#it's somewhere on this blog you just gotta dig for it

[mspaint-flower]

can u do vflower in a crown cuz she deserves it

world is hers (again)

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[wildemaven]

he makes life better | joel miller

-> pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x reader

-> word count: 1335

-> content warning: 18+ blog; bad day, annoyed with work, dealing with flat tire, joel being sweet, lots of fluff

-> note: this is for my sweet friend @gnpwdrnwhiskey hoping this brings a smile to her face 💞 this isn’t beta’d either so it’s probably filled with mistakes lol.

masterlist

Joel ❤️: How’s your day going Honey?

I’m so ready for my shift to be over. I’d rather read the dictionary, front to back, than deal with the shit they have me doing today. 

RING

“That bad, huh?” Joel’s voice brings you an instant smile when you answer his call, silently stepping away from the mess that you were dealing with at work. 

“You have no idea. It already feels like it’s been the longest week, today has just added to the shit show life keeps throwin’ at me lately. Went to leave for work this morning and I had a flat tire. Ugh! I’m sorry for complaining.” You vent to him, tucking yourself in a secluded corner. You were going against policy by taking a personal call while on the clock, but you didn’t care about company policy or the outcome of you were to get caught at the moment— Joel was your only focus right now. 

“Hey, none of that. Don’t apologize for being stressed. Why didn’t ya call me ‘bout your tire?” Joel asked. 

You know he would’ve dropped everything the minute did call him, which is also why you didn’t. He had been stressing over starting at a new job site, one of the biggest ones he had been hired for. The last thing you wanted was to add to his already busy day of things he had to deal with. 

“You’d already left for work and had that new job you’ve been talkin’ about. Didn’t wanna bother you with it. I called AAA and had them put the spare on for me so I could drop it off at the tire shop. Now, I’m unexpectedly the owner of 4 new tires.” 

“I don’t care how busy I am— you need something, you call me, no matter what. Got that, Honey?” 

“Got it, Joel. Thank you.” You smile into the phone at his concern for you, always finding ways to make you fall even deeper in love with him. 

“Good. Hey, I gotta go. Tommy looks like he’s about ready to break his back. I should probably go help him before he actually does and my insurance takes a hit. I’ll see ya tonight then, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah. I should be outta here in 3 hours.” The end to your long shift, almost over. 

“That sounds great! I love you, Honey. I’ll see ya later.” You can faintly hear Tommy cursing in the background. 

“Love you too, Joel.” You tell him before the line goes dead. Giving yourself a few minutes of quiet before heading back to join your team and the never ending line of customers. 

The rest of your shift goes by fairly quickly. Joel’s phone call must have been just the moral boost you needed to sprinkle a little bit of extra positivity into your day.

The minute the clock hit 5 pm, you wasted no time clocking out and logging out of your computer for the day. Deliberately bypassing your usual exit path to avoid any chatty coworkers, Joel and home your main focus of the rest of your day, you weren’t going to waste any time stuck in drawn out conversations. 

Your purse thrown over your shoulder, work apron crumpled in one hand and the other holding your empty tumbler that once held the warm delicious coffee you had hoped would sustain you through the day, now wishing it was filled with something a little stronger to help you unwind when you got home. 

It’s a struggle trying to juggle your things as you search for your keys, lost somewhere in the depths of your purse along with the rest of your life's necessities. You pause in the middle of an empty parking space near where your jeep is parked to give the search your full attention. After some thorough digging, you locate your keys and let out an exasperated sigh, one step closer to being home. 

Taking a step forward as you press the unlock button on your key, you look up to see an unexpected sight. A familiar truck in the parking spot next to yours, and the most handsome man leaning on it. He looks like he came straight from the job sight, too. His peppered grey hair disheveled, but his soft curls were still intact even after a long day. The sleeves of your favorite green flannel are rolled up over his flexed forearms that are crossed against his chest, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders. 

The sight of him is enough to melt away any of the bullshit you had endured over the past week, a completely welcomed surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, letting your feet carry you the rest of the way to him. 

“Heard you were havin’ a shitty day. Couldn’t let my lady end it on a bad note.” He croons, pushing himself off the side of his truck, opening his arms to you. 

You melt into him, your face nestled into his shoulder. His rugged scent of musky vanilla and natural pheromones is permanently infused into the fibers of his shirt, it’s your favorite thing ever. His strong arms wrap around you as he presses a soft kiss to your temple, prompting you to straighten up, looking into his amber eyes. 

“Hi, Cowboy.” You beam at him. 

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to gently mold his lips over yours. “I’ve got a surprise for ya, Honey.” 

“This was enough of a surprise for me. What more could I need?” Stealing another kiss from him. 

“If I tell ya, it won’t be a surprise then, will it?” He says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at you. 

“I guess you have a point.” 

“We’ve gotta get going though, it’s time sensitive.” He grabs for your things and walks you around to the passenger door, holding it open as you climb in. “We’ll grab your jeep in the mornin’, if that’s okay with you?” 

“Whatever you say, Cowboy.” He leans back in for another kiss, before making his way around into the driver’s seat. 

*

The drive isn’t long. Down some familiar roads that lead to a dirt one off the main highway. His truck travels down the gravel road lined with a barbed wire fence. After a few minutes he’s pulling off to the side and killing the engine. 

“You brought me to my favorite place.” Looking over to his side of the truck, where he’s already looking in your direction. Your heart grows at how he thought to bring you here, knowing how much joy it brings you every time. 

“Thought you could use it. Look, here they come.” He says pointing to your window. 

Off in the distance, the small herd of cows were in pursuit of their evening meal and water break. Mamas with their little rambunctious calves trailing behind, trekking along the same path they travel each evening. 

It’s a calming sight. Their heads bobbling with each dramatic step. Tails whipping over their rear ends to swat away the annoying flies. A few stopping mid trek to look in your direction, letting out a long drawn out moo. Their friendly hello, it’s good to see you again, then back on the move. 

The sky is painted in pinks and purples as the sun dips below the horizon. Your day feeling less shitty as you sit silently in the cab of Joel’s truck. His hand resting on your thigh while his thumb draws soft circles over thick denim seam. 

“Thank you for this. Didn’t realize how much I needed it. I love you, Joel.” You tell him, rolling your head over the headrest in his direction. 

“I did it because I love you, Honey. And s’what I’m here for.” There’s a low rumble in the air as he turns the key over, shifting the truck into drive. “Now, how ‘bouts we head on home and I spend the rest of the evenin’ show you all the other ways I love you?”

“Take me home, Cowboy.” 

