing bigger and bigger. The four of you also helped John and Charles bring some of the horses to a show in one of the neighboring towns, bringing in a pretty sum of cash. John was beginning to feel a little more at peace. The loans for the ranch were beginning to get smaller and smaller as he paid them off. The stress on his shoulders seemed to be lessening as the weeks went by. His self-deprecating thoughts being replaced with thoughts of you. To say John was enamored would be putting it lightly. To start with you were a good worker. Often working longer hours than necessary, going until you felt the job was complete. At the end of the day, you’d slump onto the steps of the porch, your shirt sticking to your chest, your skin glowing, a blissed-out smile on your face. John would come out and offer you a beer. There would normally be only five minutes where you were alone before the rest of the men joined the two of you. John tried not to resent it, knowing he had no claim over you, but god he wished he did. John found himself staring at you as you moved around the ranch. Whether you were carrying bales of hay to the stables, pounding in nails on the fence you were fixing, or helping break one of the new horses. John would let his gaze drag up and down your body before catching himself. He would reprimand himself. Reminding himself that you were a. Almost twenty years his junior, b. Likey dating one of the younger hands (a thought that had made him prone to snapping at the young men without much prompting), and c. wouldn’t want a broken man like him. He’d scold himself, telling himself he was a pervert for looking at you like that, for wanting to take you, claim you. But he couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts from creeping in late at night. When his rough hands fisted his cock and he’d think about you on your knees for him, your lips and tongue running up and down his length as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. Or how you’d feel wrapped around him. What you’d sound like as he took you from every position imaginable. How you’d react if he pinched your nipples, if he spanked you. Despite being alone in that big house he’d bite his fist as he came, moaning out your name as the drag of his hand became too much. When the lust had passed and his cock softened, cum drying on his stomach, and reality set in, he’d mutter to himself, “You’re a fool, Marston.” The sentiment never seemed to stick because he’d see you bend over in that pair of jeans the next morning and would be stuck fighting the arousal that seemed to surge through him for the rest of the day. He was jacking off like a teenager, seemingly unable to control himself. When he spoke to you he’d stumble over his words, never being able to fully articulate his thoughts before getting lost in your eyes or your smile. Charles and Javier had picked up on his infatuation. Relentlessly teasing him when it was just the three of them. There was one day you were going to run errands in town. You’d stopped by the house to ask if the men needed anything else picked up while you were there. The day was already blazing hot despite it only being midmorning and you’d opted for a sundress. The fabric was light and airy around your thighs, the neckline cutting down to show more of your chest than was strictly necessary. John, Charles, and Javier had been in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, when you knocked, letting yourself in through the front door. “Hello?” Your sweet voice echoed through the house. “In the kitchen,” Charles called back. When you entered the kitchen it took everything in John not to drop the mug he’d just grabbed from the cabinet. The flush on his cheeks was immediate. He could feel his jeans getting tighter as he took in your form. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly. He was only drawn out of his trance by Charles’ gentle elbow in his side. Luckily it seemed like you missed the small interaction. “Mornin’ y’all.” you nodded to Charles and Javier before turning to John. “I’m heading into town and was wondering if there’s anything you need me to pick up, Sir.” John could barely manage to shake his head. “T-that’s very nice of you but I think we’re all set sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. You nodded as you slipped your sunglasses onto your face. “Alright, I’ll see y’all, later.” You shot a dazzling smile towards the men as you turned, exiting the kitchen. John was able to stew in his slight mortification until the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. As the latch clicked John felt his friend's knowing gazes on him. Charles was the first to speak. “I’m not gonna lie to you, that was hard to watch. ‘Sweetheart’? Really?” The teasing lilt to his voice almost had John hiding his face in embarrassment. Javier clasped a hand on John’s shoulder, giving him what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, brother.” John let out a long groan, debating adding a bit of whiskey to his morning coffee. He was gonna need it if he had to put up with these two for the rest of the day. That night he came in the shower, fantasizing about fucking you dumb as you bent over in that pretty little dress for him. Then again later in his bed at the idea of your legs wrapped around his head, calling him sir as he ate you out until you cried. ~~~~~~ The storm that overtook the skies a few weeks later came out of nowhere. The dark and heavy purple clouds seemingly materialized out of the clear blue sky. Lightning and thunder breaking up the peaceful feeling of the ranch. John was in the house when the rain began to fall. The drops pounding against the roof creating an unrelenting din. He walked away from the window he was looking out to the phone in the hallway. He should probably call Charles and Javier. They’d taken the truck into town and were probably still at the mechanic seeing as the owner was an old friend. He dialed the number for the garage but was only met with static. One of the phone lines must have been knocked down in the storm. He’d have to check around the property whenever Charles and Javier returned with the truck, likely tomorrow at the earliest. John’s mind flashed to you, as it often did. He hoped you were back at your cabin, safe from the torrential rains. You’d been up at the ranch this morning but probably headed back with the boys earlier in the afternoon. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a frantic pounding, different from that of the raindrops. Someone was knocking on the door. He crossed the room, hand twisting the door open to reveal your drenched form. You were dripping wet. Your jeans were several shades darker than they had been earlier, your white t-shirt was essentially translucent. John tried to not stare at the black outline of your bra showing through the shirt or at the way the fabric clung to your skin, showing off your form perfectly. His gaze was brought back to your lips as you spoke. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, Sir. I-I was with the horses when the storm started and the thunder spooked some of them. I had to round them up.” He shook his head at your words. “Come on inside darlin’, you must be freezing.” You nodded, stepping in off the porch and onto the mat inside the doorway as he stepped back, making room for you, letting the door shut behind you. “Let me go grab you a towel.” He grabbed his favorite towel from the bathroom, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was unhelpfully pointing out that the soft fabric would soon be running over your body. As John came back out into the hallway he took in your form once again. You looked miserable and cold, trembling slightly. He handed you the towel, ignoring the spike of heat he felt as your hands brushed his. “Do you have your truck?” His raspy voice was gentler than usual. You shook your head. “Wanted to enjoy the walk this morning,” you chuckled slightly. “Well, I think that means you’re gonna be stuck here for a bit. The phones are down, the boys are at the cabins, and Charles and Javier are in town with the truck. ‘N I’m not risking you walkin’ back in this weather.” You nodded again, a small smile gracing your features at his concern. John was still trying his best not to stare at your chest, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide the growing outline of his cock for much longer. “You’re welcome to the shower if ya’d like. And I’ll bring you a change of clothes too.” As you toed off your boots you let out a sweet “thank you”. John showed you to the bathroom, before running to his room to grab a shirt and sweatpants. He placed them on the shelf in the bathroom before turning back to you. “The extra room is yours for tonight. If you need anythin’ just holler.” Your voice stopped him on the way out of the room. “Thank you, Sir. You’re very kind.” He chuckled lightly, “I’m just tryna help. ‘N you can jus call me John, sweetheart.” Your smile broadened a bit, “Well, thank you, John.” He nodded, barely finding the strength to close the door behind him. God, that was worse. His name falling from your lush lips. His mind grabbed onto the sound, playing with it, twisting it until he was imagining you calling it out from underneath him. As the latch clicked shut he leaned back onto the hallway walls, pressing the heel of his palm into his growing erection. “Get it together, Marston,” he muttered. He moved to the kitchen, trying to forget the shape of your body, the way the tops of your tits were visible through the wet fabric. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboards, pouring himself a generous amount. He quickly drank the amber liquid, hardly registering the burn in the back of his throat. He poured another glass, just taking a sip from it this time. He could hear the water from the showerhead, even in the kitchen, and was trying to not get distracted by the thought of your body in the shower. He wished he could walk in there, wrapping his arms around you as you rinsed the day off. He’d trail soft kisses over your neck as he lathered soap over your form. He could imagine the noises you’d make as he kneaded your shoulders, the little groans that would leave your perfect lips. He shook his head, he needed to distract himself. His eyes caught on the clock across the room, it was getting late, and the both of you would probably be hungry soon. He opened the fridge and glanced over the contents. The mostly empty shelves seemed to glare back at him. He dropped his head into his hands, frustrated at himself. You were in his home and he couldn’t even make you a proper meal. He was so distracted by his perceived downfall that he didn’t hear the shower turning off, nor the click of the bathroom door and the footsteps that followed. “Sir?” Your gentle voice pulled his eyes up. You were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his shirt hanging off your shoulders, his sweatpants hugging your hips. His gaze dragged up and down your body. You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were hardened from the cold, the outline of them visible through the worn material. His voice was gruffer than usual as he forced it out around the lump in his throat, making his eyes meet yours. “I thought I told you to call me John, darlin’.” You nodded sweetly. “Alright, John.” His name sounded so sweet on your lips. He needed some sort of distraction. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter, raising it for you to look at. “D’ya want a glass?” “I’d very much like that, thank you.” “How was your shower,” His full focus was on pouring a glass for you and topping off his own. Looking at you was almost too much. “It was really nice. Your water pressure is amazing!” your exclamation had John stiffening in his jeans once again. The idea of you in the shower, groaning as the water hit your shoulders, running in rivulets down your chest. He put the bottle back on the counter a little harder than he meant to, turning around to hand you your glass. The amber liquid on his tongue was a necessity for this situation. “I’d uh, I’d offer ya dinner but ‘m not much of a cook.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck at the admission, his cheeks tinted red. He was a grown man and the majority of his meals came frozen or from a can. “I could make something for us,” your voice was kind, soothing almost. John shook his head almost immediately. “I’m not gonna make you do that darlin’. Don’t want you to have to take care of my ass.” “I really don’t mind it, John. Plus I’d like to eat at some point.” Your tone was lighthearted as you grinned at him. After a little more back and forth he conceded, allowing you to take over the kitchen. You shooed him out of the room, telling him it’d be ready soon. John settled in the living room, flipping on the tv to try and drown out the thoughts of you. He couldn’t seem to stop. The whiskey wasn’t doing much to help. He’d occasionally flip between channels, but nothing was quite able to grab his attention. The idea of you in his house, in his kitchen, in his clothes was so domestic. The idea of walking up behind you while you cooked, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your neck, it was intoxicating to him. But he couldn’t lie and say his thoughts were completely innocent. Images of you in various compromising positions kept flashing through his mind, now accompanied by the sound of you whining his name. About half an hour later you emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates of spaghetti, setting them down on the dining room table. When John walked over to join you the smell hit him. It was heavenly. How you’d pulled together something like this out of the pathetic ingredients he had available was incredible. As the two of you ate dinner you made idle conversation. John had talked to you a few times since you came to the ranch but he could never seem to hold a conversation. Too overwhelmed by your presence when you were close to him. Now he didn’t have much of a choice. He learned a little bit more about your life before you came to work at Bighorn. When you’d both finished eating, John offered to clean the dishes. You didn’t argue, letting him gather the dirty plates. “It's still pretty early so if you want to put on a movie while I clean up, you're more than welcome to.” You agreed and he told you where to find the tape collection. As he washed the plates in the kitchen he scolded himself. You’re too old for her, Marston. Pretty young things like her aren't interested in broken men. You’re an old fool. Once the dishes were cleaned he took a moment to lean against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He had to get it together. As far as he should be concerned you're just his employee and he should treat you as such. Seeing as he’d finished his whiskey before you had brought out dinner, he grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He called your name towards the living room, asking if you wanted one too. You shouted back a yes. He uncapped the two beers and walked back to the living room. You were curled up on the right side of the couch, your legs tucked up off the floor, a blanket from the chest near the window wrapped around you. You looked warm and comfortable. John pointedly ignored the pang of affection that shot through his chest as he handed you your beer. The couch was small but he still tried to give you space. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But even with his hip pressed against the arm of the couch, your legs still brushed against his thigh. He had to keep his breath steady as he could feel the warmth from your body. He recognized the movie you picked as Jurassic Park, one of Jack’s favorites. You were only at the part where the scientists were on their way to the island. “‘S a good choice,” he gestured at the tv. “The movie I mean.” “It’s one of my favorites!” God your smile was cute. He wanted to make you smile all the time. As the movie continued, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. However, John was very aware of your presence next to him. Of the press of your legs against his. In trying to ignore the heat in his stomach and the feeling of you right next to him, he was staring very hard at the tv. When Ellie jumped off the ride to go look at the stegosaurus, you shifted towards him, moving your legs to the other side of you, your torso almost pressing into his side. “I still can’t believe how real it looks! It's crazy!” The excitement in your voice made a smile form on John’s face. Subconsciously, he moved his arm to the back of the couch, giving you room to move in, to lean against him if you so desired. He didn’t even register he had done it until he felt your body press against his, tucking yourself under his arm. He couldn’t stop the small hitch in his breath at the realization that you were willingly cuddling up to him. He was sure you could probably hear his heartbeat from your new position. He tried to keep his eyes on the movie but it was hopeless, his gaze focused intently on you. When you raised your head to look at him he wasn’t quick enough. You’d caught him. He was caught off guard by your hand pressing into his chest as you pushed yourself up. You were still close to him, but you were now upright, your chest turned towards him. Your gaze was calculating as your tongue traced along your bottom lip. He couldn’t help but stare at the movement. The indecision seemed to leave your eyes as you noticed what he was staring at. You leaned towards him slightly. “John,” your voice was soft as he finally was able to drag his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes were dark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Kiss me.” His brain stopped. Or his heart stopped. He wasn’t sure. Maybe both. All he could manage was a small nod. His hand moved to grasp the nape of your neck, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was passionate, a mess of tongues and lips, of gasping breaths. John ignored every part of his brain that was telling him to stop. That you were too young for him, that you were his employee, all of the reasons that he shouldn’t let this happen. The feeling of you drowned out everything else. When he nibbled on your bottom lip, you let out a small moan. The sound sent blood rushing to his cock. All he wanted to do was draw those noises out of you. To hear every little sound you’d make in the throes of pleasure. Your kisses were as greedy as his, seemingly trying to savor every second of your embrace. He was able to pull himself away for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands came to cradle your head in his large hands. “Darlin’,” his voice was rougher than usual. “Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want an ol’ man like me?” The glare you gave him was more chiding than actually frustrated. “First of all, you're not old. Second, I’ve wanted this since I started working here. Wanted you since that first day.” Your confession sent a shiver through John. “Really,” he couldn’t stop the slightly desperate tone that laced his voice. You nodded, smiling at him. “How could I not?” Your answer was simple but it sent a swirl of affection and mild pride through him. He moved a hand to your waist, you seemed to take it as an invitation to move onto his lap. Swinging your body so your legs rested on either side of his thighs. In this position, John allowed his hands to roam over your body. Tracing up your back, trailing down your sides, he let them come to rest on your ass, grabbing the flesh and pulling you against him slightly. The movement caused your hips to press against his hardness. You gasped loudly. His first reaction was worry that he’d done something wrong, but that thought left his mind when you rolled your hips against his again. He was painfully hard, his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He could feel the small wet spot forming in his underwear, his tip leaking precum. Each move of your hips felt like heaven. The feeling of you, in his lap, wearing his clothes, making those desperate little sounds as you ground yourself against him, was better than any of the fantasies he’d had. He was meeting your movements, thrusting up. The feeling was overwhelming, and when you attached your lips to his neck he keened. He let his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, just trailing them along the soft skin of your hips at first. When you didn’t make any move to stop him, he began to trace higher and higher. Fingertips brushing over your sides, your ribs, and then your tits. God, they were so soft. He let his hands pinch your nipples experimentally. You had to move your mouth from his neck when you let out a high-pitched moan. “Do that again,” your voice was tantalizingly desperate. “Please, John.” He complied, unable to deny you anything you asked for. His fingers twisted and pulled at your sensitive buds, rewarding him with your gasps and breathy moans. He pushed you back slightly in his lap, moving you so you were sat upright. He looked up at you as he brought his face to your chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple while continuing his ministrations on the other. The look on your face was the prettiest thing John had ever seen. Your lips were parted, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you held on. You’d paused your hips when he moved you, allowing his pleasure to subside. When your eyes opened, your pupils were blown wide and lust practically dripping from your gaze, he couldn’t help himself from thrusting his hips to yours. His hands moved back to your waist, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolled his hips again, the pressure from your body providing him the slightest bit of relief. He’d been able to calm himself for a little bit, but with his hips humping against you and the look in your eyes, he was driving himself toward the edge again. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about the needy moans leaving his mouth. It was almost without warning that he felt the pleasure in him swell as his balls drew up. The stimulation of your warm body rubbing against him sending him over the edge. His cock pulsed in his jeans, releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum. He came with a harsh gasp followed by an embarrassing whine of your name, his hands clutching you tightly as he kept humping you, drawing out the sensations. When his high began to subside he was overtaken with embarrassment. He’d finally gotten a chance with you and he’d cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager.   