#loop of dissaproval

[insomniakingdoom]

The Loop of Disapproval™

Poor tree didn't deserved to see that. Alternate title (Act 3-4 spoiler)

Loop during the Bad Touch Achievements (They're a bit jealous)

[kisblle]

Caliber Heart

Pairing: High honor Arthur x female reader one shot

Author's note: Oh what do I have to say about this. To start, this one shot came from me having MAJOR writer's block with my Colter fic. It seems like I had rewrote my Colter fic a thousand times and did not like any of them, really pulling me into a writer's block for the past month and a half. However, as I sat at my macbook staring at the screen in anger at myself this idea popped into my head, and as I was writing it I was kicking my feet and giggling.

Now it might not be that Colter fic I had been teasing, but it is something that I'm really proud of and think the fandom will really enjoy.

Summary: Arthur teaches you to shoot.

Trigger Warning: 18+, graphic sexual content

“Now why I gotta do this anyway?”

“Cause’ my woman is gonna know how to protect herself,” Arthur gruffs, his voice like gravel as he sets up glass bottles in the windows of the second story of Limpany’s burnt saloon.

“Ain’t you spose’ to be the one protectin’ me?” You playfully yell out to him with an evil smirk plastered on your face, dragging your boot in the dirt in front of you out of pure boredom.

The cowboy lets out a small chuckle, jumping back down to the ground level with ease and setting the remaining whiskey bottles on the steps out front. “Now you know I wanna be with you all the time, but I need you to be able to protect yourself when I’m not.”

You bite your lip as the brooding cowboy finally approaches you, his left thumb looped into his gun belt as a cigarette gently hangs out the side of his mouth.

You hated to admit that Arthur was right.

Too long you had been running with Dutch, and too long you had been procrastinating this exact moment. But after years of Arthur chasing your skirt, it seemed as soon as you got in bed with him he was teaching you all sorts of new things.

The sun shines high in the sky as Arthur pulls out the cattleman’s revolver from his gun belt, and teaches you how to load seven shiny revolver bullets into the gun’s worn cylinder, taking the barrel into his hand and placing the grip into your palm. “Now show me how you shoot.” The cowboy commands without any other instruction, his crystal eyes focusing on you as he takes several steps backwards.

You roll your eyes sarcastically at him before he sends you a dissaproving glare.

You let out an annoyed sigh before lifting your dominant hand that held the revolver, aiming down the sight, and placing your right foot parallel to your hand. Mirroring what you had seen the men do countless times before.

You line up your sight with nearest bottle, your pointer finger teasing the trigger as you sat in the same position for several, long moments. “Now go on,” Arthur suggests as you hear him change positions, the dry, coarse dirt of Limpany shifting beneath his boots.

You pull the trigger

You miss by two feet.

You sigh, dropping your arm back down at your hip in dissapointment.

Arthur starts to chuckle, clapping his hands together as if he were mocking you for your failed attempt. “You’re doin’ it all wrong.”

“Hey,” you snap as your head turns behind you where the gunslinger stands. His left hip jutted out, his thumbs resting in the loops of his gun belt with a god awful smirk resting on his face . “I’m just copyin’ what I’ve seen you men do a thousand times!”

The gunslinger rolls his eyes, another gentle laugh escaping his lips. “You’re shootin’ like you think you’re some seasoned gunslinger or somethin’ ,” he jokes, spitting his half smoked cigarette onto the ground in front of him and taking several steps up to you, placing his calloused hand on the arch of your back.

“I’m just doing it how-,” you attempt to remind him, as his other hand grasps your stomach tightly, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“For starters, you gotta stand up straight, and keep your shoulders parallel with your feet,” he commands, pushing his hands into your torso as if he were attempting to fix your poor posture.

Your spine straightens instantly and you did your best to make your feet parallel with your shoulders. “Now two hands on the gun, and I like to shoot when I exhale,” he commands, letting go of your stomach and taking several steps behind you once again, his eyes carefully watching your every move.

You follow the gunslingers suggestions, aiming the revolver at the same bottle you did before.

You aim.

You pull the trigger.

You miss again, but this time only by a few inches.

“You didn’t exhale,” Arthur calls out.

You exhale.

You aim.

You pull the trigger.