[hanasnx]

Hi Bittyyyyyy :D !!!! Your Han stuff has been killing me I love the way you write him, I think you get his energy down pat, a big ol' meanie who lovesss his pretty little girl EEEE. When I picture Han, it's always sitting in his lap, like he's just so large, takes up so much space, chronic man-spreadder, I've gotta be in his fucking lap kissing him all over or talking his ear off, or listening to him tell stories about his past adventures, literally anything. The thought of being in his lap drives me fucking crazy. You know me and my love of dirty talk, what kind of dirty talk do you think gets him going? What does he like to hear? -donnie

thank you for your compliments :) the reassurance is appreciated bcos like i said, i am an anakin blog. so han's voice is something i have to switch into and take time to embody before i can sit down and focus on writing for him. he rly is a big ol meanie who loves his pretty little girl <3

calling him a "chronic man-spreader" is so real. thats the only way he sits. sometimes he rests his ankle on his knee, but that's still spread. it's only cos he wants to rest his hand somewhere on his calf and his elbow on the back of his chair. a real open stance, for a real confident man.

the idea of you sitting in his lap, this large ass man (who "takes up so much space" as you said 😵‍💫) while you listen oh-so-intently. big eyes looking up at him while he tells you his stories, absentmindedly stroking your head and down your hair, sending you those tingles right up your neck. his fingers catch on the last bits of your hair, closing in on them as his fingertips brush your back. then he starts all over again, big hand palming the top of your head only to slide down.

he'd tell his exciting stories so nonchalantly. as if they're uninteresting now that he's lived them through, but they still have that punch to them to you.

the kind of dirty talk that he likes is actually pretty basic. if you're able to admit to him that you "want" him or "need" him, putting him in that position of power over you, he really likes that. sometimes it works, and he's wants to get going, all because you gave him a green light. but other times, he needs a little more. sacrifice yourself on the altar of humiliation. beg a bit. tell him you can't take another step without his help, his cock, be dramatic with it. be so exaggerated and hyperbolic all so he can say, "okay, okay," roll his eyes, "i get it, sweets. where do you want me?" making a big show of finally being worn down so he can suit your needs. he, himself, doesn't like to feel too desperate, so it's satisfying to see someone else do it. makes him feel desired, necessary. pride's important to him, so show him you don't care about your own.

if you talk a big game about exhibitionism he digs that. tell him you want him to fuck you in front of all these guys at the cantina. right on the bar. he'll say no, but he likes the idea. the fact you're willing to show your most sacred parts to strangers, all for him. all to prove you're willing for him. "c'mon, han. you know you want to. i want to. i know how much you like to show off. brag about me. boast about this pretty cunt by fucking it in front of everyone. that'll show 'em."

that'll most definitely earn you a: "get your little ass back on the falcon."

[angelhummel]

is there any glee ship name guide or sm??? cause like whats puck and blaine ship name? plaine? puckanderson? and lauren and rachel are lauchel or zerry? i have so many questions IS PUCK AND FINN PINN OR FUCK?????

i feeeeel like maybe somewhere there is but i couldnt tell you for sure. just gotta do some digging!

but fr i dont even know if everyone abides by the same names. i dont even remember what names i picked for obscure ships and always have to double check on my blog, thanks to tumblr not saving my tags anymore (:

my personal ship name for puck and blaine is puckerson lmao

lauren and rachel for me are ziberry

and puck and finn are pinn to me bc "fuck" is its own tag that has nothing to do with shipping alksfjslkdfh

just go with your gut on what feels right for you when it comes to tagging. but if its for looking up content of certain ships, well, god help us all

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

Hunt for Tragedy: Chapter One

A lot can change in 7 months. Sometimes, it's good change. Sometimes it's bad. But for Scout, it's bad change.

7 months ago, Scout reunited with his father, who had left when Scout was a baby. And it would turn out his father was Spy, a sassy, irritable Frenchman and Scout's coworker.

Spy died only a week later, sacrificing himself to save his son and his teammates from an otherworldly beast.

But to the Administrator, the death was merely a waste of money. As she said, "mercenaries are expensive."

Miss Pauling talked her into giving everyone time off so she could find a replacement for Spy, as well as new mercenaries for BLU Team.

Time off was the last thing Scout wanted. Almost everyone would end up leaving the base, except for Pyro, Engi, Sniper, and Medic.

Scout returned to Boston with his older brother, Jonah Bidwell.

His last survivng family member.

Scout stopped answering his teammate's calls. He didn't want to hear the fake pity in their voices.

Sniper left messages for him.

But they started to get shorter, until 4 months had passed, and Scout got one last message from the Australian: "Call me back."

Scout didn't care that they stopped calling.

He's lost too much to care.

-

Jonah opens the bedroom door, and enters. Scout doesn't look as he enters, and pretends to be sleeping.

"Scout? I made breakfast." Jonah says. Scout can smell the pancakes, but says nothing.

"I know you're awake, Scout." Jonah pokes him.

"I'm not hungry. Fuck off." Scout glares at him.

"Don't lie to me." Jonah sits on the bed, snatching the pillow away. "I know I can't force you do to anything, but... at least eat the pancakes. It's Mom's recipe. Your favorite?"

Scout still says nothing.

"Why don't you call Sniper back?" Jonah asks.

"I don't want to talk to him." Scout sits up, irritated. "Can you go away?"

"In a minute, fine... but just listen for a moment, okay?" Jonah looks at Scout, his face serious. "I did a bit of digging about Spy's family. You had a half-sibling that died in 1941."

"Is that it?" Scout frowns. "You're my half sibling. Hell, every brother's a half brother--"

"There's more." Jonah cuts him off. "Spy's name was Jacques Murnau, and it turns out his family was really rich. They had a mansion in Paris. Jacques inherited the Murnau will after his parents and sisters were killed in a fire. And he passed that will onto you. Scout, you've inherited a fortune."

Scout stares at him in silent shock.

"What?"

"There's more according to the will, but it's located in Paris. If you want--" Jonah starts.

"We're going to Paris! As soon as freakin' possible!" Scout sits upright. "I gotta see this to believe it."

"Alright." Jonah smiles. "I'll call Miss. P and see what she can arrange. In the meantime, why don't you eat and take a shower? And... maybe call Sniper back."

"...alright." Scour nods, and Jonah leaves the room to let Scout eat.

-

Scout stares at the phone. He has to call Sniper. But would Sniper be willing to listen?

What would Scout even say? They hadn't talked in months.

With an ever-so-slightly shaking hand, Scout dials the number written on a piece of paper, and listens to the dialtone as somewhere many miles away, a phone rings.

"Hello?" An Australian voice asks, and Scout's voice catches in his throat.

He has to talk.

"Hey, Snipes." He says. "You wanna to go to Paris?"

---

I hope you like it! It isn't much, but Chapter 2 is being revised and edited currently! An IRL friend agreed to help me with writing by assisting with editing and serving as peer revision, so it might take a bit for every chapter to be released. But I hope you enjoyed! I'm almost done setting up a seperate blog (had some issues with making a new email to use), so that'll be up and working sometime this week!

THIS IS SO GOOD ANON!

I can't wait to see the new blog, thanks for keeping us updated:)

[hrodvitnon]

(ok i apologize if this is like- spammy or annoying- i just gotta get this out there while it's fresh in my mind lol. By all means feel free to answer this when you have the energy to do so, it's your blog after all <3)

Ok. Reason this is so huge is because the GxK Mothra never died. This isn't her being reborn into that larval stage and having to grow up again like in KotM. She was asleep (somewhere? the whole 'summoning Mothra from the aether' is still unexplained i think, still not sure what that's about). That means that the GxK Mothra and the KotM Mothra were alive at the same time, however briefly.

Two Mothras can exist at once. They're a collective, a hive mind, Abraxasverse Battra type-beat.

For one this totally throws out the 'Cycle of Rebirth' that we assumed defined Mothra's existence. There is no such thing, 'new Mothras' seem to be 'born' in times of crisis (like Ghidorah awakening). Additionally, the implication of the quote is that there's many more yet undiscovered Mothra eggs hidden away on the surface like some crazy global easter egg hunt set up by Mothra-Prime who lives in the underworld.