Your voice was small. “Um…John. Did you…did you just cum.” All he could do was nod as he buried his head in your shoulder, unable to fully look at you. Your hands buried into his hair, holding him sweetly. “It’s okay, John. It happens.” He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. He’d ruined his chance. “I-I’m so sorry.” he managed to get out. You let out a soft coo as your hands moved to cradle his face. “You’ve got nothing’ to be sorry for. I promise.” He tilted his head up, his gaze meeting yours. There was nothing in your eyes to indicate disgust or displeasure, just kindness. He nodded dumbly as he took you in. “Wanted this to be good for you, sweetheart. Been thinking of this for ages and I fucked it up.” You shook your head. “What makes you think you won’t be able to make it up to me?” your smile was teasing as you tilted his chin upwards. Hope sparked in his chest at your words. “Like right now?” desperation leaked into his voice. You nodded sweetly. “If that’s okay with you.” John couldn’t stop his overenthusiastic nod. “Well in that case I think I owe you somethin’” He shifted you off his lap, allowing you to stand. “My bedrooms, the door on your right, down that hallway there. I'll be there in just a moment.” As he stood you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing your lips to his once again. You then leaned in, allowing your lips to brush the shell of his ear. “You better, or I’ll be left with no choice but to take care of myself,” you pushed away from him, a sly grin on your face as you shot him a wink and started in the direction of his room. John watched you leave, letting his eyes drag over your form, his thoughts notably absent of the guilt that would plague him whenever he’d looked at you before. When you were out of sight, he went into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up. As he walked towards his room he felt what could only be described as butterflies in his stomach. You were far too good for him, in every single way, but you were here, you wanted to be with him, to have him touch you. He couldn’t help the dopey smile that broke out across his face. He pushed open the bedroom door to find you standing in the middle of the room, seemingly taking in your surroundings. At the sound of his footsteps, you turned to face him. “You ready to make it up to me, Mr. Marston?” Your teasing voice was cut off as he closed the space between the two of you and pulled your body into his. His lips crashed into yours, his hand coming to rest on your jaw. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, almost asking permission, which you granted. You tasted like the whiskey from earlier. He began to walk you backward, your steps hesitant until the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed and you fell onto your back. You looked so beautiful below him. You scooted yourself toward the headboard as he dropped his knees onto the mattress. He moved up until he was settled between your legs, his body pressed to the bed as his hands came to rest on your thighs. “I wanna taste you darlin’,” his fingers brushed against the exposed bit of skin that was visible between your shirt and the band of your sweatpants. “Would that be alright with you?” When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, your pupils had swallowed your irises. Your gaze was heavy with lust, your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. “Please, John. Need you.” His hands hooked over the band of your sweatpants, pulling them down over the tops of your thighs. He couldn’t look away as more and more of you was revealed. As soon as the sweatpants had slipped off your feet, his mouth met your inner thigh. His hands moved to the insides of your knees, gently pushing you apart for him. He traded between kisses and gentle nips as his mouth trailed over the sensitive skin. “Take off your shirt for me sweetheart.” his voice was low, filled with desire. You quickly obeyed, tossing the fabric to the floor and settling back against the bed. John couldn’t believe that he was here, between your thighs. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about this, in this same bed as he fucked his hand. And now it was happening, it was real. He felt his cock jump slightly, blood beginning to return to it. You were whimpering under him, clearly frustrated at the lack of attention being paid to your dripping cunt. He could see the small wet patch forming on the cotton that covered you and his mouth watered. He couldn’t resist dragging a finger over your clothed slit as his mouth continued along your thigh. You let out a high-pitched moan when his finger ghosted over your clit. God, he wanted to draw more of those noises from your sweet lips. “Don’t be impatient now, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” His voice was even raspier than usual, dripping with lust. You thrust your hips slightly at his words, trying to get more from him. He pressed your hips back to the bed with one hand, holding you still, tutting his tongue at you. He dragged his mouth higher, his lips pressing against the cotton of your panties. He smirked slightly before grabbing the hem of them between his teeth and dragging them down your hips. When you were rid of them, he couldn’t help but take you in. “John,” your voice was sweet with want. With need. His hands moved back to your inner knees, pushing your legs apart for him. Your cunt glistened with slick, the insides of your thighs shining with it as well. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He was laying between your legs again, his face only inches from your heat. This was better than anything he’d imagined. You were a dream and he wanted to show you how much he wanted this, wanted you. You let out the most intoxicating noise when he licked a broad stripe over your entrance, his nose bumping your clit. Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved to his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark locks. You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He wanted to drink you in, the taste of you like heaven on his tongue. He wanted to drag it out. To tease you with soft licks, turn you into a begging mess. But that would take patience and John Marston was not a patient man. He buried his face in your pussy. His tongue laving over you as his nose rubbed against your clit. If he were to die right now, he’d die a happy man. His hands dug into your hips as he dragged you closer to his mouth. He was trying to memorize everything that made you moan, made you tug on his hair, or try to grind your hips against his mouth. The moan you let out when he wrapped his lips around your clit was absolutely sinful. “Johnnn,” your breath was labored, making it hard to form full sentences. “P-please,” you begged. “Please what, darlin’? What d’ya need?” His voice was teasing as his gaze met your lust-darkened eyes. “Please finger me, please. I need it, please, please, John.” He would’ve liked to tease you more but he was quickly realizing that he couldn’t resist doing anything you asked of him. “How could I say no when you sound so sweet beggin’ for me.” He brought his mouth back to your clit as one of his fingers traced lightly over your slit. You were so goddamn wet, the mix of your slick and his spit shining in the low light of the room. You shivered when he pushed a finger in, just to the first knuckle. He felt you clench at the invasion, making him let out a soft groan. He pushed his finger fully inside you, crooking it up to press against your walls. You let out a loud whiny moan at the sensation. He continued slowly dragging his digit in and out, brushing against your g-spot each time. He wanted to draw this out, show you how good he could make you feel. His mouth continued the assault on your clit, as he finally gave in and added another finger, much to your delight. Your hips rocked against his hand with each thrust, your back arching when he would slowly brush over that sensitive spot. He could feel you getting wetter, your breaths becoming shorter, the words leaving your lips barely discernible. “J-John, I-I’m gonna cum,” he could barely hear you as you wrapped your thighs around his head, your hand yanking on his hair, pulling him closer to you, trying to reach your peak. He sped up slightly, not enough to disrupt your pleasure, but just enough to have you gasping loudly. John felt you clench around his fingers, once, twice, and then you came. Looking back on it, he wished he could’ve seen your face, but he was so lost in lapping up the rush of slick from you. He could do this for hours, knelt between your legs, eating you out until you were exhausted or until he had his fill, whichever came first. He only pulled off of you when you tugged his hair trying to push him off as your thighs fell back to the mattress. He looked up at you, taking in your disheveled face. Your lips were slightly swollen from your teeth biting into them, your eyes were dark, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your breath. “Sorry darlin’, ya just taste so good. Couldn’t help myself.” He was grinning like an idiot. You returned his smile as you muttered, “you’re damn good at that.” “That mean I make it up to ya?” You nodded, “Doesn’t mean we’re done here though.” John’s cock jumped at that. Eating you out had turned him on more than he’d care to admit, his cock had become hard and heavy, pressed against the mattress. “Thank god for that,” his raspy voice was only slightly teasing. A small smile broke out across your face as you shook your head at him, your hands pulling him up to you. He knew you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought driving him slightly crazy. He’d propped himself up, his arms on either side of you, keeping mind to not let his whole weight rest on you. You pulled back, the look in your eye intrigued him. You looked like you had a plan. Before he could register what was happening, you’d flipped him over, sitting on top of him, your body on display. You leaned forward slightly, your finger trailing along the buttons of his shirt. “I think you’re wearing far too much clothing.” John could only bring himself to nod, as he took in your form. He was in awe. Your fingers began to work on his buttons, undoing them one by one. As more of his chest was revealed you brought your mouth to gently kiss across his skin. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly, his heart pounding as you showed him a gentleness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Your touches were light and adoring. As more of him was revealed to you, compliments and sweet words spilled from your lips. Your lips trailed across the scars that littered his chest, murmuring, “you’re so beautiful, John.” He felt like he was being worshiped. Like you were treating him like something to be treasured. When your fingers undid the last button of his shirt, you helped him slip it off of his shoulders, tossing the fabric to the floor to join the other discarded garments. Your hands traced along his chest, running through the smattering of hair across his pecs. Your hands drifted down further, your fingers dragging lightly through the dark hair of his happy trail. They came to rest on the waistband of his jeans, tucking underneath the fabric slightly, your nails teasing the sensitive skin. Your eyes were dark as you looked up at him, asking for permission. He nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. You made quick work of the button and zipper, your fingers once again hooking over the sides as you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one go. His cock sprang up from the fabric, leaking and red, the head practically dripping precum. John knew his dick wasn’t something to scoff at but he still felt self-conscious. That was until he raised his eyes to your face. “Oh, John,” your words were soft, you seemed transfixed, your hand coming up to wrap around him, your fingers only barely able to touch around his girth. He couldn’t help the hiss that escaped him at the pressure. Your hands were light, tracing along the vein that ran up his length, ghosting over the head, your thumb swept at the slit, catching a drop of precum. He was captivated as you brought your thumb to your lips, your tongue darting out to taste it. He couldn’t take this slow teasing, he couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to be inside of you. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you before flipping the two of you once again. God, you were so beautiful. His naked body pressing against yours. His hand reached up to trace your jaw, fingers coming to a rest on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Are you sure you want this?” As much as he dreamt of you, as much as he wanted this, he needed to know you felt the same. That this wasn’t something one-sided. Your hands reached around him, settling on the back of his neck, the smile you gave him was sweet, the lust in your eyes seeming to give way to something softer, something he’d dare call adoring. “John, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been the one pursuing you all night. I know what I want. I know I want you.” He couldn’t formulate a response aside from bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet at first but quickly sank back into something laced with sinful intents. He only pulled back to reach into the drawer of his nightstand, his hands tracing over the contents, searching for a condom. “John,” your voice was smaller than it had been a minute ago. “I-I’m clean. Got tested a bit ago. I, uh, I’m also on the pill.” His gaze was unable to leave your face as he tried to make sense of the words. His brain short-circuiting. When he didn’t respond, you continued, “S-so, I mean if you’re clean, we- I’m okay if we don’t use one.” He nodded, slowly at first, then with barely contained enthusiasm. “God, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered as his lips met yours once again. The kiss was chaste, cut short by both of your eagerness. John moved back, kneeling between your legs, one hand languidly stroking his cock as he looked down at you. He used his other hand to help scoot you forward, tipping your hips up slightly as your legs wrapped around his waist. He ran his tip over your entrance, tapping it against your clit. A shudder ran through your body as you let out a frustrated groan. He did it again, relishing in the way you squirmed as he refused to give you what you so desperately needed. “John,” your voice was clipped, stern. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to leave and go finished myself off…alone.” He got the message, letting his tip stop at your dripping entrance before pushing in slowly. The heat and the tightness that met him was almost overwhelming. He had to stop himself from pushing in all the way in one go. He tried to go slowly, an inch at a time, but the way you were wrapped around his length was too much. Before he could stop himself, his hips thrust forward, entering you to the hilt, his balls pressed against your ass. He managed to let out a strangled, “sorry,” as he rested inside you, unmoving. You had gasped at the sudden movement, but now with him still, pressing incessantly into your g-spot, you were beginning to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to begin to move. His hands had come to rest beside your head, holding his body over yours as he slowly brought his hips back before thrusting into you. You moaned loudly as his body met yours. The pace he started was slow, purposeful. One of his hands moved to cup your jaw, bringing your lips to meet his in an almost loving kiss. He was holding back, not wanting to speed up for fear of hurting you. You seemed to not care as you pulled your lips back from him. Your gaze met his, it was hard and determined. “I’m not a doll, John. I'm not gonna break.” You brought your lips to his ear, the brush of them sending shivers down his spine as you whispered, “been waiting for this for months. Fuck me like you mean it.” You barely had time to draw back before he began to pound into you, his pace unrelenting. The moans leaving your mouth were heavenly, intoxicating. He wanted more. He moved his lips to your throat, biting and sucking the delicate skin. The whine you let out when he nipped you particularly hard had him grinning against your neck. He brought a hand up to your tits, tweaking your nipples like he did earlier on the couch, teasing you. He felt you grip down on him whenever he pulled or pinched especially hard. He was panting, both from the physical excretion as well as the overwhelming pleasure. He could hear how wet you were with each thrust, the noises your body made driving him to thrust a little harder. “You were fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart,” he growled out between breaths. As heat coiled in his stomach, he kept remembering what you had said. How you wanted him to cum inside of you, how you’d wanted him for months. He needed to see it when it happened. Needed to see what you’d look like stuffed full of his cum. His thrusts slowed as he shifted off your neck, his hand leaving your chest as he sat up. He removed your legs from his waist and instead lifted them until they rested on his shoulders. When he leaned back down again, his hands came to rest on either side of your head, essentially folding you in half. He gave a hard thrust into you. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each stroke. Even though you felt tight before, now every move he made had you squeezing him. He knew he couldn’t possibly last much longer but he had to make you cum before he did. Had to give you a reason to do this again. You were letting out a steady stream of curses each time he pounded into you. Your hands gripping the sheets, bunching them tightly in your fists. Your eyes were black with lust and your mouth hung open, sweat shone on your forehead and chest. You looked like a fucking angel. John couldn’t help the praise that dripped from his lips. “You’re such a good girl for me, ain’tcha. Taking me so fuckin’ well.” He moved one of his hands to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. “Wanted you since I first saw ya. Wanted to take ya right on the porch.” “John,” you let out a breathy whine. He kept going, “that day you came over in that stupid sundress. Looked so sweet in it. All dolled up. Wanted to bend you over. Wanted to fuck you until you were screaming my name.” He gave a particularly hard thrust, emphasizing his words. “W-wore it for you,” you managed to get out around harsh moans. He could barely think through the fog of pleasure that permeated his brain. “That’s my girl,” he grunted. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his chest flushed red, sweat beading on his skin. He was so fucking close, for the second time that night. You’d made a mess of him. “Fuck,” your body seemed to be almost shaking with pleasure. “J-John, I’m gonna cum. P-please don’t stop, feels so good.” He kept his pace and seconds later you were clamping down on him like a vice. Your body shook with the waves of pleasure that washed over you. The sensation of you squeezing around him sent him right to the brink of his orgasm. His thrusts became sloppy as he chased his high, his balls drawing up, his pants becoming harsher. “C-cum inside me, John. please,” your worn voice all but begged as your eyes met his. Those words were the final push that threw him over the edge. He thrust once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you. His vision was overtaken by white. He rocked into you as the waves overtook him. He could feel the tingling sensation in his fingertips, in his toes. When he seemingly came back into himself, the sight that greeted him was heavenly. You were spread below him, chest still heaving, bottom lip swollen from kisses and bites. Your hands which had been gripping the sheets now ran up and down his sides, helping bring him back down from the mind-blowing orgasm. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, pulling out of you with a soft grunt. He couldn’t help but watch as his seed leaked from your hole. His fingers moved without thought to stuff his spend back inside you. He only stopped when you let out a slightly pained moan, igniting a feeling of worry in his chest. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” You smiled and chuckled weakly, “s’okay, just sensitive right now.” He wanted to press a gentle kiss to your temple but couldn’t muster up the courage. He stood up from the bed with a small groan. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, gonna clean up.” He stumbled off towards the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping himself down before tossing it into the hamper. He grabbed another cloth, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold before he wrung it out and returned to the bedroom. You were in the same position as you’d been when he left, but now your legs were closed. He knelt before you on the bed. “You okay with me cleanin’ you up?” you nodded sweetly, your eyes closing as he gently swiped the rag over you. When he was done, he tossed the rag to the side, letting it join the pile of clothes already on the floor. He didn’t want your time together to end, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable either and the doubts were beginning to creep in on the edge of his mind. “You, uh, you don’t have to sleep here, with me, if you don’t want,” he started, staring at his hands. “The other room’s still free if you'd like.” When he brought his gaze to yours he was met with something he could only describe as affection. “I’m not going anywhere if that’s alright with you,” your voice was kind as you smiled at him. “Now come to bed, I’m getting cold here all alone.” He couldn’t contain the grin that broke out on his face. He laid down on his back, his arm outstretched, inviting you in. You curled right into his side, your head coming to rest on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close. Despite just being inside you, the gentle cuddling had him blushing harder than he had all night. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, under a sky of dark clouds, and the steady pounding of rain on the roof, you were his and he was yours. And that was good enough.