The first of several glass bottles explodes into a million tiny fragments as your head bolts to Arthur for a look of approval.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Now again.”

For the next several hours Arthur has you shooting at glass bottles, and when all the glass bottles had been shattered, he starts having you shoot at the painted letters all around Limpany that had survived the fire’s destruction.

“The second O in Saloon,” he would call as you would turn and fire, shooting at every letter until you had made a clear hole in each one.

After all bottles were shattered, and every letter had several tiny bullet marks in it, you were ready to call it a day. By no means did Arthur turn you into a sharpshooter in just a couple hours, but you were glad you could at least hit a target.

“Come on Arthur, it’s been hours,” you whine as he takes the several empty ammunition boxes out from his satchel and fills them with dirt from beneath his boots, setting them up on the steps of the saloon just as he did with the glass bottles earlier.

“We ain’t done till I say we’re done,” he says, moving back towards you with a mischievous smirk.

You role your eyes at him out of annoyance.

“What? Think you can shoot a couple targets and don’t need more practice?” He adds with a furrowed brow.

“That’s not what I’m sayin-“

“Out there you got bullets flyin' and men yellin'', you gotta learn to keep focus,” he replies grumpily.

“Arthur-“

“Aim,” he commands as he steps closer to you.

You send him a long, strenuous glare before placing both hands on the gun and pointing it at the steps of the saloon.

You exhale.

You shoot.

With a loud pop, the box of dirt erupts into a small cloud of smoke.

You aim again, letting out another breath before you hear Arthur walk up behind you, his hands grabbing your hips as he leans his chin on your shoulder.

“What are you doin'?” You chuckle as his hands move from your hips to the buttons of your blouse.

“Now the most important part of gunslingin’ is to keep concentration no matter the distraction,” he whispers with a devilish tone into your ear.

Your breath hitches for a singular moment before you realize what he meant, his lips finding their way to your ear lobe as his calloused fingers dance over the buttons of your blouse.

One by one he pops open the buttons of your shirt, quickly freeing your breasts from the confines of your blouse. Your nipples instantly peaking at the chill of the New Hanover air but also from your building arousal.

“Arthur, what if someone sees,” you breathe out, barely able to comprehend what was happening as his lips continue to trail down your neck.

“No one ever comes out this way. Now shoot.” He barely commands, his right hand traveling to your left breast. His thumb and forfinger finding their way to your nipple and rolling it back and forth with light, pleasurable pressure.

You moan.

You exhale.

You shoot.

Another box of dirt explodes into a ball of smoke.

“Good girl,” he mumbles as his free hand starts to reach the buckles of your jeans. Quickly unbuttoning your pants and slipping his left hand below your bloomers, easily finding that patch of nerves he knows that you enjoy all too well.

“Arthur-“ you moan is such shock as you feel him grin against your neck.

“Shoot,” he commands once again as his pointer finger reaches deeper into you and starts to draw small circles onto your clit, your knees becoming weaker and weaker from each calculated touch.

You moan

You exhale.

You shoot.

The box pops into another cloud of smoke.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles as he picks up pace, moving back and forth against your bundle of nerves with such vigour that you were unsure if you could physically stand much longer.

“Again,” he whispers, the prickle of his shadowed beard scratching against your sensitive neck with prowess.

You moan.

You exhale.

You shoot.

You hit the fourth and final box as it explodes into a cloud of smoke.

Within seconds you drop the revolver onto the ground as you finally give into his touch.

“That’s my good girl,” he speaks, circling your clit with such vigour that your knees buckle almost instantly, causing you to lean backwards onto him for full support. Without missing a beat Arthur's right hand catches you and with a shuffle of his feet he walks the two of you over to the side of the saloon and bends you over so you can prop yourself up against the building with your arms.

His left hand still pulsates against you as you can feel your body near your finish. "God Arthur you make me feel so good," you nearly scream as he takes his right knee and spreads your legs farther apart, still leaning over you from behind, his breath hitching in your ear.

"I know your close girl," he mumbles as he continues the steady beat of his fingers against your core.

You were beyond on close.

You were there.

You moan in pleasure, gently jutting your hips against his calloused fingers that were so diligently working you through your release. It felt like forever, but as soon as Arthur was sure your release had been completely worked through he unwraps his hands from infront of you and runs his finger through your soaking cunt, making sure you were ready for him.