I actually think this could be the prelude to a Monsterverse version of Leo. I'm starting to think this may have been why they were adamant on the term 'Mother', because that's the exact same language the old Toho films used to describe Mothra and Mothra-Leo. It's a very interesting recontextualization, actually- as it implies that Leo is Mothra, not her literal son like the general interpretation seems to be, but another semi-clone of her (them? him? if Mothra's clones can be born as male or female and still be Mothra does that make them non-binary? Does Mothra even have a defined gender in this interpretation? Weird tangent but interesting thought).

Another major question I have about this is whether Godzilla knew about this or not. Like- did he know that Mothra wasn't really dead all those years? Or was he unaware of Mothra-Prime's existence and was just waiting for another Proto-Mothra to pop up somewhere?

(I was going to answer the Mothra Gestaltzerfall Ask Smorgasbord earlier but a headache prevented me from doing so, but it's fading now so here we go! I just really like saying gestaltzerfall)

Sometimes it's fun when something we thought we knew suddenly puts everything in a new perspective. (Also, gender fluid non-binary Mothra confirmed?)

Speaking of Leo!

I'm now having the mental image of Leo running into Mothra in odd places after saying "bye" to her for the day and she's just like "I asked me to keep an eye on you" and Leo's like "MOM OH MY GOD"

I can dig that explanation, yeah.

Sounds about right.

[calliethetrekkie]

Star Trek TOS S01E05: The Man Trap

Original Thoughts

"Didn't like it when I tried it when I was 15, to the point that I deemed the show boring and after trying another episode or two didn't pursue it any further. Not as bad trying it again at age 28, but still not to write home about. I can't put my finger on why, but I just do not care for it. But every show's gotta start somewhere, I guess..."

(I didn't do a watchthrough post on it, so that's me digging up my memory of how I felt)

Rewatch Thoughts

Oh Callie, you silly, silly girl...

You want proof that an episode order, even in a show that isn't continuity driven, can be important? This. As a first episode, this episode is a bad choice. You're just thrust into it first thing in an episode that doesn't quite convey the purpose of the series as well as say... The Corbomite Maneuver or even The Cage pilot. This is an episode where you really have to empathize with one of the main characters despite us not knowing or having any connection to him yet and with how it's done here, it didn't work on me.

Now admittedly my 15-year-old self was more concerned with classical/historical animation at this point in time and I only tried it because my dad told me there was a series before TNG. Because I was too stupid to realize that a show titled 'Next Generation' had something before it. I wasn't interested in the franchise in general and I think I used this as an excuse to convince myself that it wasn't worth it. You'd think as someone who had enjoyed researching animation history as a teenager, I would have been, but I wasn't.

But that was then, this is now. On the rewatch in 2021, I felt pretty much the same after it and the other two episodes from before (Charlie X and like... half of Where No Man Has Gone Before), but I decided to keep going. And I'm glad that I did since I fell in love with the show and McCoy became my favorite character. So when I watched it again sometime after finishing the TOS era, my opinion did a complete 180. Especially because I knew and could feel for McCoy so much more that time around.

So, with all that said, how did I feel this time? Oh Lord where do I even start?!

IDK the reasons why they pushed this over The Corbomite Manuever unless there was some late-game production issue, but I can kind of see why of the first batch they had to replace it with, they picked this one. Next to it, this is probably the one that establishes the main cast best, even allowing more for Uhura and Sulu than the others so far have. It also at least has an engaging plot that one can get sucked into, even if due to the events this one doesn't present the purpose the best. A show that starts with them having to kill an alien, the last of its species no less, in a show about exploration and diversity may feel a little out of left field compared to others, is what I'm saying. I can see why this was probably deemed the next best thing, however.

Despite my initial reaction both times I first watched this, I can now happily say that my opinion is FAR more favorable. There is so, so much that I want to talk about it that will cause this review to get WAAAAY too long. I'll post more on my main blog and I already did once here, but I'll do my best to convey it onto here.

Plot-wise, this is an intense one. We've already dealt with being tested by aliens, space criminals, and transporter malfunctions. Now we have something killing crew members, and this time it feels much more personal. Not only because we've now grown accustomed to these characters, but because of McCoy in particular. This is one where you really have to care and worry about him. Not just because of the tension regarding if our heroes will survive, but because of our concern for McCoy and how this is going to affect him. Kind of like how you had to feel for Kirk last episode, and next episode you're asked to do the same for Spock. This is where we are connecting to these characters and where we want them to be okay. IDK if they planned it that way, but it's certainly how I read it.

Speaking of McCoy, let's talk more about him. This is the first episode where we get some backstory, though sadly a LOT of it like about his wife and him having a daughter have still never made it into the show aside from the daughter being mentioned in the animated series. I think enough people know about it, and it's appeared in side material enough that it's considered canon, but his relationship with Nancy is still the best that we get. It starts really cute with him anxious and Kirk clearly enjoying every second of it while teasing him ain't helping him. But it gets a lot more sad the more we realize that Nancy isn't Nancy and the creature use those feelings to manipulate him. The creature outright says that it feels his much more strongly than from Crater, and ain't that just perfect for McCoy? He just feels so much and so strongly, and that made him an easy target.

A lot of credit REALLY goes to DeForest Kelley. The man did not, and imo still hasn't gotten enough credit for how freakin' amazing he was as McCoy. In this episode he's given a LOT to do, not only as McCoy, but at one point as the creature pretending to be McCoy. He portrays so much in the characterization, having that grumpiness we know and love but also this sense of... fragility, I guess is the best word? For as gruff and volatile as McCoy can be at timed, there's also this sense that he's so much more fragile and sad than he lets on. If you know more about his backstory with his divorce and about his father, it makes perfect sense. So him seeing the woman who he almost ended up with likely after the divorce, that one second chance he almost had but still lost, had to be a lot. But then everything else happens, and he finds out that not only was she dead, but from his POV he had to kill her all over again in order to save Kirk, someone he also cares a great deal about. That'll go in another post, but all that fear, sadness, anxiety, infatuation... De portrayed it all perfectly.

And while he wasn't fake!McCoy for long, he also portrays it with much more insecurity and is more withdrawn and quiet. In the conference room scene, as he as the creature acting as McCoy tries to explain how it's just trying to survive, and they shouldn't kill it and is clearly getting more and more worried as it realizes that it's running out of time. It's also really the only time we get to hear from the creature itself, showing some level of intelligence and desperation to survive. It's not just some mindless monster, it knows what it's doing, which makes it even scarier. The scene almost makes me wish we could have just had De doing Fake McCoy the whole episode, but that wasn't to be. The man was such an excellent actor, and he put his all into it in this episode especially. He did more than make McCoy feel like a character, he made him feel like a person.

We get more from other characters as well. Seriously, Uhura, Rand, and Sulu are utterly adorable in this episode and I love them. We have moments like Uhura attempting to flirt with Spock, Sulu and Rand with the plants, Kirk's utter glee at getting to hear more about McCoy's love life (his reaction when he learned about 'plum' is just beautiful). There are a LOT of good moments. Even the monster costume here looked pretty damn good, considering the show's budget. We even get a bit of a darker side of Kirk as he has no problem killing the creature, albeit only because it's killing his men, and he is NOT going to allow that under any circumstances. If that means breaking some moral codes, so be it. We have Spock realizing that McCoy is fake despite so far their longest interaction being them arguing last episode, which still says a lot if Spock could tell even at this point that something wasn't right. Really, I could ramble forever. But I guess I better try to keep this from going much longer.