I know this was super long for a one-shot smut fic but if you made it all the way through, I hope you enjoyed it! This was my first time writing smut from a man's perspective so I'm sorry if anything was weird. I just love John Marston very much <3 Comments/criticisms are always welcome! Crossposted on AO3 @holyratrimony​ <3333

Taglist: @cowboydisaster​

This fic was inspired by this post by @butchdutch

[isa-ghost]

happy early borth use me as a vessel to infodump about your qphil headcanons immediately that’s an order >:D

This too-broad I Just Wanna Hear You Be Abnormal About Your Guy prompting thing is gonna become an inside joke between us I s2g

I think rather than hcs I'm gonna go on a rant about this sTUPID MOTHERFUCKERS WACK ASS BRAIN. YOU ARE YOUR OWN BIGGEST EMOTIONAL DETRIMENT, YKNOW THAT qPHILLIP MINECRAFT? GOD.

This entire thing applies to AMFMN Phil btw

That son of a bitch is such a MESS. He's so deep in his own bullshit he doesn't even see the times he contradicts himself or acts like a hypocrite.

He has to care for everyone (he feels obligated to as the Usually Oldest And Wisest + being constantly put into the paternal/caretaker role) but god forbid anyone takes care of him, even when he needs it most. When people take care of him he feels like he's failed somehow and he gets this not-quite ashamed or embarrassed feeling, but still Distinctly Uncomfortable And Awkward nonetheless.

He's like thousands of years old and has had more life experience to handle stress 100x heavier than "just a scratch" or "feeling a bit sad." He's spent decades just fucking around risking his life in hardcore mode, which puts near-constant strain on a person. Which has definitely warped his perception of what's too much for himself. He has a HUGE problem with being too critical of when something is or isn't Enough to be "worth" letting himself be upset or down for the count for a while. (In AMFMN he's going to be told straight up he Should Have Literally Died with how bad of shape he'll be in and that's the only reason besides his body being in literal physical shambles that he's going to remain bedridden during the recovery arc).

It's so foreign to him between his habitual isolation (hc life), rarely actually being taken down long-term by any threat, and his own evasion of being the one depending on someone that he just. He doesn't know what to do here. It's like putting socks on a dog and watching them try to walk all weird, he's like What The FUCK Is This?? How Do I Navigate This Situation?? He hates it.