The cowboy drops his gunbelt quickly, dropping his work pants to his ankles and fisting his already, blood swollen cock in his hand. "So purdy," he moans as he takes the tip of his member and runs it down your seam.

Your entire body shivers at the meer touch, your hands doing their best to keep you properly bent down for him against the side of the building.

"Tell me you want it," Arthur commands as he still playfully runs his tip against your core again.

"I want it," you moan as your body wettens even more for him, begging him to fully enter you at his pleasure.

"Tell me you need-" he mumbles.

"God Arthur I need you now," you beg as you jut your ass back up at him as if you were some wild animal in heat.

The cowboy grins as he looks down at your wet, pink pussy and slips his entire length into you slowly. When his large length was finally inside of you, he stops and looks down at the combining of your bodies. His thatch of chestnut hair combing against your ass with such prowess that it takes himself several long seconds before he pulls himself out of you, and then in again.

"You take -ah- me -ah- so well," he starts to moan, pushing himself in and out of you with a strong beat.

Arthur continues to push into you, placing his right hand on your hip as his left hand balls up your loose hair into his palm. Pulling your hair tightly into his fist and pulling downwards, forcing your chin to rise in pleasure.

You can feel his hips start to work faster as the clapping of your two bodies merging together seemingly echoes throughout the ghost town.

"Fuck," you curse in pleasure, his hand loosening from your hair and instead finding it's way to your other hip, his fingers digging into you as he roughly pulls your cunt closer to him with every push of his cock.

"Mine," he musters out. "You're -ah- all mine."

Red marks start to appear on your hips as his fingers tighten against your skin. Your knees start to feel that familiar weekness as you recognize your second release starting to pour over.

"I'm gonna-," you yell out.

"Just a little bit longer," he barely is able to mumble.

It was too late, your second release envelopes on Arthur's cock with such vigour that you nearly scream in pleasure.

But as soon as the cowboy felt your cunt pulsating from your second orgasm, he releases his spend into you with several strong thrusts of his hips. His chin jutting upwards as he moans loadly into the pink sky above him, his hands still glued to your hips as his knees shake in pleasure.

After the two of you had been completely worked through, he sits inside you for several seconds as he gathers himself. His breath hitching as he slowly pulls himself out of you, a devilish grin appearing on his worn out face as his surveys his spend dripping down from your cunt and onto your inner thighs. "S'beautiful," he whispers, taking his left hand and palming your ass before you push yourself back up to a standing position and turn around to meet the discheveled cowboy.

"You make a fool out of me," you laugh, pulling up your pants from your ankles quickly as your chest still hangs freely in the cold, New Hanover air.

Arthur grins and shakes his head as he follows suit. "Should've taught you to shoot months ago," he playfully gruffs as he places his gunbelt back onto his hips, his eyes focusing on your chest as you do your best to rebutton your blouse as quickly as possible.

"Shut up, Morgan," you glare at him with a grin plastered on your face, pulling the last button closed, making you atleast presentable to any onlookers who may have rode by.

Arthur raises his hands up to you as if he was surrendering to your tone, "I'm just sayin' if I knew I could-"

You cut him off with a devilish grin, "Maybe the next lesson should be taught by Javier, heard he has the better aim anyway." You snap, knowing that as soon as the words left your mouth you would find yourself running away from the cowboy with a playful smile as you knew he wouldn't take the harmless joke lightly.

"You little hellcat," he snaps back with a playful grin, quickly darting after you as another budding erection started to form beneath his jeans.

[thedemonconstantine]

adventurepunks​:

“I am surrounded by workaholics!” Zatanna sighed out loud and very very obviously sighed to get them to pay attention that she dissaproved that both Nick and Ash seemed to be defined by their massive amount of workload that they required to complete even thinking about work when they were enjoying a nice drink and some take away. “You can have my tuning fork, just post it back when you get yours back or something” she wouldn’t need one for a while and if she did she could easily acquire one. If Nick was being the spirit of generosity she too as his apprentice would be as well specially if it was required for Ash’s task.

“Write a list of what you need and we will make sure you have it by tomorrow afternoon. Our procurer doesn’t work public holidays but a urgent fire message rarely goes unanswered…” The ingredients were not exactly rare and what was the point of having a good working relationship with an alchemist if not to be allowed to raid her pantry of hoarded stashes of random ingredients once in a while.