It's funny thinking back to my teenaged self now. If I told her that she was going to love this episode and these characters and get sucked into the franchise she's avoided for years, she'd probably look at me like I was crazy. She was in a different place than I am now, and that's okay. It took time, but I grew to love this episode. IDK if I'd rank it as a top tier episode or anything, but it's still a good one. A tense plot, good character moments, and if you're a McCoy fan then there is so much to read into. It's just a shame that because this aired first a lot of that got lost. But if you watch it in production order or even just go back after going through more, I promise that it will be a lot better. Or you liked it from the get-go, I can only vouch for myself XD

Original Rating: 2/5

Rewatch Ranking: 7/10

[My TOS Reviews]

[TOS S1 Reviews]

[Previous Review] / [Next Review]

[chaewonplzbiteme]

Three days...

First of all - thank you all a lot! To every reader, every reblogger, every liker, and last but not least, every follower! Thanks for the warm welcome.

Three days is a lot of time. Three revolutions of my home around the poles. My first proper work had a few cycles to traverse the globe and its time zones a few times, to gain impressions and arousing interest.

I'm giving you guys some of my thoughts and behind the scenes.

Publishing was not something I had in my mind when starting any of my two works so far. The 'Jessica x SinB' was rotting away in my drive, only recently have I dusted it off and posted it. 'Lazy Evaluation' was for shits and giggles - I could not stop after adding a joke and another joke. Well, gotta post somewhere at some point.

This blog was close to a start from zero. Two days before I posted 'Lazy Evaluation' - I was still writing the last paragraphs and did not even edit yet - I created the Tumblr and posted an old work of mine. Close to seven years old, I barely even remember how I wrote it. Just a horny night in front of MS Word. That's all I know. One like, one follower. Thank you, @cheezbot and @hasinum! You guys gave me a nice headstart~.

---

Potential spoilers for 'Lazy Evaluation' follow.

I have started Lazy Evaluation on March 11, and finished it on March 31. Twenty days, multiple hours every day (and a LAN party) - a lot longer than a single night for 'Jessica x SinB'. But the journey was a lot of fun, and I experienced a lot of tingly feelings for JiU 😊.

5k words, 30k characters, 145 paragraphs.

This sentence started it all:

Her low hums guided your mouth between her mounds, but your tongue dictated the rhythm of her mellow purrs.

It got me fixated. It set the theme. Bi-directional love making. And the rest of the paragraph followed. Fucking long sentence after this one, lol. I wanted to expand upon this. I knew I needed a mommy with big decent boobs deserving of worship. I thought of Karina or Eunbi first, but I'm afraid I don't know them that well. I don't follow any of their content except for MVs and some stages. JiU is a long lasting love, though, uninterrupted since 2014. I dig every single breath of her. Whopping body. Mine. What a good fit.

How would they start? Help with homework, a frustrating one would suit well. No one understands Monads, countless tutorials and even more memes about the myriads of tutorials. We have our computer science topic. Lazy-by-default evaluation is another concept common from the Haskell programming language, just like Monads. Perfect for procrastination. The fact that lazy-by-default is actually uncommon for programming languages and other technologies, but the de-facto modus operandi for a non-negligible number of humans has been brought to you by the academia gang.

Tortoise and hare is a fable about the hare losing the race due to its own arrogance. Also a heuristic for cycle detection in computer science. Good fit, but better about a race towards the peak, a vicious cycle of pleasure and edging.

A massage would initiate the intercourse. Maybe a hand job before the 69. A cream pie would be delicious. Target is three cum shots - no less. How to transition between positions. Joke about forgotten protection - I doubt Minji would be that careless, add her getting a pack of condoms from her bag (did anyone notice?).

I was already making a lot of jokes, some in mathematics and computer science. I tried to incorporate some classic jokes, too. Not all of them verbatim. The cloud is just someone else’s computer.

Pure functions are side-effect free. A consequence of this property is we can achieve idempotence. A healthy penis also satisfies this property, though, as your boner clearly shows.

I combined the following with a silly 1 + 1 = 3 joke:

A physicist, a biologist and a mathematician sit in a sidewalk cafe, looking at the building across the road. Two people go into the building, then three people come out.   Physicist: "This must be a measuring error!"   Biologist: "This is proof of procreation!"   Mathematician: "If one more person goes into the building, it will be empty!" 

Maybe I am the only one laughing. Who cares. You see the result at the cream pie. The sum of all its parts is greater than the whole. I combined with that, too.

About the never-before-solved formula: I consider this to be quite surprising, when we look at the fact that there are more than eight billion humans in the world. It is possible that there has not been sufficient time to process the empirical evidence, given the exponential increase of the population in the last two hundred years – going from one billion to eight billion. I imagine that observing and examining such vast amounts of data to be very time-consuming. Also, not all results of examining the data have been made available to science, most notably by the method of pornographic content consumption.

Some general science and academia jokes. The academic paper structure for the final big joke. An exercise left for the reader. I nearly did a n=1 joke. Given the importance of our research question, I think it would be valuable to increase our sample size to ensure that our findings are robust and reliable. Sequel, anyone?

So much about volcanoes and mountains and hills and mounds and caves. I should have studied geology instead of computer science ;_;. (plot twist: I failed university)

I added one thing and didn't want it to go to waste, like the chocolate, so I added it to another part. Same with some other little details, like Minji's composure. That way I had a common thread (several, actually) running through the story.

Some smaller pop culture references to Lord of the Rings (VERY hard to spot), Attack on Titans, and of course Harry Potter (it's more than the movie title ;) the cum we lose in the chamber of secrets has a way to come back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect). I had given some thoughts about whether a potential reader should understand every reference I add, given that they also know the source media. My conclusion: No... I will giggle about my hidden jokes alone if I have to. Not everyone has to. Not everyone will. Even if they know the source media.

I also had some goals that I rarely see in male reader fics: "Minji needs to feel good, too." I had a big-ass note hovering over my draft all the time: "What's in it for Minji?" Add stuff about their antics. About what they love about each other.

They were obviously in an existing relationship. Some thoughts about how that came about (not really), how they lived, what their relationship was like before. I almost cried when I wrote the scene with the three words, some tears were already forming actually. It was not a conscious choice to place it that far back, but it did fit well.

A lot of things were a natural consequence, everything leads to the next thing. How do writers say? Have good characters, and the story will write itself. A good cause will lead to a good (and obvious) consequence. No idea if I have good characters, but it all worked out for me. It all feels natural. This is what counts. I'm happy with it.

Again, it was a lot of fun! The rush of adding things into the mixer and see it bloat into something beautiful is quite addicting. From the beginning I could not anticipate the end. It was quite a tremendous journey.

Sadly the following part did not make it - at least verbatim - I was unsatisfied of how much I was jumping from metaphor to metaphor, from one image to a completely different. Had to reduce.

Minji gulped down the snake all the way down, choking on it and feeling it throb at the back of her throat. The other end of the snake did not relent, however, and continued its attack, circling around her nub, unafraid of the secretions her cavern produced in defense, but now even more determined to continue.

I mean, where the fuck would a snake come from. So I changed it to the hare's tail. In hindsight, I maybe should have experimented with hare's paw / foot / whatever it is called in English. You know, the good luck charm.