Also survivalist brain hates feeling vulnerable in any way in general obviously, so that's another factor. But FUCK MAN sometimes you NEED to, it's HEALTHY even!! You dumb ass motherfucker!! Like yeah he'll cry, but not in like a Go To His Room And Let Himself Break A Little way, in a "these extremely stressful circumstances are actively happening/ongoing and it's overwhelming me so badly that I couldn't hold this back if I tried" way. Case in point: Ender King's initial arrival and how the kids couldn't see anything, or his actual possession and telling Tallulah to flee.

Alternatively if something involves not him but his loved ones, THEN he'll cry. Assuming it's not something he can do anything about (bc then his default reaction is Pissed The Fuck Off and preparing to throw infinite hands). Case in point: the goodbye letters pre-Purgatory.

But generally speaking this idiot is SO BAD at emotional self-care and letting himself be the one looked after for a change, it feeds into a lot of his other flaws (ie: being strong all the time & how he pushes that on Chay). But like. It's not just done out of refusal due to stubbornness.

It's fucking tragic, honestly. He's spent So Long being this way, he just straight up genuinely doesn't know How to be in the reversed role. Like even if he Wanted to be, it's so beyond his comprehension now that he doesn't think he Can. And a shred of why he continues not to just Start is bc he knows deep down that there is SO MUCH shit he's bottled up and buried or ignored over time, esp ever since The Nightmare, that if he let himself stop being a brick wall he'd crumble for so long he doesn't know what he'd be like once he recovered, or if he would even bounce back properly. And he does NOT like the idea of being irreversibly fucked up by properly digesting the trauma and grief and stress he's been through over the last year.

He'd rather truck on and "keep it together for the kids." :)

[chaotic-on-main]

Dandelions | CanonAU One-Shot

☾ Pairings ➼ Levi Ackerman x gn!Reader

☾ Content/Warnings ➼ friends to lovers, first date, love confessions, just pure unadulterated FLUFF

☾ A/N ➼ I'm gonna have to start a separate thing for my song fics I s2g. The amount of songs I have written down to write fics about is insane. Anyways, this is actually a little fic I wrote for @humanitys-strongest-bamf because she said she really wanted a flower date written for her. I kinda took that idea as well as the inspiration from Ruth B's song Dandelions (attached below) AND I forgot Kat had also sent me a prompt request awhile back so this also fulfills that lmao. I hope y'all enjoy!! I've listened to this song for days on repeat so I hope I have captured it well.

☾ Word Count ➼ ~2k

It had only taken a couple months for the pure titans to be disposed of, thanks to the efforts of the scouts. This eradication is the reason why you find yourself sneaking off for another lone ride before dusk falls. The hard part wasn’t getting your horse or permission to go outside the walls, it was trying to get out without too many questions from your fellow cadets. You didn’t know how to tell them this was your way of escaping from them and everything else that came crashing since the battle of Shiganshina.

“Oi oi oi! Where do you think you’re going?” A deep voice rings out behind you as you’re saddling up. You feel your heart jump with your body. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before turning around to face a stern Captain Levi.

“Just a little ride before dinner tonight, Levi. I already got the okay.” He eyes you wearily.

“By yourself?” He crosses his arms.

“Yes, by myself. It’s not like we have any threats out there anymore.” You roll your eyes, smile now fading, before turning back around to tighten straps.

“People can be just as dangerous.” He gripes back. You feel his eyes burning holes in your head.

“Sounds like someone is worried about me.”

“Of course, I’m worried. Who knows what trouble you’ll get yourself into.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Tch, I trust you.” His words make you grin, but you quickly wipe it off your face before turning back around once you’re satisfied with your gear. You stare at him for a moment, his eyes meeting yours a second later.

“I’ll be back. I promise.” You say softly as you grip your reins tightly ready to lead your horse out of the stables.

“Just be careful.” He mutters, stepping aside to give you space to leave. His words make your heart jump again. Your eyes linger on each other as you walk past, a quick nod shared between the two of you as a goodbye.

On today's ride, you decide to aim for a bundle of trees sitting at the base of a small mountain to the west of the southern gate that you had noticed a while back. A couple hours pass before your destination comes into view. By your estimate, you had about an hour before being forced to head back lest you be surrounded by darkness.

You stare into the thick trees as you hand feed a treat to your tied off horse, an abrupt nip at your fingers alerting you to your now treat-less palm. A small laugh escapes your lips as you pat her nose reassuringly.

"I'll be back, okay? Don't go anywhere." You whisper up at her wide eyes. She bids you goodbye with another nip.

As you make your way through the overgrown shrubbery and gangly trees, you can't help but feel excitement for what might be on the other side. Looking up, you use a hand to half cover your eyes from the late afternoon sun filtering in between the leafy branches. Bird song weaves through the now thickening trees and into your ears. You softly whistle the song back as your fingers fumble with the latches on your waist. After a moment, the sketchbook you currently use as a guidebook is free from its confines. As always with every expedition you've ever been on, you are ready to document anything you see and hear.

It takes several more minutes before you finally stumble into a clearing. Whatever you had expected to find, it was leagues under from your current display. A meadow, far grander than anything you've ever seen, expands in an oval in front of you. Trees surround the whole area tall and strong, like knights in a line of defense. A small stream cuts through diagonally, telling stories with its gentle babble. You step deeper into it all with your eyes as wide as can be, soaking in this picture-perfect moment.

Looking down as you walk, your eyes become overwhelmed with the multitude of colors peppering your vision. Flowers of various sizes and lengths shift in the breeze as you walk by and something in you warms. Your eyes catch something that makes you stop abruptly.

“Oh wow.” You whisper as you slide down to your hands and knees so that you are eye level with a particular looking plant that didn’t very much look like a flower at all. The stem is brown, an odd color, you think, but it looked like a normal stem at least. The top however, where the petals would be, was soft and… furry? You reach out and lightly touch it. Much to your surprise, some of the fuzzy bits detach and fly off into the wind. A burst of laughter escapes from your chest and a memory stirs within you at the sight.

Armin had talked to you about these plants - dandelions. According to him, if you blow on the white bits to make them scatter and make a wish at the same time, it will come true. It was so silly, you think, but really what could it hurt? People wish on shooting stars all the time - this would be no different.

It takes you a moment, but you find a dandelion perfect for the wish you had in mind. You decide to plop yourself into the plush grass next to the creek, flower in hand. You feel a rush of heat sear your cheeks at not only what you were about to do but also what you were about to wish for. After making sure you were alone with a quick survey around, you sit forward and stare hard at the white fuzz. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath.

“I wish for Levi to be mine.” Then blow.

.

Levi calls your name from behind, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts for a moment. You pull back on your reins until Levi can fall into step with you. When you glance over, he arches an eyebrow at you with a silent question of, "Where are we going?" He must have noticed your change in course, now heading west instead of straight south. To be honest, you wouldn’t have even noticed that you had shifted directions if Levi hadn’t said anything. This ride has become second nature to you. After your initial discovery, the meadow quickly became your fortress of solitude and you found yourself coming back again and again without thinking about it.

After weeks of patiently waiting, an opportunity to team up with Levi to check out the port construction progression finally came. Whether that came from luck or your constant pestering to Commander Hange, you didn't know. Regardless, you were both nervous and excited to finally share your most prized secret with Levi no less. All you give him in return for his silent question is a simple, "Trust me." before squeezing your thighs together then galloping off, leaving your captain in the dust.

The sun bares straight down by the time you and Levi make it to your makeshift hitching post just outside your favored path. On the ground next to it sits a half bucket of water and you give yourself a mental reminder to fill it the next time you’re here. Levi doesn't say anything as he ties off his horse, mirroring your movements with deft fingers. Nor does he say anything as you pull off the basket you had tied onto your saddle so long ago hidden with goodies you packed the night before. He still doesn't say anything as he follows you on the beaten path you’ve made from your many visits. Levi's silence was normal, and yet…

"Aren't you going to ask where I'm taking you? I could be leading you to your death, you know." You glance back at Levi, eyes locking on each other. His expression might be unreadable to most, but to you there was a subtle bliss written all over his face. You shoot him a smile while you wait for his answer.

"You asked me to trust you. So I'm trusting you. Besides, you can't take me on your own. You got a death wish?" He grumbles back to you.

"Who said I was alone?" You quip as you twist back around to watch where you were going, swinging the basket in your hands as you walk. Levi scoffs behind you. A comfortable silence blankets the both of you yet again.

It takes a bit but finally the clearing comes into view and those anxious thoughts start clouding your mind again. What if he thinks this is a waste of time? What if he thinks you're ridiculous for this? What if he doesn't share the same feelings for you as you do for him? Levi calls your name again to get your attention. God, you loved how he said your name.

Your eyes focus just as you step through with Levi in tandem. There's a gentle wind today; it blows through the multi-colored meadow in a way that makes the flowers look like they're dancing. The breeze is even soft enough that your favored dandelions stay intact, not a single seed threatens to blow away.

"Is this where you’ve been escaping to?"

"You notice?" You glance his way nervously. As usual, he has no significant emotion on his face, but to say he was emotionless would be a lie. His eyes shift from the babbling creek to the colorful field and then onto your face, eyes soft. The way he looks at you, it makes a part of you feel so alive and free.

"Sometimes." His comment makes you look away, a flush of heat already nipping at your cheeks.

"I-uh, I wanna show you something." You set off deeper into the meadow without checking to see if he’s following.

A moment later, you come upon the spot you had surveyed a couple days in advance, perfect for what you had in mind. In a swift motion, you pull out a blanket from the basket hanging from your arm and splay it on the ground. Once settled, you plop yourself down on the cloth to keep it from flying away. When you look up, Levi’s staring at you incredulously.

“Is this a date?” he asks dryly.

“Do you want it to be?” You ask, patting the empty spot next to you as you do. He hesitantly sits down next to you, unsure of what to do with his body but eventually settles on sitting crisscross like you. He stares over at you, a little bit of shock cracking through his still features. “Levi, I’m kidding. It doesn’t have to be. I just wanted to show you my favorite spot.” You mutter over to him, rolling your eyes. You swallow down your nerves. Maybe he isn’t as interested in you as you had hoped. As you start to unpack the basket of the lunch rations you had stowed away, he speaks up softly.

“I wouldn’t mind. It being a date, I mean.” His voice stays monotone, but his words make you double-take at him. Levi is flushed pink, starting from his neck then ending at the tips of his ears. A wide grin breaks out on your face as you finally comprehend what he just said.

“Really? Because this would have been so embarrassing if you didn’t feel the same way. I mean, I would have had to run away and start a new life somewhere else. When I talked to Mikasa about this, she was all ‘love like this only happens once in a lifetime.’ and it made me think that you might actually be the love of mi-“ You’re cut off by Levi’s nimble fingers pulling your chin in his direction, his face a lot closer than you remembered it being. He whispers your name again.

“Shut up.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and tender. You don’t remember much after that, but you do know that whatever they said about wishing on dandelions had to be true. And you couldn’t wait to wish upon many more in the meadow now shared between you and Levi.

taglist: @humanitys-strongest-bamf @averysmolbear @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @Dkbktk420 (idk why it won't let me tag you properly) If you'd like to join my taglist, please go here! Your information will never be shared. <3

[yellowcabdriver]

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw NSFW headcanons

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x f!reader

wordcount: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ (minors, don’t interact!), oral (m and f receiving), explicit and implied sexual situations

a/n: guess who watched top gun maverick and also is kind of getting rid of writer’s block? 🥴 nsfw alphabet template courtesy of @fairy-tail-babes 🫶🏻

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bradley is very affectionate and a little lazy after sex (actually, he can fall asleep without even taking his dick out😭). When he doesn’t fall asleep though, he tells you how amazing you were and seals it all with some sweet kisses. He usually is able to gather some residue strength to get you two to shower and wash up (sometimes there’s another round in the shower if you’re into it). When you come back to bed, he is in a full-on cuddle mode and there is nothing you can do to stop him. Cuddles should be naked (he loves skin-to-skin contact) and with you being a big spoon most of the time. In exchange though, he gently strokes your skin with his knuckles, hums a little tune, something from the 1980s, and kisses you constantly. So you don’t mind.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

In himself, Bradley loves his hands. That’s his tool, after all. But he also loves them because he can pleasure you oh so well. He can—and very proud of that—make you cum with his fingers alone, calls himself “miracle hands” which kills the mood a little but you let it slide because, well, you are laying down fucked out from fingering alone. He will then lick his fingers and tell you that “you taste so good, sweetheart” (ugh, he’s annoyingly good).