“How you don’t throw up John is a miracle” she giggled at his abomination of a ‘sandwich’, it wasn’t even the weirdest thing she’s seen him eat but it certainly was cringe inducing, her face scrunched studying him like some wilderbeast grazing in the wild.

Their meal finished, table cleared up and time came to conquer New York…or at least a small part of Brooklyn. “Are you sensitive to energies or only the energies of the Convergence lines?” Zatanna asked Ash looping her arm around his to walk side by side with him, he was such a fascinating guest after all. “Sometimes a room just feels electric, you know?” Some adepts made a whole career out of siphoning said energy but such nefarious things had a time and a place to be addressed.

Two ghosts of workmen in attire of the 30s were chatting outside their local pool bar but so faint was their connection to this world that they were practically fading away with each passing day. You eventually would be forgotten and you’d forget too…and the peace of oblivion would embrace you never truly have found peace in the afterlife. It was a sad thing to reflect on but Nick snapped out of said reflection pretty fast when a man was thrown right out the door causing Nick to push John right up against the nearby wall to shield him out of reflex.

If I ever see you around these again it will be the last thing you ever see motherfucker!

Oh hey guys! The barman slash bouncer greeted the trio and even held the door for Zatanna.

“Spare us the side of heart attacks next time?” Nick suggested feeling his heart rapidly beat in his chest from nearly having a grown ass man used as a projectile on him. 

You’ve seen worse. Hey man! the bartender slapped his hand against John’s to greet him. The trio always were a peculiar looking bunch but in New York everyone had their own little flare and seeing as the trio usually kept to themselves they were always a welcome sight.

“What’s everyone drinking?” Zatanna inquired to go queue up at the bar while John found them a table somewhere. The good thing about a good dive bar was that even in New Year’s eve it wasn’t as packed as the fancy places…and John usually somehow managed to get a table relinquished for them if it was.

“Have you played pool before?” Nick asked their honored guest, some Walkers got very involved some kept themselves from purposely getting too attached to any realm.

“I play carrom, if that is all the same to you,” Ash was politely bemused when he studied the surroundings that was referred to as a ‘dive bar’. It looked just as much as any other watering hole did in his opinion, but perhaps it was the locale that had the draw. 

“Do you mean to present me with a challenge of the pool?” Oh, so perhaps this then! 

“I’ll have a mug of tap, thank you Miss Zatanna-ji.”

“Oi, yer lookin’ gud lad, Kiss yer Ma fer me willje? Heh!” Bartender, bouncer, John always had a way around these places. He snagged a drink off another table too, not his fault if it was left unattended!

“Mmm, stout, me favo,” Said with a big foamy moustache just to annoy the hell out of Zee!

“Me saviour,” John had the glittering eyes and all too, feigning a swoon from the very gallant swooping save Nick managed earlier by the door.

“Aye I play carrom too I does! Awful shite at it buh is brill it is! Dun need sticks fer a game ‘n powder goes on th’ board instead. Needs more skills den marbles it does. Aye buh g’wed, I’ll keep Zee-zee-ji company.”

“All energies are unique and have their own chakra. All chakra make the dhammacakka, the wheel that keeps moving. I see all energies even now, Miss Zatanna-ji, and you have one that is of the brightest kind. Mr Nick not so much, and Mr John is strange. Mr John’s energies look like magnetic dust that is being pulled this way and that. I’ve never seen an energy like this before. Mr Nick looks purple.” 

Ash was finally done with his procurement list and handed it over to Nick with a grateful nod. 

“Mr Nick’s absence of gold energy and the abundance of grey shows his specialty is necromancy. I can see half of him is cloaked in the Black.” 

“Cor, wohsit yeh blimpin’ at rite now, mate? I’ve got woh pullin’ where?” John was both intimidated and amused at how sensitive the Walker’s ajna was.

“Stop peekin’ at me knickers ‘n go play some bloody pool!”

[astral--horrorshow]

☆ The ADA's Day at the Amusment Park ☆

A/N: my part of an art/writing trade with @sleepyrazor!!

Reblogs are appreciated!!