So many messy thoughts.

Editing and revision makes everything perfect - or at the very least, better. Sometimes. Eventually. Maybe. Who knows? Perfectly fine.

---

Next up, the whopping numbers. These are far beyond the lowest expectations I would ever have for this work, especially given the niche nature of computer science and maths. I cannot say I had any doubts, since I did not expect anything in the first place. Until Tumblr started to summarize the followers for the day.

24h:

72h:

I cannot rationalize these numbers. I have no baseline to relate them to. I can only see: 'big' authors seem to have ~500-1000 notes on a work in days / weeks / months / years / decades. Very muddy numbers. No idea how Tumblr works, every author and every post has different numbers. And I have a fraction of that. In three rotations of the planet.

Thank.

You.

All.

Most of all.

Thank Minji.

Does it tell me it's any good? Who cares, I defined it as finished. I won't ever touch it again. A solution exists. I can go back to sleep.

Maybe it does tell me that some of you are nerds, though - and that I am not alone in being one. Uwu~.

Ok now I shall throw the stats into the bin. A surprise to be sure, a welcome one at that, too. But I intend to write for myself. More than incoherent dreams and thoughts. Ordered, sorted and well-thought out scenarios is a big step up for me. Not synthesized-up and randomized brainstorms. I have ChatGPT my brain for that.

Also rushing for stats make me sick, lol. I'm already engrossed enough with work and the sideways movement of the stock markets. I'm incapable of playing Rainbow Six due to the adrenaline.

---

I have started reading some fics again after those three weeks. And I notice. So. Many. Differences. To other people's work. It is actually a good thing. I don't have much moaning, no "I'm cumming". Way less dialogue, the only conscious difference I was aiming for. Lots of descriptions and images. Volcanoes and burning hot lava in mouths and vaginas, hahaha. Minji gets to be pleasured and cum. Heaven forbid no one think about her!

The world thrives on variety and diversity, so it is actually a good thing to show you guys another way to write smuts, albeit accidentally. Everyone brings something different to the table. We all love each other.

The world needs more breeding fics, especially of the fluffy and romantic variety.

---

Do I have something planned next? Maybe. No promises. How long it will take? Only heaven knows...

Peace, out! ✌️

[theroseandthebeast]

I posted 30,185 times in 2022

That's 7,520 more posts than 2021!

29 posts created (0%)

30,156 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fraddit

@bratpidd

@liminal-zone

@pearwaldorf

@dollsome-does-tumblr

I tagged 29,798 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#0 - 675 posts

#interview with the vampire - 2,136 posts

#iwtv amc - 2,028 posts

#art - 1,736 posts

#our flag means death - 1,654 posts

#fashion - 887 posts

#critical role - 885 posts

#design - 550 posts

#what we do in the shadows - 488 posts

#words - 477 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#your boughts of bad luck eventually come back around as bonuses to you and what you protect as miraculous coincidences of earned convenience

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Blackbeard:

18 notes - Posted March 24, 2022

#4

umm hello, "vaxgrog???" 👀👀👀

also affectionately known as the Vax/Grog spanking fic! because spanking reasons.

which is to say, playfighting that sometimes involves getting Vax smacked around. i got lost somewhere in the eventual blowjob, idk.

--

It only takes a few minutes for Vax to become sweaty, and tired, and irritated, and when Grog delivers a beautiful, solid smack across his backside he swears hard enough to actually use up the rest of the air in his lungs. 

Grog stops. Vax realizes he’s gone still. His face is mashed into the training floor - one hand digging into the ground, the other pulled up behind his back. His knees are tucked up under him, barely, and one of Grog’s legs is shoved between them. 

"Again?" Vax asks, and the world is barely out before Grog's blisteringly large hand slams through the air. 

Vax swears again, before he can bite it back, and then Grog is off top of him, yanking Vax’s pants down around his knees as quick as Grog has ever done anything, Vax is sure, and he gets to bury his face in his arms when the spanking begins in earnest.

“What's that?” Grog asks, sharp and teasing but not unkind.

“Please,” Vax says, “please, you big dumb motherfucker,”

19 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

#3

"Catholicism continues to be hilarious" oh so now the PROTESTANT is going to preach to us now?

idk if this is a friend being funny or a serious anon but please know this IS the funniest ask I've ever received

21 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

#2

clock symbolism this, ice pick that, why is no one talking about how Katya and Sofia were the inspiration for Emma Frost and Jean Grey

23 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Nope (2022) fic recs

11 recs -- mostly OJ/Angel, OJ & Emerald & Angel, some Jupe + Mary Jo

dreamin’ with the lights on., by mr_charles

OJ is there to take care of Angel after he gets out of the hospital.

or--?

save a horse, ride a cowboy.

where’s the love you’re after? by judypoovey

"So what, you want an Oprah shot for a first kiss? We gonna meet at the gulch during golden hour? Should I call that photographer Em was fucking for a photoshoot like we're getting engaged?"

choke on the memory now., by mr_charles

the best way to keep Angel Torres' mouth shut is to put something else in it.

or:

"yeah no, this is kinkier than I planned"-- an actual text sent to judypoovey

got to know that i’ve been calling you home, by judypoovey

After Jean Jacket, OJ can't figure out what it is Angel even wants from them.

He's not obsessing over it.

broken glass sparkling, by kocasoda

“Not in the mood for VR anymore?”

“Nope,” Angel had said, nervous, almost apologetic. “I just can’t anymore. I need— I gotta be able to see what’s actually going on around me or I get all weird, y'know, ‘cause what if something happens and I’m not as fast as I was last time? If I was a second off with that barbed wire fence, Jean Jacket would've— I mean, it got me, it fuckin' had me in its mouth, I was in it—“ and then he inhaled hard and had a panic attack.

Every Animal Has Rules, by sublightsleeper

OJ is good at patterns. He's good at routines. He's not so good at reading the room.

aka: Five times Angel kissed OJ and one time OJ kissed Angel.

shining sugars, by inaspic

The road trip, all day and a half of it, is less about getting a new horse and (definitely) more about breaking away from the noise.

The Show Goes On, by draculard

In 1999, eight months after Gordy's birthday party, a cameraman lugs his RCA into Mary Jo's hospital room.

reaching the serene., by mr_charles

"don't be a brat."

Angel's a brat. A lot.

in holy orders, by watercupx

"Mm-"

See the full post

23 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kanasous]

hey hey, so you've got an enstars au, right? I saw a post about it and was like "oh hey I wonder what this is about!" I tried checking the tags and just... didn't find anything. So now I'm overwhelmingly curious about what this is. I don't know if tumblr is just being nasty with the tags system or you really just haven't posted anything, but I'm asking either way.

Please this is going to bother me so much if I don't know what this is (but also no pressure lol I'm being dramatic)

YES!!! IV E POSTED A LOT,, its not really my au all of tbis stuff is a collaborative thing with my twitter and tumblr moots!! (shout out to @polystar) more stuff you can find by digging thru my twt (same @) and if you just scroll thru my blog youll find some more stuff!! the link to the big ole megathread should be in there somewhere as well!!

i gotta sleep now, but if u still need help shoot me an ask ^_^

[polyamorousmood]

I have recently discovered? And accepted? (Not sure the terms) that I am polyamorous. My biggest question is really,

Now what?