On women, Bradley loves boobs. He is a simple man with simple wants and needs. He likes big boobs (typical 🙄) but doesn’t actually care for the size with the women he’s dating, just loves boobs in general and that’s it. If you occasionally let him slide his hands under your shirt to fondle your tits, he’d be very grateful.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Bradley cums a moderate amount and prefers to do it inside if you are doing it without a condom (he watched too much porn, I s2g). He also likes to cum on your stomach or tits (another porn classic).

So you… Bradley loves to see you cum. You can laugh, but he finds your orgasms so hot he might cum himself just from seeing you all spasming and moaning. If he makes you cum on his fingers—licks them clean. If he makes you cum with his mouth—takes it all, then gets up with his moustache glistening from your juices and proceeds to give you the most charming, almost boyish smile.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bradley wants to try fucking your tits. He often shamelessly imagines covering your tits in oil or lube and sliding his cock between them as you squeeze them together. And just like in a good ole porno movie he used to watch as teen on VHS tapes, he will cum on your face (if you let him, of course). If you have big enough tits, he will attempt to ask you to try it. If not, he will settle for sucking on them, no problem. Another dirty lil secret is that he has a naked polaroid picture of you in his wallet hidden between his gym membership card and some old coupon he can’t find himself to throw out. It’s nothing too out there, he has taken a quick picture of you in his bed lying in an aftersex bliss barely covered by a sheet. Just loves to know that it’s there, next to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bradley has definitely had his share of women so he knows what he’s doing in general. But he never refuses a learning moment when he’s with you because he wants to know what you like and what you enjoy. He is no longer a twenty something youngster who wants to release the tension in his pants, he is a grown man who wants to make sex enjoyable for both parties.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

First and foremost, Bradley loves a good ole missionary. It’s a classic and he loves a classic. Facing you and looking at your face while he stubbornly thrusts in you balls deep, whispering sweet nothings into your mouth, kissing up you neck and behind your ears, having your nails digging into his shoulders—he doesn't mind it, he’s even okay if you bite him in a heat of the moment (which already happened before).

Second position is having your legs on his shoulders and a pillow under your lower back—comfortable for you and his cock goes deeper, hitting the right spot again and again until you’re shattering in an orgasm.

The last position is you on top, a classic cowgirl. Bradley loves to have you ride him, fast or slow (and low-key loves to see your boobs bounce). Actually, he never misses a chance to play with your tits when you’re on top.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

More playful, meaningless lighthearted teasing than anything else. He makes jokes in bed occasionally but most of the time he takes intimacy pretty seriously (especially when it comes to you). If you’re the one to make an awkward joke or two, he will always play along. But when he’s in the process of pleasuring you, usually nothing can steer him away, I mean my man is FOCUSED focused.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His hair got lighter due to constant exposure to the sun, so the carpet kind of matches the drapes—his hair down there is a little darker. He trims it up, keeps it tidy. Tried shaving it all off completely once but suffered from ungodly itch when it started to grow back and decided not to do that again.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Physical touch and quality time are his primary love languages so that pretty much manifests in bed, too. Bradley is the type to be fully engaged during sex, all instincts are alert and working. He covers you in kisses while slowly, plunging his cock in you with unwavering determination. And his hands are ALWAYS on you, one most likely cradling your face and the other sneaked between your bodies and teasing your clit. Bradley puts your pleasure as his priority, he gives it all to you, babygirl. Speaking of babygirl, we gotta talk about nicknames because this man has plenty for you. Honey, sweetheart, doll, love, sugar, he even calls you his “little lady”. During sex, however, he sometimes calls you by your name and that’s how you know it’s serious, especially when he wants your full attention on him—and when he wants it he will get it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbation is a regular thing for Bradley. He watches porn to jack off but sometimes when you’re not there (and a little before you two started dating) he jerks off thinking of you. Gets out that little polaroid picture to help him out, when his imagination fails him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bradley loves it when you call him Lieutenant in bed, I’m serious. It’s almost embarrassing how hard he gets when you call him by his rank. An easy switch—from soft dom to soft sub. As a dom, he establishes control naturally, almost effortlessly—he doesn’t need to be harsh or particularly forceful to make sure you know who’s in charge tonight. When Bradley’s in control, he fucks like he flies—he takes his time, he is determined and he always gets work done to perfection. As a sub, he likes it when you tie him up and is kinda into body harnesses (you bought one together, a very cool black one, it leaves striped marks on his broad chest but he doesn’t mind at all). If anything, he enjoys getting on his knees and eating you out standing up while your hands are clutching on the harness leash.

Praise kink. Do I have to elaborate? Lieutenant thing made it pretty obvious already. He never thought words can affect him this much but hearing you say how much you want him, how much you enjoy fucking him, how his cock is stretching you, how you want him to fuck you harder and deeper—he gets all lightheaded and woozy securing his grip on your hips to thrust into your pussy with more eagerness because if you love it so much he will give you all that you desire.

Humping—when you’re sliding your wet leaking pussy on his shaft without penetration letting your clit brush over his tip a little… If someone told young Rooster you can have a mindshattering orgasm without penetration, he would’ve laughed in their faces but here we are.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Surprisingly, his favourite place to have sex has nothing to do with planes, as you initially assumed (I mean, who didn’t). Bradley actually likes the comfort of your shared house. After spending so much time away from home, he prefers domestic sex. That doesn’t mean he would say no to sex in other places, though. You two have definitely fucked in public bathrooms, his garage, even next to his plane (and almost got busted).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

TOUCHING HIM. I am telling you this man is all about physical contact. He gets so embarrassingly turned on when you glide your hands over his tan shoulders, trace his scars, slide your hand into his hair and massage his scalp—oof. He likes to be your protector, someone who you can depend on (this man has daddy issues, we been knew). It doesn’t necessarily make him hard but he for sure gets in the mood when you ask him to help you or when he explains you stuff.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing that could put you in risk, nothing that could seriously hurt you. Other than that he is a pretty open-minded guy with certain boundaries you two discover along the way.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Bradley Bradshaw is a gentleman and loves to eat you out. But let me tell you this, his mouth ain’t treating that pussy of yours quite gentlemanly. He is a nasty pussyeater, dives in, stupid moustache and all, tongue is all up in you, sucks on your clit so deliciously good, doesn’t shy away from gently biting your pussy lips and your sweet soft inner thighs. And the sounds he’s making in the process—shamelessly loud and so, so good! I mean slurping, sucking, lapping, smacking, moaning, and don’t forget the occasional “your pussy tastes so good, the sweetest thing, babygirl” while his strong arms are manhandling you into staying in place because how can you not wiggle and move around? His mouth abuses your pussy to no end and he’s not even using his fingers (when he does, he makes you cum in like minutes).

You return the favour, though. Bradley is not an idiot, he loves getting a good head. He likes it slow and he likes it messy, saliva and everything. Kissing around his tip, slowly moving your tongue around, tracing his veins while holding onto his thighs—and then taking him in, slowly, inch by inch, moaning and sending vibrations straight into his soul. Tries his best not to come from oral but sometimes just can’t help it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Honestly, depends on the mood. Mostly, he prefers deep, committed, rather slow thrusts. When he gets too eager, though, his movements get harsher and faster, more hectic and abrupt. He also likes it slow and sensual when you are in control, so take your time with this man, he would never mind.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Bradley Bradshaw will never say no to a quickie, no sir. You can’t catch this man lacking like this. He is actually the one who usually initiates them when he just can’t wait. He spends quite a lot of time away and misses you like crazy so when he’s back expect being fucked anywhere (especially in like bar bathrooms? gross but you two make it work).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Bradley is fairly open to experiments in bed and is prepared to take risks, but calculated ones. He is more for slowly pushing boundaries, trying something new and learning.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He has pretty good stamina, mostly due to extensive physical training. He can go for two or three rounds a night and very intensive ones. He tries not to cum too soon but when he does (it’s not his fault your pussy is so good😔), always makes it up to you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Despite his open mind, Bradley didn’t really own any toys himself. But now that he’s with you, you two buy stuff together. Besides a harness, you have a shared custody of quite an expensive dildo and a very nice pink bullet vibrator (yk, the one with remote control). You put these to good use ;)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Usually, Bradley is not one for teasing in bed, he literally doesn’t have patience himself. However, there are certain times when he’s in the mood for teasing, and boy, get ready because Bradley is the type of guy to fuck you tantalisingly slowly on purpose and go “Tell me what you want, sweetheart”, “Oh, that’s how you like that, huh?”, “Ask me nicely, babygirl, and I’ll give it to you”, “Look, your little pussy is so eager to take my cock”. Or just plain edging you because why not? He has you spread out right under him, playing with your pussy, fingering you, putting the tip of his cock and taking it out, licking and sucking your clit but not too much, kissing your hips and thighs, leaving hickeys all over, so you would turn into a whimpering, weeping mess. But he’s not very good at that, to be honest, because he’s ready to burst when he hears you breathing heavily, blubbering “please, let me cum”. He loves you, babygirl, whatever you want he’ll get you, fuck the teasing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Bradley is not super loud but he is very vocal. He mostly grunts, moans and even whimpers during sex, especially when he is about to cum. Funnily enough, the first time you two had sex, he was all macho, manly grunts and stuff (let’s not blame him, he was trying to impress you 😌). But the more often you had sex, the more he started to open up and stopped shying away from being vulnerable in bed. He’s not a big talker during sex but praises you constantly with some classic “you’re doing so good, sweetheart”, “you have no idea how beautiful you look”, “you can cum again, babygirl, I know it”.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

A few things:

A feverish kisser! Every time Bradley kisses you is like the last time, honestly. Even random casual little kisses are full of passion that empties your lungs. You often joke that he kisses like a horny teenager (but muuuuch better ;))

He loooves to kiss and loves receiving kisses, too. He is surprisingly affectionate inside and outside of the bedroom. During sex when he has your legs resting on his shoulders while he is fucking your good, he will cover your ankles and calves in tender kisses. If you’re on top, riding the shit out of him, kiss this man all over his face and stupid moustache—trust me, he is yours forever.

Not good at sexting BUT absolute god of sending you nudes and thirst traps. Idk, this man must have taken courses or something because he is GOOD. Angles, lighting, poses—he got all of that covered. Your favourite picture is a mirror selfie where he is sitting on the bed almost naked except for a tiny towel around his hips. And if you look a little closer you can sneak a peak of his dick. He sends these quite often so you had to get a whole password protected folder on your phone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

About 19 cm, on a thicker side, uncut, veiny. Has a very delicious looking tip. Definitely knows how to use his dick, too ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not too modest to admit that he can go for 2-3 rounds a night and most importantly can and will make love with you for hours. Will take breaks, if you need them, of course, but can go uninterrupted for a few hours straight (cough horny teenager cough).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bradley usually falls asleep right after you two had sex and sleeps like a log all through the night. He prefers to sleep naked to feel you against his heated skin. He swears he sleeps better with you next to him—you laugh it off and don’t take it too seriously but it is true. Something secures him, grounds him into safety when he is next to you and he is beyond thankful for your presence in his life.