Characters: Ranpo Edogawa, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Atsushi Nakajima, Kyoka Izumi, Yosano Akiko, Fukuzawa Yukichi

☆~☆~☆

☆~ The idea was Ranpo's, who expressed his desire by barging into Fukuzawa's office and commencing his usual childish whining until the president, with a tired look in his eyes, folded.

☆~ The majority of the ADA members were completely agreeable to the trip, with Yosano going as far to make lists of required items for everyone to bring. Kunikuda, however, internally protested, seeing the prospect as time-wasting and childish, but did not verbally object out of respect for Ranpo, and for the president's decision.

☆~ Dazai was one of the most excited, not for the games or the chance of having fun on the rides, but for all the opportunities to off himself various ways by violating every safety boundary the park had to offer.

☆~ Atsushi let himself be dragged around by Yosano as she shopped for new outfits for everyone for the occasion.

☆~ As the group arrived, Kyoka immediately dragged Atsushi towards the crepe stands and Ranpo booked it to the carousel with a tired Fukuzawa trailing behind, leaving the rest of the members behind at the entrance.

☆~ Kunikida sat at a bench, looking like an annoyed parent and refusing to have any fun until Yosano quite literally dragged him to the haunted house. He looked at the actors with a dissaproving glare whenever one tried to scare him, which scared the actors more than they tried to make him.

☆~ The outing came to an abrupt end when the manager ordered them to leave aftet Dazai melodramatically threw himself across a roller coaster track, declaring that this was the day he would finally get to die, forcing the employees to emergency stop the coaster, stranding the riders upside-down on the climax of the loop-de-loop for 10 minutes.

☆~ Kunikida yelled at Dazai the whole walk, despite not caring for the outing in the first place. When confronted by him, Dazai only expressed dissapointment that it was not his day to die, causing Kunikida to smack him upside the head with his notebook.

[luisfgarciarico]

Talking about my feelings

The cold days off I got from work are affording me the rare opportunity to be able to write. I want to write more, it helps me. I like to think I’m good at it, but the realities of my labor are such that the all I want to do with the little free time I have are Jiu Jitsu and mindlessness. Which I think is good for me at this crux in my life, but that’s another post for another time. 

This piece is about feelings… I’m not good at them. I don’t think I’ve ever really been. When I was a kid, I went through a lot of things that made me feel intensely. Anger, hate, fear, self loathing, loneliness, all the hurtful feelings and none of the good. I remember how much it hurt to feel these things. It was a lot of crying in my dad’s truck at twilight hours because that was the only time no one would hear me. 

But I am here, in a reasonably good place in life largely because I’ve learned to cope with these feelings. But what I’ve come to realize now at this age is that the combination of my coping mechanisms and the expectations society has for me as a man (read toxic masculinity, even though I hate that terminology, but that’s another post)have robbed me of the medicine that all feeling, hurtful and uplifting, has for me. As Khalil Gibran would say, “pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding”. I am wise because of what I have endured. 

But I didn’t get this as  kid, all i knew was that feeling sucked and that boys don’t cry and that only the strong survive, these kinds of things. So what did I do? 

It was a gradual process but it culminated in the summer of 2010, it mighta been 2009, i forget. I was doing a research fellowship at the time so that meant a lot of time alone, in an apartment turning the political narratives of communities I cared about into variables in math equations, and at some fateful point I turned the lens on myself. 

I looked at every painful experience in my life, thru the lenses of rational choice theory and cost benefit analysis with a little prisoner’s dilemma for good measure. And I do think this approach was good for me to a degree. Because I could look at the people who have hurt me thru my life, a lot of whom were people I cared about,  and realize that the reasons they hurt me weren’t because these were  inherently bad people, but because their circumstances were such that the projection of their patienthood, just so happened to project on my unfortunate ass as I was coming of age and figuring out who I was.

 This rationalizing approach did a couple things for me, first it provided me the rationale to be able to forgive the people who hurt me, especially important because a lot of these people were loved ones. It becomes a lot easier to forgive someone when you can break down exactly why they are the way they are, at least for me. It is much easier to ler go of hurtful things when you have power over them. 

It also created within me a lens through which to handle all future tough shit that happened to me after that. I became the guy who stayed cool under pressure. Who’s feelings wouldn’t get in the way. I became exceedingly proficient at crushing shit in my mind vice. Some may read this and dissaprove or just feel for me but I can assure you, this ability is not entirely a bad thing, but it became that for me. 