Congratulations! 🎉

Don't stress the wording, I'm not going to judge people for not knowing or aligning with The Right Terms™️. Whatever feels right to you works. This ain't a vocabulary quiz, no worries.

And the answer to "now what?" well... You live your life. If you're anything like me, you live your life a little more fully from this point on.

Anything more specific than that really depends on your situation and what you want. If you're in a relationship and want it to open in some way, there's probably a conversation to be had with your partner. If you're not dating anyone currently, its widely considered to be something to bring up early with new prospects. If you got a friend you're crushing on, I'd start dropping hints. If its important to you that your friends or family know, you can tell them, and if its not you don't gotta.

If you're looking for more community... you're here! Hang out, ask questions, I'll answer. There's a discord server linking floating somewhere on the blog for what appears to be a pretty cool poly community. Personally, I'd stay away from poly forums, though. They tend to be the same relationship issues rehashed a 143 times and it can be a downer.

If you want, you can start trying to nail down what kind of polyamory you want (some people are good with anything, some people only have one thing that works for them). I want to elaborate on what this means, but that should really be a separate post 😅 Send another ask if you're interested and I'll happily elaborate. But its also chill if you don't wanna dig into all that right now. You can just vibe.

If there's anything specific you want to get at, I'm happy to answer another ask

[muffinsandpages]

Making a Robe à la française

Because I want to :)

Part I

We all have those dream projects we keep coming back to every now and then. Mine usually change every few months and so get discarded, but reconstructing an historical gown is something that has been living in the back of my mind for years, maybe even before I started sewing.

Ideally, I'd start with something more reasonable, like the Regency period. But I can't help obsessing over 18th century gowns, especially over decorated Robes à la française. I just keep getting back to those.

My mental health is... terrible, to say the least, so I already know that this project is going to take ages for me to complete it. If I manage to complete it at all. But I found that external validation helps, which is why I decided to blog about it.

And so... here goes nothing!

The inspiration

One of the reasons why it took me quite a while to get started was that I didn't really know what I wanted my final result to look like. I have never wanted to make a specific historical reproduction, but you gotta start somewhere.

A couple of years ago (like, more than four) I found these old curtains in my gradma's old house. I I thought they would be perfect a robe, but I still didn't know where to start.

Luckily, mindlessly scrolling intagram isn't always useless (well, it is except for this one instance, but I digress), because I came across this dress on @/katestrasdin's page

After some digging (aka a google image reverse search) I found out the dress is owned by LACMA. Despite being the second image that comes up when you google "Robe a la Polonaise" (via Wikipedia) it's described by the museum as a Woman's Dress and Petticoat (Robe à la Française)" from Spain, circa 1775.

My goal is to make something similar to this, as far as decorations go. The structure should be more "à la Française", so without the draped back à la Polonaise and with a floor lenght skirt. But we'll see.

I'll try to use a patten from Norah Waugh's "The Cut of Women's Clothes" from a 1740-50 Sack Dress.

Since I had no idea how such a pattern worked I started by tracing it on a piece of paper and draping it on a small mannequin, just to have a rough idea of what I was getting myself into. The process gave me flashbacks to the Alexander McQueen paper doll I built in lockdown (if you have a few minutes to a few hours to spare, please check it out here). Nevertheless, I now feel a bit more confident about the whole thing. It can be done

The undergarments (and my plan of action)

This kind of dress needs to be built on the undergarments/understructures. That means they they need to be made before the actual dress. At the same time, making undergarments that are (a) never going to be seen by anyone and (b) pretty difficult to make isn't the most exciting thing in the world.

Weirdly enough, I already made a pair of stays in 2021. They're far from perfect, quite ugly and very much not historically accurate. But the shape is there and they'll do the job, at least for now.

The other most important part are the pocket hoops. It's what I should work on next, but I think I'll actually make a mockup of the dress first, as i want to see how much volume I'll need. Then I'll make the pocket hoops.

Then I'll probably make a mockup of the petticoat to use as an under-petticoat. At this point I should know whether I have enough fabric to make the main petticoat of the same fabric of the dress or not. Then the main petticoat itself and then, hopefully, the dress.

Somewhere in between all of this I should make a shift as well, but it's not vital for the process, so I suspect I'll end up procrastinating it as much as possible

Easy peasy, right?

Right, wish me luck :)

Other stuff

It's not going to be historically accurate. I am starting from historical sources, and I'll try to follow them as much as possible, but in the end I just want to have fun and make a nice dress without too much stress. I will keep the hand stitching to the bare minimum and I'm pretty certain that my fabric is synthetic :)

I'm going to keep it as cheap as possible. Reuse, recycle and r...ice? Idk, you get the idea. I am not invested enough to put hundreds of euros in a project that I'll wear maybe once. And I think that sewing and crafts should be more accessible anyways

Resources

The Cut of Women's Clothes: 1600-1930 by Norah Waugh

Woman's Dress and Petticoat (Robe à la française) (LACMA)

[potatobugxo]

last in stock

a collab fic between me and the lovely, amazing, talented @arcademoss​​ / @ozzyemporium​!!

rating: fluff

pairing: huggy wuggy x gn!reader

summary: while coming back home from work to huggy at the abandoned playtime co. factory, huggy shows you something you never would have expected lingering there.

A/N from Oz: Howdy! Author Ozzie here (aka Ozzyemporium), this is a completely gender neutral fic! It is completely sfw, so there will be no mentions of nsfw elements or events; every other paragraph is mine; the rest are by the amazing Potato/Nibbles! I hope you enjoy the fic, feel free to check my blog if you want to see sfw specific content! Enjoy!

You winced when thunder boomed above you, light flashing in the sky as lightning struck somewhere far off in the distance. Tightening your grip on your umbrella, you made your way down the street, shoes slapping against the wet concrete of the sidewalk as you made your way home. You had always taken this route, the one that passed directly next to the abandoned playtime co. factory. Though it was a small distance away, the sheer massiveness of it was enough to spark anyone’s curiosity. That’s how you had met Huggy in the first place. You were exploring a place you shouldn’t have been and you met him, the love of your life, a giant 12 ft. plush monster who loved to cuddle.

Which was why you were in such a hurry, so you could get back home to him. He was like a giant puppy you couldn’t leave alone for a long period of time because he’d get very sad. 

You closed up your umbrella once you were face to face to the factory doors. You dug into your pockets, digging for the plastic paperclip you always carried there.  With your tongue sticking out, the end of the bent clip bounced around in the lock, soon popping it open. While this was an inconvenience on rainy days, it was better than leaving any possible trespassers to their own devices. You throw the door open and gently close it shut behind you. Dropping the paper clip back in, you close your pocket. Wiping your shoes off on the company welcome mat. You shake the water droplets off your closed umbrella, letting it lean against the wall.

“Huggy! I’m back!” You call out, voice echoing throughout the main lobby of the factory. You only had to wait a few moments before stomping was heard. Coming from a vent, perhaps? The sound grew near, and knowing exactly who it was, a smile crept up onto your face. Pretty soon the clanking of the vents is silenced when Huggy comes busting through, jumping out and tackling you into a massive hug. The impact causes the two of you to go rolling, with you clutched tight into his chest so you don't suffer any impact. Once you've halted, your back is to the floor with Huggy's hands at both sides of your head. He has a wide, happy, and puppy-like grin on his face, his pupils fully dilated. His tail going a mile a minute.