[possibilistfanfiction]

fuck dude i spent the past two days reading the entirety of girls against god and catching up on we lived happily during the war and i s2g it’s the most i’ve cried in YEARS what the fuck bea’s trans niece?? it all must mean so much to bea?? what the FUCK oh my god i am so emotional i have so many feeling ily tysm for your service 🥹 (also BIG fan of footy au. big big fan. you are incredible) THANK YOU

[bea's niece! love her! here u go]

//

you’re thrilled that your parents have decided to spend a few days away in ojai at some winery aunt bea recommended, because as much as you love them, unlimited and mostly unsupervised time with your aunts is pretty much the best thing in the world.

they’d planned to take you to a cool, nice dinner at this trendy place asaad had seen on tiktok, which honestly sounded fun. plus, it’s mexican food, which is basically your favorite other than your nani’s lamb biryani. and it had seemed exciting and fun but then you had looked through your entire suitcase and didn’t love any of the tops you packed, and you want to do your makeup but you’re not that good at it yet, and usually your mama helps you, and —

you sniffle and take a calming breath, wipe the tears from under your eyes. it’s okay, you tell yourself. you can ask for help. your aunts love you, and your big brother loves you, and sometimes, of course, he teases you but not about this. never about this. if you felt bad enough you didn’t want to go out, no one would be mad at you.

you take another big breath and then put on one of aunt bea’s old t-shirts she’d accidentally left in london last year and then had laughed and told you to keep it. you walk down the stairs to your aunts’ bedroom. asaad and aunt bea are tending to the herb garden outside, and you’re not surprised to see aunt ava seemingly emptying a quarter of their closet onto their big bed. you linger in the doorway, your heart caught a little in your throat, but then aunt ava looks up and stills, then offers you a smile that always feels warm, and calm, and you don’t ever wonder why aunt bea fell in love with them.

‘what’s up, kiddo?’

you take a second to compose yourself because you really don’t want to cry; you’ve spent enough time around the both of them that you know aunt ava understands how to be patient and let you arrive at what you need to say in your own time. ‘my mama usually helps with my makeup.’

‘ah,’ aunt ava says, already excited. ‘what’s the vibe your feeling? also, what are you wearing? i can’t decide.’ she gestures to the bed with her cane. ‘as you can see.’

it gets you to laugh, a knot in your chest loosening. ‘um, maybe i can borrow one of your crops? my camo cargo pants, i think, and my new cdg converse.’

‘ooh,’ ava says, ‘love. and yes, of course you can borrow anything you want. i’m still mad you’re big enough they fit you, but i’ll forgive you. growing up is better than the alternative.’

you frown at that but aunt ava doesn’t seem bothered, or sad or upset.

‘hmm. morbid. my bad.’

‘you good?’

‘i’m awesome.’ she smiles and gestures for you to actually come into the room. her hair falls in easy waves past her shoulders, longer than when you’d last seen her for eid, and it’s easy to hug her tightly, to settle into her gentle embrace, to smell the detergent that reminds you of aunt bea, and aunt ava’s subtle light perfume, and the lavender lotion you get to use every time you’re here. you know he understands, in a different way than aunt bea but in a way that matters too, that flows like water and makes you feel like you’re lifting your face to the sun, what it feels like to be bigger than what the world expects of you and your body.

your parents are the best; they’d gotten you hormone blockers immediately when you asked, and your mama and auntie had taken you shopping for pretty bras in the fanciest shops in london last month, and your dad practices your drag routines with you after football practice.

but still: people who feel it, people who know — your family, in the deepest way. you pray five times a day, in thanks, usually. blessings, you know, even now.

‘the vibe is, like, i don’t know. subtle but glitter?’

aunt ava squeezes you. ‘incredible. i’m obsessed already. maybe a glitter eyeliner?’

you relax: aunt ava loves you.

‘do you have your makeup here? i have, like, enough fun shit — uh, stuff — to cover us for any look you want, but obviously not foundation or concealer for you. but if you don’t have any, we can send your aunt and brother.’ she laughs. ‘asaad can be your skin tone match.’

'i have some makeup.' you let yourself take a deep breath, because aunt ava is happy; she wants to do makeup with you, and let you borrow clothes, and go out to a cool restaurant. it's not a duty, or because you're family — when your aunts get to help you be yourself, it makes them happy. 'but it's mostly boring.'

'the basics are very important, though.' she smiles. 'well, go grab any of yours that you want to use, then come meet me back down here. you can look through mine and use any you want. and i'm the prettiest person i know, so i can help.'

'number one?'

'way too like beatrice,' she says, 'mean. for no reason! but i'll humor you.' ava bites their bottom lip in contemplation. 'well, i met janelle monae last year. and shangela comes into my bar often.'

'you live a wild life,' you say, and aunt ava laughs. 'so, third?'

'yeah,' she confirms. 'well, fourth, maybe.'

'who's third on the list, then?'

'you, of course.'

it makes you blush, but you turn quickly so aunt ava can't really see. you know she knows, but, like, it's fine. whatever. maybe she's the prettiest person you've ever seen and she's kind and funny and smart and owns her own bar, but she's also your aunt, who you've watched throw up in a bush after she drank too much champagne at brunch one time, and she always falls asleep on aunt bea's shoulder when you go to a movie. there's no reason to be embarrassed, and there's also no reason, you remind yourself, to not want to feel pretty.

you get your setting spray and foundation and concealer and their respective brushes, and then aunt ava shows you through a lot of makeup. you don't think you'll ever want to own this much makeup in your entire life, and it's kind of funny because aunt ava doesn't really wear much most days, but she just — she loves it. she loves sharing with you, and explaining why she got stuff that doesn't really make sense, and eventually you pick out a gold eyeliner to use. aunt ava makes sure not to cover your freckles completely when she helps with your foundation, and then, when you try to do the eyeliner yourself and mess it up, she hands you a makeup wipe without any judgement or impatience.

you finish with some mascara, and you sit and talk and listen to music in the background while aunt ava does her own makeup. she lets you pick out any crop you want, and she decides, after a fair amount of deliberation, on a sundress that you know is aunt bea's favorite on her. gay, you think, and then say aloud because you're sure aunt ava will appreciate it. and she does: she laughs, and aunt bea kisses her after she knocks on the doorframe and then smiles softly when she sees the two of you.

'you both look amazing,' she says. 'asaad has already freshened up, so i just need to change, and then we can go. i'm confident it we leave in ten minutes, we'll make our reservation time.'

'what if we left in twelve minutes?' aunt ava asks.

aunt bea just ignores her and walks to their closet and lightly closes the door, which seems to delight aunt ava. she snorts.

'love her.'

'you guys are weird.'

'just wait until you have a partner or partners. if you're doing it right, which i'm sure you eventually will, because you're the best, it's all just the best kind of weird.'

they're right, you know. you get to be surrounded by all kinds of love and you've always gotten to see it every day. but still, when aunt bea walks out in tailored slacks and loafers and a loose linen button up with intricate stitching, a little mascara on her face, her hair with a few strands of silver in it now, less than your dad's but mostly the same — you can breathe in another way. you have the careful way your mama helps you wash your hair every week when you told her you wanted to grow it out, and how she always takes you with her to get your threading done together; you have your dad's genuine joy whenever he takes you to women's football matches, and the way he cries at shows with queer storylines that end happily; you have your brother and the way he always, always, makes sure his group of friends never misgenders you — ever since you came out, none of them have treated you any differently at all; you have aunt ava, whose identities are as big and open and exuberant as she is.

and you have your aunt beatrice, you smiles sincerely and, of course, notices your eyeliner. she taught you how to shave your legs when you were too nervous to ask your mama, for whatever reason that seemed confusing at the time in your head. she plays tennis with you and she's never mean but she also never lets you win; if you ever beat her one day, it will be on your own merit. you're pretty sure she could literally kill someone twice her size with one hand, but she has never been anything but gentle toward you, your entire life.

she tucks a pair of sunglasses in the V of her shirt and puts on one of her fancy watches with a thick band. she smiles at you. 'ready to go?'

'mhm. i'm hungry.'

she kisses aunt ava's temple and then puts a gentle hand to the small of your back, ushers you out of their room and to the foyer where asaad is waiting on the couch. it's still warm and sunny and gorgeous. aunt bea makes sure the front door is locked and then takes one last look in the mirror. this smile is all for herself, one you've had so many times, one that, on her, lights you up from the inside. she fluffs her hair and then nods, and you get it, unspoken: she must like who she sees looking back at her.

when she sits on your bed later that night, after you've all eaten more than your fair share and aunt ava had done a lot of moaning over some shishito peppers, after she'd driven everyone home and you had all changed into pajamas and watched half of a movie while she and aunt ava had a glass of wine — you curl into her hip and put your head on her lap.

you want to thank her — for being who she is, for being part of your family, for loving you — and everyone she cares for — in this quiet, stoic, unrelentingly gentle way. but you're sleepy, and you don't want to cry. she runs a gentle hand up and down your spine.

'did you have a good day?'

'yeah, aunt bea.' you think of the beach and aunt ava's laugh and your brother's gentle insistence that he hold every door open for the three of you; how good the food was and how you'd seen bella ramsey at a table and asaad had blushed so hard you had laughed. you think of the quiet way aunt bea had gotten aunt ava her medications in the morning at breakfast, a kiss to the top of her head. a long, long life together. a home, with you included, in any way you want. 'i had the best day.'

[lastoneout]

This isn't really that much of a problem but I s2g something about how you literally cannot exist online as a twitch streamer without being bombarded by graphic design artists begging you to commission them paired with how I am now getting cold-called by local freelance roofing specialists who want to come work on my house is like, so fucking dystopian like you guys aren't the enemy the same way Amazon is but I can't help but feel like even more of my time and energy is being taken up by what ammount to advertisements only this time I actually do have to feel bad for turning you down bcs you're just as broke as I am like????

(And like the commission people have started like giving me their sob stories and asking like three times after I've said no live in front of everyone and they don't back off until I tell them that I'm poor and disabled and don't have a job bcs if I don't make it clear they're barking up the wrong tree they don't believe I'm poor and tbh it's kinda fucking humiliating?? But I don't wanna be mean bcs am I any better?? My stream has my ko-fi link burned into it! But honestly this just makes me want not even have a donation link so I don't look like a hypocrite!!)

I literally hate the world we live in sometimes.

[discluded]

Mile has tons of skills and talent I am envious about but the top one is for sure time management. 1 peak at your schedule sir. 1 PEAK! It must be colour coded and planned down to the minute (my planner brain needs to know)

(giggles and kicks my feet at eepy kitten apo in the background shaking his hair and with daddy protecting him)

Translation by MileApo Safe place:

[P: Let’s talk about discipline first because…] M: I think the word ‘discipline’ is a word that can be said easily, like ‘Yeah, I wanna be discipline’ or if others tell us to have/be disciplined is easy. But the most important thing is.. Whether we want to do it or not, and if we don’t want to do it, how would you maintain the discipline, is the important thing. Because phi think that, every work/project, regardless of it not being about/in the entertainment industry, if it’s work, you're going to have to come across it/the work that you don’t want to do. (For instance,) shit head coworkers*… uh, no, I’m saying the truth, you’re going to come across it, naturally *Coworkers in Thai is “puen ruam gnarn” which has the word “puen” or ‘friends’, so Pond is making a joke on the word “puen” P: Ah, talking about coworkers/friends, wake Po up too M: No, I didn’t mean Po. You’ll see things like this, it’s only natural, we have to understand, I’m saying the facts first, and… even the people you’re not working with us, they’re even worse than you’re coworkers, these people/things will make the various things we’re doing, (we) get distracted

*long sigh* I think the most frustrating part of a video like this is that Pond has very poor understanding of the optics of fandom despite being embedded as long as MileApo. A stray comment like that could easily be taken out of context by toxic solos who dislike Apo if Mile weren't quickly out there to defend him.

And when it comes down to it, Mile knows Apo is very serious about his work, and can buckle down and get down to business.

Does attending this random ass interview about THC even count? This very much feels like Apo showing up in Episode 3 to pour water and being sugar baby AF, showing off. Why would he have to be serious when daddy's got it covered, go back to sleep kitten 🤪

As for the time management part - yes! But also, my dad used to chastise me the time about how I was "undisciplined" because um. *checks notes* I'm not very good at time organization. (I am very disciplined in other aspects, but my ability to manage a project is like / <- most of the project gets done at the end.)