At around 24ish, I got to the point where I felt nothing, and it never really was a problem, at least not a problem I noticed, because this “me who controlled feelings” was probably seen as a cool, confident, or something positive by the people around me. I, became really bad at doing the feelings, and i knew something about this was just wrong. I didn’t feel bad about it, but I knew this wasn’t how shit was supposed to be. 

Luckily, at around the same age I became a teacher. And oddly enough, this approach helped me with this point in life too. I kept a cool head whilst my first year classroom crumbled around me, and kept a cool head while I repaired my professional reputation and teaching proficiency in subsequent years. But what teaching also did was help me find a balance. 

It wasn’t until recently that I realized what exactly it is I love about teaching. I like that I’m working to uplift communities I belong to/care about, it’s the purpose I’ve created for myself in this world. I like being able to take that same calculating mind that became a problem, and “turn my kids into numbers” to find solutions to instructional problems. I like the puzzle of teaching. But I could get that anywhere for a lot more money. What is it about teaching, that I love? Why is it that I continue to teach despite the fact that a quiet voice in the back of my head  beckons me to fulfill my megalomatic “destiny” to make a fundamental impact on the pages of history (for more money). 

It’s because of a letter I got from a 9 year old last december. My kids are at an age where they don’t give me letters anymore. They’ve had me for three years. They’re all lettered out, and I’ve lost most of their letters (bad Mr. Rico), I’m all lettered out too. But I have about 60 new kids that call me Mr. Rico now. One of my newer students, let’s call her Jane. Smart girl, softspoken, wise beyond her years you could tell she’ll set the world on fire someday. I have a pretty good relationship with most of my kids but Jane for some reason didn’t respond to any of my humor, didn’t shower me with praise, or anything that my other students did to show that “hey, Mr. Rico you’re alright”. 

But during the last day of school last winter, while the majority of my kids were basking in the hastily put together “Christmas Party” i put together (which was literally chart paper to put snacks on top of and christmas songs on a loop… that’s it), Jane asked if she could work on something in a corner desk, and I said sure. I found it odd, but hey if that’s what she wanted to do, go for it. There she was, merriment going on all around her, and she quietly, diligently, purposefully working on some craft. I couldn’t tell what it was, but in the midst of my sleep deprivation from grading the night berore and the chaos of a Christmas party I forgot all about it. Soon came dismissal, then clean up, packing up all my shit to get outta dodge asap, and then I look on my desk. A letter from my kid. Telling me how much she’s gonna miss me and… that she’s moving. I never saw her again. 

The letter made me feel sadness, and a month later, it still made me sad, and two months later it still makes me sad, and as I write this now with the letter in front of me I still feel sad, and worried about the world this child has in front of her, and with hopes and confidence at how much of a badass this kid is gonna become. A letter from a kid who spelled pleasure wrong (although good job integrating higher level vocabulary) should not occupy my thoughts or feelings this much. 

And that’s why I love teaching. This is why giving 100% of myself to these kids is easy (something that has admittedly been a problem in professional/academic settings before this one). This is why I wish I can contort myself in such a way to be able to give just a little bit more. This is why I wish I could be perfect for these kids. I love teaching because it has let me feel again. Being a teacher has given me the gift of being able to feel again. As a teacher, I a am compelled into sadness, as a teacher I get pissed off… I get REALLY REALLY pissed off! As a teacher I get annoyed, and dumbfounded, and vexed. As a teacher I feel loneliness, but I also feel hope, and joy, such wonderful joy, I feel hope, I feel everything like I haven’t felt in a long time. 

Because I know those same ugly feelings I felt as a poor kid growin up in the hood, my kids are probably feeling now, so I am nothing but compelled to invest my “reasonable” all into making sure they make it. As a teacher, I must be calculated, rational, I must be able to turn my kid’s competencies and talents into variables in an equation, I must be poised, but I must have emotional content. As a teacher, I must feel intensely. 

My balance is coming into fruition. 

Sincurrly yours, 

A teacher with time to write, and now feeling sleepy. 

PS

Thank you Miles Davis for providing the backdrop to this piece. “Kind of Blue”