“Hi, Huggy!” You beamed, hands coming up to scratch the sides of his fluffy cheeks, earning a long drawn out purr from your lover, his smile growing wider and his eyes rolling back slightly. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction to mere cheek scratches. You barely paid mind to the fact that he had knocked you over onto your back, and your workbag had spilt onto the floor. Upon Huggy leaning down to start peppering your face with sloppy kisses, you burst into a fit of giggles.

“Eek! Huggy, ack,” you playfully blurted. “Okay, lemme up, i gotta get up, ya big love!”

He obliges with a whine, sitting back up so that he can roll off of you, now on his back. He looks over to you, his eyes shimmering and his tail still wagging. He really was just like a lovesick puppy towards you. You wipe the excess saliva off with your sleeve, getting down on your knees to recollect everything that has spilled. While you're doing so, Huggy paws at you with his big hand, rolling onto his stomach. He had that excited look in his eyes. You pause for a moment to look eye-to-eye with him. "Oh! What is it Hugs?"

Huggy let out several chirps, while pointing toward the area that lead to his part of the factory. The “Huggy Wuggy display case” you could call it. 

“You want me to come see something?” You inquired. You had gotten used to translating Huggy’s chirps and whines and all the noises he made in between, and most of the time, you were right about your assumption. After gathering your bag up, you headed toward the area Huggy had pointed to. Your large fluffy boyfriend followed close behind you, breathing excitedly before stepping in front of you to lead the way.

When you got to his room, there were dozens upon dozens of Huggy doll boxes splayed across the ground. You furrow your brows, looking up at your boyfriend who's excited expression never faltered. "Youuu.. wanted to show me your avalanche of boxes?" You joked, lightly poking at him. "You goober! We're gonna need to clean these u-" he interrupts you by chirping aloud, looking directly at the boxes. Before you can continue speaking, some tiny, fuzzy heads peek out from behind the array of empty boxes.

“What the heck...?” Your arms comedically flopped to your sides as you stared in utter bewilderment. The little fluffballs peeking out from behind the boxes were identical to Huggy’s own fur, and you would have just assumed they were the normal plushies of him if they weren’t moving around...

“Um... Huggy?” You looked up at your lover for some kind of explanation. He shot out his arms, gesturing to the little ones as they crawled over the boxes. He lets out a loud squeak as if to say "Surprise!" His tail moving fast. As you stand there shocked, the little Huggy's approaches you, reaching your legs. Yup, they're Huggy dolls alright. "H... how is this possible?" You scratch your head, flinching when you feel one of the plushies hug at your leg, scooting up it. They were like an army of tiny blue monkeys coming toward you.

In an attempt to let your brain process the situation, you let out a helpless laugh of amusement at the little baby Huggy’s swarming you, all letting out their own little chitters and chirps. Huggy himself was bouncing on his heels, tail wagging furiously before he crouched down on all fours, noodle limbs bending like he was a slinky so he could reach the little plushies who were scrambling around the floor. Some of them climbed up onto his own arms as the others climbed into yours. Chirping at you all the while, you fold your arms, letting the first few plushies loaf into them. They purr in your arms as your boyfriend does so in unison with them. He was there being a wholesome doofus with the little guys while you were still bewildered. Huggy snaps you out of it by tugging at your arm.

“Hm?” You hum, just as Huggy looks at you while sinking to the floor, curling his arms and legs around you while still holding the miniature Huggies, a few of them clinging to his fur like tiny koalas. Huggy’s encouraging tug against your legs caused you to sit down so your back was to his stomach, your own little Huggy’s holding onto your clothes while Huggy’s noddle arm wrapped around your torso.  You felt your cheeks heat up as you nuzzled the side of your face up against his chest, earning another purr from him. You move your head down, focused on the dolls. They yawn and stretch in your grip, closing their eyes. They purr all the while, resting in your arms. You smile wide and gently kiss each of their heads, allowing them to fall asleep. "Well, this is much easier than actual adoption isn't it?" Huggy nods his head vigorously, nuzzling his face up against your cheek. Congratulations, you're a parent of 14 now!

[hasgudagudadoneanythingwrong]

How to make F/GO sprite comics

Saw in one of the tags someone wondering about how we make these, so here ya go! A tutorial on how we personally make these things! We'll try to keep it simple for ya dw.

First thing's first, the most important part: the actual dialogue box.

We keep this on roughly 80% opacity, but you could go a bit lower if you wanted I think.

Then, if you want a dialogue option, here's this bit too, just for good measure:

That's probably among the hardest to get your hands on, but also this is assuming tumblr doesn't fuck up the transparency. If it does, I'll point out where you can crop 'em yourself later.

Next up: the font! It uses something like FOT-SkipStd-B, which you may or may not already have installed on your computer, so double check before downloading anything ofc.

Now, we just kind of eyeballed the exact placement and font size, but we use 19pt font and 125% line spacing and it looks pretty alright.

But, just leaving the text as-is will still look super flat and jarring, so you gotta add a bit of a gradient effect to it as well.

It might go by a different name in your program, but in Krita, all our gradient bars are set to inherit alpha (transparency) from the layers below it in its group, meaning the "Gradients" layer folder will only be visible over anything solid from the Nameplate, dialogue option, and Text Box layers here (aka, it'll only show up over any text itself).

And that should cover most everything for the text! Next up, the expression sheets!

You can usually find most any character's expression sheet from the images section of the fgo wiki, where you can then slap it down, do some select/cut/pasting of each expression off the sheet, and line it up with the original sprite itself like so:

We find that numbering them and giving a short description of what expression it is helps a lot when digging for the exact face you want. Turns out, at least the first 4-6 expressions off most everyone's sheet are gonna be the same general emotions too, btw! Some have duplicates though for simplifying coding things across ascensions, so be aware of that as well.

And finally, the backgrounds. This one's kind of spread all over the place, so I'll drop a bunch of links and you can take your pick.

First is the Kyuburu user blog off the fgo wiki that has a lot of the Part II onward story/events in a pretty well organized fashion that's easy to look through and find what you need. Only problem is it doesn't seem to have much of the earlier stuff, so you'll need to look somewhere else for that.

Second is this asset dump that I don't remember where I grabbed it from, but has a lot of stuff that's pretty well organized, but only up to LB 1 I think. When I said earlier about if tumblr fucked up the transparency, file 3 under User Interface has the raw asset sheet it's from, so you can scrap it together if need be.

This asset dump from this thread seems to be more up-to-date though (through LB 6.3 I think?) so you'll probably have more luck with this one for your general needs.

And finally, if you're looking for something harder to find (like the more recent JP content), you can go digging around the Atlas Academy Database and look for the cutscene scripts of what scene you're wanting, and it should have links to the BG and the expression sheet of whatever's there at that moment. It might be a little messier to dig through though, so give the other stuff a look first before resorting to this.

And that should be mostly it! The most difficult part is just getting things initially set up, and each expression sheet takes a hot minute to get sorted out, but I just do all my work in the same file so you can just re-use everything you pull together and you'll be set.

It's pretty fun and easy once you get the hang of it, so best of luck and have fun!

[moxfirefly]

Hi!