Turns out that is a key feature of ADHD that went undiagnosed for a long time, so like, honestly also don't feel bad if it's just something you're unable to do. Mile is peak performance when it comes to time management. Also Mile's a chronic insomniac, i s2g he gets stuff done just because he doesn't sleep sometimes 😑 it's incredible his skin still looks fairly amazing, considering that.

[kaasknot]

hot take: Bertie the Lamb is autistic

buster keaton's first role in a feature film—his breakout role, which earned him critical acclaim—was playing the titular saphead, Bertie Van Alstyne, in the 1920 movie The Saphead. bertie is endearingly clueless throughout, hence the title; and for the most part, it's played for laughs and gentle sympathy: bertie is an idiot, but a well-meaning one. however, another interpretation could be made: that bertie van alstyne is not stupid—merely autistic.

the word "autism" was coined in the 1910s, and the diagnostic criteria weren't laid down until the 1930s. i feel confident that neither the writer nor keaton had any intention of portraying bertie as being on the spectrum. nevertheless, by turning a modern eye to the character, and by reading on the watsonian rather than doylist level, there is sufficient evidence for at least a headcanon.

bertie has a flat affect. in lay terms, he has a blank expression, showing emotion very rarely, if at all. of course, this is buster keaton's signature: he was famous for his blank pan. but in The Saphead he takes it to an unusual degree, especially after his open emotionality working alongside roscoe arbuckle, where he frequently smiled or laughed on camera. even in his later films, where he came into his own as a filmmaker and as "the great stoneface," he was more emotive than his reputation suggested. but as bertie, he reins in his expressions so tightly they almost disappear altogether.

i s2g brent spiner took pointers from him when playing data.

2. on the flip side, there's one notable scene where he empathizes with another person's pain very deeply—his fiancée's, when she's reconciling with her foster father. her foster father is also bertie's blood father, so the reconciliation is both immediate to bertie's understanding and probably something he wants for himself, too. the barrier for comprehending the other person's mental/emotional space is lowered in this scene, and in true autist fashion, bertie overexperiences the stimulus. (it's also notable for being the only scene like it for bertie in the movie. he doesn't empathize with others easily.)

can bertie get a hug, too?

3. bertie has a stiff, robotic walk. he moves with precise, careful turns and very little arm movement, and frequently slips, trips, and falls. while not a diagnostic criterion per se, it's still clinically significant for autistic people to have motor difficulty. in addition, it's not uncommon for a flat affect to extend to pain reactions—and sure enough, bertie barely reacts to his pratfalls. again, this is a feature of keaton's overall style: he uses similar mannerisms for the character of rollo treadway in 1924's The Navigator, typifying them as his "rich twit" persona. they're played for laughs, not pathos. taking away comedy, however, and taken in aggregate with the rest of bertie's traits, keaton's performance strongly suggests bertie is on the spectrum. (interestingly, rollo treadway does not read as autistic to me, walk and stoneface aside).

he stumbles/falls on his ass so. many. times. it's not even supposed to be a comedy!!

4. bertie is extremely literal. when he's presented with a metaphor or abstraction, he bypasses subtext in favor of the direct, explicit meaning. if a poker chip is worth $2k, then it must be made from a valuable material. if he paid for a seat on the stock exchange, then it must be one of the actual chairs lining the trading floor.

wait till you learn about fiat currency, bud.

this is saved from absurdity by the innocence with which keaton imbues the character. bertie is sheltered; he hasn't learned all the ways neurotypicals confound language, yet. he learns quickly, however, and does his best to adapt—which leads into my next point:

5. bertie masks. "masking" is the conscious effort to observe and mimic "correct" behaviors. the entire premise of bertie's story hinges on his well-intentioned but misinformed attempt to court his sweetheart by turning himself into a rake. he found a handbook explaining how, and he carefully follows the rules it lays down to the letter, even going so far as to buy a picture of a famous dancer because rakes keep company with scandalous women. in other scenes, he follows the rules of polite society with a wooden, studied air, or looks to see what other people do with their hands so he can copy them. and of course, the climactic scene in the stock exchange: unscrupulous stockbrokers see an easy mark in bertie and proceed to bully him; bertie, desperate to fit in, comes to the conclusion that knocking off each other's hats is simply the way wall street operates.

"i am going to get such a good grade in being normal,"

6. bertie can't read subtext. this relates back to #4, but it deserves its own point because of how much it impacts the plot. in the third act, bertie's brother-in-law frames bertie for his own crimes. it's a fabulously dramatic scene, with the reveal of a scandalous secret that could ruin the family reputation—and it's scripted almost entirely in subtext. another actor might have played bertie as taking the fall to save the family honor, but in keaton's hands, he comes off as profoundly baffled. he has no idea of the undercurrents or implications swirling around him, because no one actually explains what's happening; it's all conveyed through trailing sentences and meaningful glances. bertie's just trying to do his best with the piecemeal information he's able to cobble together. unfortunately for him, it results in him getting used as a patsy and disowned.

spoiler: they're not bertie's letters.

7. bertie gets extremely focused on certain actions or thought processes and it's difficult for him to switch gears. when his childhood sweetheart comes into town, bertie goes (to the wrong station) to pick her up. and even though the 6:30 train arrives without her on it, he stays through three more arrivals, just in case. in fact, he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving at all—until a group of friends happens by and they invite him along. it's as though bertie is unable to come up with an alternate course of action in the wake of his sweetheart's no-show, so he carries on with his original plan, even though it's no longer useful. in another scene, he's determined to be arrested (it makes sense in context). the police, however, refuse to oblige him. despite their rebuffing him multiple times, bertie keeps trying to enter the paddywagon until it finally drives away, leaving him behind.

Area Man Resistant To Sudden Changes In Plans

8. finally, bertie has a meltdown. he's had an incredibly trying (day? week?): he got unjustly disowned; his fiancée called off the wedding; the rules of the stock exchange are completely upside down from those of the rest of the world, as far as he can tell; and now, everyone is yelling the name of the woman who caused all his woe. his clothes are torn; people are touching him without his permission; it's probably ungodly loud on the trading floor. the minute he sees a familiar face, he implodes, and his emotions fall out.

complete with neurotypicals (even trusted ones) laughing at him.

9. stimming is least supported by the text, so i'm putting it last. there isn't really a clear and distinct "stimming behavior" that we see bertie do, except that when he's excited he occasionally rocks from side to side. in comparison, when he's nervous or alarmed, he goes very still. that could be a compensation he learned to hide a nervous stim. his father was nicknamed "the old nick of wall street," and he's depicted as something of a hardass, so i bet young bertie learned quickly not to show his autistic side too much.

alternately, he could have a vocal stim. it's a silent movie, after all.

and there we go, all of the reasons that i headcanon bertie van alstyne is autistic. it was all done by accident, but hey, if oblivious straight writers can give me tender homoerotic love stories, then oblivious neurotypical actors can give me top-tier autistic rep. death of the author, etc.

(descriptions in ALT)

[queerlyhalloween]

Been waiting around the house all fucking day for the doctors to ring me (which they said they would do today... LAST WEEK) and they've not even called

Woke up to a letter from the hospital telling me ive been taken off the mental health team's waiting list because I've missed 2 group therapy sessions

I did this group therapy last year, but i guess they just decided to add me to the list again and NOT CONTACT ME IN ANY WAY (INCLUDING GIVING ME THE LINK TO ATTEND THE BS GROUP THERAPY SESSIONS THROUGH ZOOM) because clearly thats easier than actually letting me speak to a psychologist about my rapidly worsening PTSD

which ive been desperately trying to get help for for well over a year at this point, so i guess im just gonna keep seeing spiders

Mental health care in north wales is legit non-existant they want you to top yourself so they can sell your godamn house to airBnB

Im gonna start burning shit down i s2g

[kentucky-fried-thea]

Falsettos, my beloved

yay!

before i do this, I am a Jewish homosexual

ok so a huge Cube, whizzer, marvin, mendel weisenbachfeld (that is honestly the most jewish name I have ever heard) and jason are on stage. they are all (minus the Cube) dressed as miscellaneous biblical characters, and sing a song containing the word 'bitch' 72 times and counting. the song ends with them saying they are Jewish, ending in whizzer shouting "Half Jewish!", then take off the costumes to reveal normal clothes, while Trina collects the costumes in a laundry basket and reminds them that she also exists.

the Cube is taken apart to represent each scene as needed. this is universal throughout act one, so I'm not gonna mention it anymore til act 2.

marvin is trina's husband and jason's dad. more importantly, he's a weatherman. he explains that he really wants a tight-knit family, then immediately cheats on his wife with whizzer. he and whizzer are kinda concerned that they're falling out of love, although its likely the weight of reality is just crushing down on them (or something)

oh and also trina goes to a psychiatrist bc her marriage is imploding and his name is Dr. Mendel Weisenbachfeld (could this man get any more Jewish I s2g) and then marvin goes to the same psychiatrist and mendel the simp basically just asks him about trina because he wants her or smthn idk man

then jason has an identity crisis and calls his dad a slur and everyone tries to make jason also go to the psychiatrist because everyone in this family is fucked up and basically jason shows favoritism to whizzer, forces mendel to make a house call, and mendel's tiny dick explodes

then whizzer gets fed up with Marvin's bullshit and tries to break it up and trina has a mental breakdown featuring a knife, a banana, and a safety hazard

so then mendel comes over to give jason his therapy and jason basically pulls an uno reverse and therapies mendel into proposing to trina, and mendel does so with a really shitty bible analogy featuring Biblical Times

then the guys sing a song so high into their falsettos I wouldn't be surprised if their warmup is kicking each other in the balls, and trina is like 'these geeks are so immature' oh also the guys are wearing glow in the dark socks and spinny hats

then marvin loses a game of chess to whizzer and his superiority complex is broken so they break up, and trina and mendel move in together and set a date for the wedding and marvin is so butthurt he slaps trina in the face and then everyone has a therapy circle and basically forget about it. oh also jason officially comes out as straight and marvin promises to be a good dad (he's already failed)

act 2

hey look, the Cube is back! it's arranged in a precarious array that kinda looks like a house, Nancy Reagan is in there somewhere, the guys in the band are acknowledged, and cordelia (caterer) and charlotte (doctor), spiky lesbians, are introduced, and then the Cube pieces fall. oh also its been two years. and marvin is still into whizzer.

jason's bar mitzvah is being micromanaged, then he has a baseball game and sucks very much at baseball. turns out he invited whizzer, and when he shows up, marvin hides from him like a child, then makes fun of his hairline and somehow snags a date. Basically everything is fine and dandy and peachy keen and jason officially has three dads and three moms. then jason gets cold feet about his bar mitzvah and dr mendel is back at it again with the poor bible analogies informing him that everyone hates his parents

marvin and whizzer are sleeping together, and while whizzer is asleep, marvin is like, 'weird how I really love him, huh?' and charlotte discovers AIDS. marvin and whizzer's competitive streak returns for racquetball, but then whizzer collapses (bc he has aids)

at this point, the Cube is no longer a set instrument, and now there whizzer is in an actually hospital bed, and reality is looking over everyone's shoulder and whispering expletives into their ear. everybody tries to lie to whizzer and say he looks great, but then jason goes in and just fucking wrecks him.

jason really wants whizzer to be at his bar mitzvah but he's in the hospital, so he considers canceling it. then marvin climbs into bed with whizzer and they agree that they are an apple fucking an orange. also, charlotte is very concerned about whizzer's state. You Gotta Die Sometime deserves her own paragraph so here we go

Whizzer spends 3 minutes and 3 seconds fantasizing about gay shenanigans with the likes of Death himself. He is literally flirting with Death. In the homosexual way.

anyways

jason decides to hold his bar mitzvah in whizzer's hospital room, and then directly after, whizzer dies. then marvin has a vision of whizzer from beyond the grave and they sing to each other about how much they love each other. then mendel sings a song that makes me cry, and the Cube returns. a slice of the Cube is used as whizzer's gravestone, and jason places a chess piece, specifically the queen, on his grave

thank you so much for this one, I really enjoyed writing it! if I got something wrong or I missed something, feel free to mention it!

like to create a Cube, reblog to inflict a Cube upon others

[pacificlupineangel]

Heyyyy so I'm not dead. Tumblr terminated me a couple of days ago (they thought??? I was a bot?) And its taken me four or five days to get this blog reinstated. My sideblogs are still all gone though, including the important one I spend most of my time on. I emailed them back explaining the situation, I hope it doesn't take another week to get this solved 😭

I'm so fucking stressed and I s2g if I have to see my whole portfolio go down the drain I'm gonna kms

[wizardlyghost]

- i just spent like. fuckin indeterminable ages trying to sneak around this building. assklkjdlfha;lli

- tried to snipe the RAIDER SENTRIES off of the roof but there were More of them than i was expecting, so now i am very, very low on ammo for my HEAVILY MODDED 10MM PISTOL and my HAND CRANK LASER RIFLE. my pockets are overflowing with rounds for the shitty guns these RAIDERS are carrying but that’s not on the extreme end of being helpful.