Can I ask you to do a fic about some numbers of the 200 prompts? If it's not a problem for you... ✨🥺👉🏻👈🏻✨

Maybe 51, 110 and 144 with Donnie and a fem reader? 🥺💜✨

I imagine that he's alone with the reader and she's listening some music. They're talking and then some songs with 'hot' lyrics or with 'sex vibe start to play, u know? Like Call Out My Name (The Weeknd), Chateau (blackbear)... They like each other so they get horny and end up fucking like animals. :)))

(The + kinky the better. I'm a horny™ girl xd)

Ps: If it's too much work or something don't worry. I don't want you to do something that you don't want/can :)❤️✨

Ps 2: I love your blog ❤️

As a member of the Donnie thirst brigade I’m more than happy to just give out some shameless smut with that tall sassy nerd. Also you had me at The Weeknd so yes. Took a small liberty with the music hope you dig it.

Goes without saying,

Rated Explicit (18+ Years Only)

“You give me energy, make me feel lightweight”

It starts with a simple question, a small fixation you’ve had when it comes to Donatello and your rapidly growing crush on him.

It’s a silly question, possibly even a comical one, but nevertheless an interesting one.

You’re both in his room, the ever changing LED lights accompanying the two of you while music drones out of his speakers. Inside the nook he barely sleeps in but still smells of him. Opposite each other, with your foot buried beneath his strong legs because you’re easily cold. That small detail of having Donnie’s hand resting close to your ankle making you smile.

Being best friends naturally meant that all manner of conversations have been had. Fun topics, curiosities of life and even some personal things you wouldn’t actually discuss with just anybody.

So you ask it,

“What’s a must have song in a sex playlist” You grin, wondering if this might be the time you both reach a TMI moment, but Donnie doesn’t disappoint. “I believe the mood is a big factor there, there is no sole correct answer” He throws back with a knowing smile. You slip your feet from under his thigh and opt out to prop them up on his lap, and on auto pilot he grabs them giving the soles of your feet a squeeze.

“Define mood? mood for sex is pretty straightforward and there’s gotta be a must have on said sex playlist” You retort back, enjoying how he just starts massaging your feet. “True but what I’m referring more is the mood of the moment, is it a loving mood? A kinky mood?” You wiggle your toes when he catches a ticklish spot. His answer absolutely delights you so you prod just a little more.

“Ok follow up, you’ve got a girl on your bed and she’s got the hots for you, what are you playing to set the mood just right?” You lean back, proud of yourself with the sheepish smile Donnie sports, making him flush was one of your favorite past times.

“Depends, is this girl kinky? Is she vanilla?” He pushes up his glasses when you make an ‘oh’ sound. “I think you like vanilla girls” You enunciate your statement by poking him with your foot.

“Y/n I’m seriously hurt, all this time as friends and you think vanilla girls are my favorite?” He shook his head with a snort.

“Donatello well I’ll be, we gotta circle back to that in a bit. So final answer, what are you playing when this hypothetical girl is giving you bedroom eyes?” You found his gaze, a shy smile gracing his features. Donnie leaned over plucking a tablet from his many little Knick knacks in the nook. He scrolled for a bit, swiping his finger upwards before a pleased look appeared on his face.

The familiar bass beat made your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Streets by Doja Cat? Really?” He nodded placing the tablet back in its stand. “Don’t approve?” He asked, you shook your head. “Au Contraire, I’d jump anybodies bones who’d play that to set the mood” The two of you looked at one another, Donnie eyes carefully scanning over your features, assessing a mile a minute in that brilliant mind of his.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He followed the tip of your tongue sneaking out before you bit down on your bottom lip.

“Depends. Are you seducible?” You felt his hands run down your feet, gripping your ankles.

Donnie moved your legs, scooting closer to you with an unreadable expression. You didn’t register holding your breath until you reached for his glasses. Setting them aside you inched closer towards his lips. Donnie closed the remaining space, catching your lower lip between his lips, he kissed softly chastely leaving you somewhat hanging for what you hoped would be a deep kiss.

“You’re such a needy baby” His smile spread and you felt your heart skip a beat.

Oh. So that’s how he wanted to play.

You were ready to crash your lips onto his but felt his hand wrap around your throat, the way your pupils dilated only made him chuckle softly. “Call me vanilla again” His thumb caressed your throat, the sensation soothing but only making your stomach flip flop on itself. You were about to let another sass laced comment fall from your lips when his hand slid up, cupping your chin, rubbing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

God if he didn’t jump you by now you were going to scream.

“Donnie-“ He slid said thumb into your mouth and on command your eyes closed, where the fuck and how the fuck was he being this cocky and sure of himself?

Feeling the bed dip and said digit in your mouth disappear your eyes shot open. Donnie was pleased as punch with how stricken you looked. You bit the inside of your cheeks, pressing your thighs together. Time to level the playing field. You smoothed out your skirt, sitting up better to entice him with your legs.

“Chicken” You smirked.

“You can do better than that, Y/n” Donnie made sure the space was safe and no interruptions would take place, he toned down the colors of the lights. For a fraction the air of cockiness left him. “Are sure about this? Do you want to keep going?” Ever the gentleman, you gave your answer by hooking your fingers in his belt loops and tugging him closer. You backed up into the nook, Donnie knelt on the bed, astride your hips, eyes focused on taking in the details he’d often fantasized about.

“You already know how this one will end” You ran a hand up that hard plastron, the sensation making you curious, gently you placed open mouthed kisses. You felt him inhale deeply as you slowly undid the button of his pants. His hand came to rest behind your hair, digging into the scalp as you continue your trail of kisses.

“This your plan all along?” You snapped off his suspenders. “Too obvious I’ve been wanting to fuck my best friend silly?” Donnie swallowed, hands untying his signature mask, he tugged you down onto his bed, he’d never seen an image so beautiful and right. Without hesitation his hands cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. He buried his face between them, all tension rolling off those broad shoulders in shuddering breaths. “You smell perfect” Came his muffled reply between your breast. You raised your hips, trying to find some friction which Donnie was happy to provide with a roll of his hips.

That felt big, that felt way too good. “I feel better I can assure you” That definitely caused a deep churr to vibrate from within him. Explorations can be resumed for another time, right now you wanted him to feel the mess he had caused with such simple touches and words. Somewhere around breathing each others hard gasps, you felt your skirt being pushed up, as you nudged his pants further down with your foot. Donnie was super glued to your lips, even as hands explored, cupping, grabbing, running along the product of his torture.

With a plead that you pressed against his throat you felt Donnie throw your leg over his hip, your hand disappearing between the two of your to guide his hard slick cock to your aching core. There on your sides you met eyes as he pushed into you so deliberately slow, not just to not hurt you but to watch that very second where your gaze comprehended the sensation of him. Your knuckles ran the edges of his shell before landing at his neck. Each thrust sending waves of dizzying pleasure.

Donnie pressed his forehead against yours, that cockiness replaced by pure bliss, mouth agape and eyes shut tight as he moved with each of your wanton sounds. “Donnie look at me, want you to look at me when you cum” Your voice trembled when his eyes fluttered open and you saw such a debauched display. This time you grinned breathless as you wrapped a hand around his neck. “Yes, just like that baby, for me come on” You moaned when his hips began to stutter ruthlessly.

Kissing Donnie as he started to cum was possibly going to be your favorite thing from now on. He went to limp against you but still kept a bruising hold on you as he filled you up and made you so warm. Running the tips of your finger across his cheek you saw that sated smile appear. Slowly disentangling you he slid down moving your legs apart, and already you knew that there was no stoping this.

You were both simply hooked.