- these SENTRIES must have the most insane hearing. theyre on top of this massive building that’s still a fair distance away but every time i twitch their ears perk up like a fuckin bloodhound’s.

- wait no bloodhounds are famous for tracking via smell i’m thinking of something else. the word has escaped my adhdled brain. i shall remember later when it is even less relevant. anyway.

- idk exactly how long i spent doing this but it was definitely multiple day-night cycles in-game. i really hope there’s no mechanic that punishes you for going without sleep.

- eventually i picked all the SENTRIES off and made my way around to the other side of the building. not a lot of SICK LOOT out here but i did find a side door into the building, which is a lot more my kind of entrance than going in the front.

- i did Not expect this many RAIDERS to be in this one room lol. i shot a few of them but a bunch more started swarming out and shooting me back so i ducked back out the door to catch my breath. the game is taking Really lonakahdf;H;KSJDGJ

- apologies. was gonna say “the game is taking Really long to load the outside world, i assume this means the RAIDERS are gonna start following me out the door instead of just forgetting about me when i step out of sight”, but then the game finished loading and ALL OF THEM HAD INSTANTANEOUSLY TELEPORTED OUT THE DOOR WITH ME. which i was not expecting. serves me right for typing in loading screens i guess. this did put them in V.A.T.S. range though so i did survive.

- explored the inside of this CAR FACTORY a bit. i keep finding these pieces of a ROBOTIC TOY HORSE scattered everywhere. i feel like this is gonna be a significant item? somehow? maybe i get to ride a NOBLE STEED around the wasteland if i manage to build it? i’m picturing nyooming around on this tiny ROCKET-POWERED ROCKING HORSE like a minecraft pig situation. fuck i hope this happens. these things take up precious INVENTORY space but i’m grabbing them anyway.

- there was a SENTRY ROBOT below the door i entered through that was in a really awkward position, so i tried throwing my first GRENADE. as it turns out, unlike the GHOST REBAR INCIDENT from my last post, the RAILINGS of these STEEL GANTRY WALKWAYS 100% count as solid objects, so i absolutely BLEW MYSELF THE FUCK UP. also sometimes if you die from explosions your arms and legs fall off which i hadn’t noticed before. i hope this only happens when you die because otherwise this game just got a lot more difficult.

- i have discovered that there are specific ARMOURS for your arms & legs. this is... ok, i guess? it seems kinda convoluted, and a bunch more of my INVENTORY just got taken up by things i’m wearing, but it’s cool it’s fine. i wasn’t gonna be able to nab everything that isn’t nailed down anyway.

- explored a bunch more. s2g this place is Full of surprises. sometimes GHOULS just crawl out of the vents with no warning. also there are BARRELS OF RADIOACTIVE WASTE just tucked away in corners and under stairs. i am reminded of my LAWYERLY QUEST: PERSONALLY RESURRECT O.S.H.A. FOR THE POST-APOCALYPTIC AGE. maybe i can train up the MINUTE MEN for this? i shall have to talk to PRESTON.

- there’s a ROBIT! a deactivated one on the workshop floor. i accessed its programming with my L33T H4CKZ and apparently it has a bunch of different operations it can perform? i’m guessing the intended idea here is to activate it to help me fight off the RAIDERS but i’m eyeing the MEDIC setting and getting ideas. maybe if i save activating it for later i can bring it back to SANCTUARY, have it act as the TOWN DOCTOR?

- also i think these HALF-FINISHED NUCLEAR AUTOMOBILES explode if you shoot them, which. fuck, dude. a lot of people find driving scary enough already without adding POTENTIAL NUCLEAR DETONATION to the mix. how did america survive as long as it did? was the first bomb that started the war just a SIXTEEN-CAR PILEUP that accidentally tipped the world into mutually assured destruction? i cannot rebuilld O.S.H.A. fast enough.

- i think i’ve cleared out the entire building, so now i’m gonna explore this SEWER PIPE i found that apparently the GHOULS have been coming in through. this apparently wasn’t a dire enough issue to warrant sealing off the tunnel so the RAIDERS just stuck a SENTRY GUN here. also i should mention that the SENTRY GUN was the only thing still active, the GHOULS had already killed all the RAIDERS in the vicinity, so i guess that plan worked about as well as i would’ve thought.

- once more unto the breach(ed sewer pipe that is probably definitely filled with irradiated garbage)! i hope there’s not NUCLEAR CROCODILES in here.

[zeenawarriorqueen]

the books are taking over my life i havent had time to do anything else i s2g.

My workflow(?) is like this:

Listen to the audiobook during my workday, usually at 1.5-2x speed depending on the book. I will listen to it faster sometimes and sacrifice comprehension with the understanding that even if I can make out every single word I will probably forget a lot of it anyway.

Bookmark any parts that I think are important or resonate with me.

At home that night go back and listen to all my bookmarks again and in my storygraph reading journal type up all the time stamps and quotes and my reactions to those bookmarked moments. This can take a while depending on the book.

Physical reading journal where I break down the book and my thoughts in a slightly more organized way, using my notes from the previous step. Like my old English class essays but less formal and less polished. Decorate if I can. I usually don't so too much because I will have rambled too much and my writing hasn't left any spare space on the page.

I've thought about starting a booktube but I don't know if I have space for that because I also have other hobbies that I want to get back to. I would love to be able to share videos or photos of my journal but it's kind of a personal journal and the books just have taken over it. Maybe I will start a separate journal for books, but that seems even more tedious than what I have now and I kind of like being able to see what else was going on in my life when I was reading a particular book.

Of course, this is all an optional hobby, but at the rate I go through books it is a nice way to help me absorb them. And it is fun. But it is also time consuming and I have a baby blanket to knit.

[necrocities]

With tagging arfid in my other post just now, I figured I should re-check the definition/defining symptoms.

I'm disappointed. The discussion seems to have shifted to "it's just autism/picky eaters/not severe/a new phenomenon."

It's absolutely not new. The acknowledgment is. It's not ~just autism~, it's also not exclusive to autistic people. And I s2g if it becomes a disorder that's defined as only affecting children!!

I'm gonna blow.

.

[personal experiences below]

I went through years of doctors thinking I was bulemic. I had to argue constantly that I wasn't voluntarily throwing up.

I sobbed because they dismissed my struggles with being able to hold down food.

I grew up in what I thought to be a food insecure household. Turns out I was just not being allowed to eat. We had food, I was just restricted by adults.

I would walk to school in the morning and they'd call my foster parent because I was there too early for the free breakfast.

At lunch I'd have no money on my account and the lunch lady would bring all of the kids without money into the kitchen. She did this just to hold up two slices of white bread with a singular slice of american cheese and say that's all she had to give us.

I was chastised for hiding wrappers behind the couch I slept on, forming straight up nests of them because I wasn't allowed to eat.

Always being told I ate too much when I was genuinely malnourished.

Starting to shake in high school when I got so bad I could only eat once every three days. My grandmother (my foster parent who ended up adopting me) went into the hospital and looked like she was going to die and I had no idea how to process this.

My aunt forcing me onto keto, then veganism. I can't remember anymore, it was either a year long or two. Back to back.

I was losing weight once she switched me to veganism. I'd been restricted against my will from being allowed to have any carbs just to take away protein and most fats.

And I've been lactose intolerant my whole life.

I formed GERD. I couldn't hold food to save my life. Sleeping to tolerate the hunger pains.

Arfid is not to be taken lightly.

It's so much work to make sure I eat enough in a day. It's so much. I still fall back into forgetting to eat for a whole day when I'm too stressed or ill from unrelated conditions to put enough focus on food.

Food is so significant to my life, but so many foods are so triggering to me. I get genuinely delusional about having enough food in the house. I sob at night when I wake up after nightmares of growing up with my family putting me through the shit they did.

Arfid is not to be taken lightly.

[broken-balance-baby]

lilith's far cry 7!

that's right folks! you heard that right, i'm making my own version of far cry just for the fun of it (it has taken so much research to radicalize me fully like i s2g the amount of research is insane and also im so angry abt us imperialism god bless)

sooo this far cry takes place north of yemen and south of saudi arabia! the country doesn't have an official name yet, although "rakaz ghol" (or "gold earth" if the translation from the lexicon is correct-- to any arab speakers who know classical arab by chance, will you please help me? lol) is on the table.

rakaz ghol has a loooong rich history of religious and cultural mishmashes thanks to pre-islamic tribes still surviving their culture in the later eras. it's also known to have thrived with natural resources ranging from minerals to the fertile soil itself, ranging from the edge of the coastline towards the crossover of the asir mountains, and it's a target for the US to try and grab very often.

on one particular year, somewhere between the 60s and 70s, iraq's then-president had the objective to overthrow US occupation in saudi arabia as since they've overstayed their welcome in west asia. (who knows, because if it's saudi first, then what comes of the countries surrounding it?) in retaliation, the us attacked them, manipulating saudi arabia into believing that iraq was going to obliterate them for the americans occupying the place, which saudi arabia had decidedly gifted a part of its country as land to the us after the attacks. only problem is, saudi arabia also gifted this part of the land with rakaz ghol, where the rakazis didn't appreciate sa's deal with the us that had them at the cost. despite their conflicting issues with yemen as well as inner corruptions being dealt with with its own president, after overthrowing him they began to protest the us presence in the country, only to be shot down and silenced.

the new country/territory in question is called "benjaadia" a dumb portmanteau of "benjamin" (as in, the explorer who went through the arabian peninsula) and hadia ("gift" in arabic)-- might be subject to change, but hey. it's currently run by levi berkeley (faceclaim is mads mikkelsen btw just thought i should let u know <3333), one of the first few people born when the country was still at its first time standing, having initially grown up in tel aviv before moving back to the country where he became ambitious in his prospects for the country, having joined the military in the midst of it, and soon became the man running the military while being voted governor. in the late 2000s, he later ran a raid on the north of rakaz ghol, kidnapping an indigenous woman to the land and assaulting her-- leading to the conception of their son yitro berkeley (who would later name herself barakah).

barakah was very aware of the horrors both benjaadia and rakaz ghol have been through-- and especially the horrors his mother had been subject to ever since she'd been kidnapped. so she made a run for it with her, but in the end she ended up dealing with her death and having to come across the resistance that she'd eventually lead by the age of 16, because of the murder of the revolution's father.

who knows what fate has in store for her. still, this story is taken within the eye of a foreigner, and the protagonist's eyes are one of the other important ones too.

cue john "evening" taylor, a 19 year old corporal who co-leads his team in a PMC (and closely affiliated with the us military and other international militaries) called sunset harrow. an egotistical asshole with insecurities, alongside being a kid who couldn't express himself since birth, he initially joined the military to get the money he needed to sustain his family, only to later switch to sunset harrow as since they personally chose him and a lot of other young kids to take part in the international affairs the us military didn't want to deal with. in short: the us's backlogs of dirty work.

and whaddaya know? rakaz ghol is one of that.