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cyber333angel · 1 month

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LUMBERJACK!LOGAN X FARMERSDAUGHTER!READER

the two of you would have met for the first time at your fathers house, logan introducing himself as a the new supplier for wood at your families barn. your dad was too busy to go out and buy wood so on a stroll through town he heard about a newcomer being good at exactly that. he shook your hand and he smiled at you, the most charming smile you have ever seen and you introduced yourself shyly as well. you were a little nervous for some reason, probably because you don’t see a lot of people living in the countryside especially handsome ones like this. you go off doing something else and after a couple more minutes of conversation your father calls you back to him and logan, telling you that you needed to show him around and tell him where to drop off the wood when it’s time for deliveries. smiling through your anxiety, you go up to him, “this way mr. howlett, uh this is the-“ and your cut off suddenly, “you can call me logan. no need for the formality.” and you nod, him dropping the professionalism made you feel a little more at ease. “oh alright logan, this way here is the horses stables.” chuckling at your insinuation of his name he watches you as you walk in front of him, white dress swaying side to side as you go farther throughout the land. the whole get-up looks gorgeous on you from head to toe, your little cowgirl hat that covers your braided plaits, the snug dress that hugs your curves and the brown cowboy shows to complete. from this first meeting he knew it was gonna be hard to work for your father, already looking at his daughter this way.

after a few weeks go by your aquatinted with logan, not exactly friends but you had small conversations everytime he came by. watching him as he loaded logs of wood into this shed looking handsome as ever working out like that, your little schoolgirl crush getting bigger at every sneaking glance you took. and one day your father had some business to attend to out of town leaving you alone, telling you to handle all deliveries and duties around the barn without him. so you spend all day taking over the work your dad usually does when you get a call, your dad telling you that logan would be coming in with a late delivery and to help him unload his truck. you were gonna be alone with logan, in your house that was empty, your mind was filled with thoughts but you quickly shooed them away. which was best because logan arrived at the gates thirty minutes later pulling into the driveway with a wave and the same charming smile as always, stepping out of the car in some red flannel and jeans. “hey kid, I see your stepping up to your old man’s jobs now huh?” he says chuckling and you smile walking to the back of his trunk, “yeah for today, ill leave it to you guys to carry pounds of wood every friday afternoon. splinters are not really my forte.” and logan grins, for the past couple of weeks of seeing glances of you during deliveries you weren’t doing manual labor like your father, mostly tending to the garden and taking care of the animals and he thought that naturalistic side of you was absolutely adorable.

you guys make usual small talk while hauling the logs of wood to the shed, dusting your hands. you get an idea to invite logan in after all this hard work, it’s only fair after all the heavy lifting and you both could use something to rejuvenate you. “um if your not busy after this would you want something to drink or eat before you hit the road?” you say, your anxiety creeping up a bit after doing something your not used to like inviting a someone into your home, one you have a crush on at that. logan nods rolling up his sleeves, “yeah thanks I would love a drink.” he says and you lead the way to the house, setting down at the kitchen. “umm we have some soda, water or juice? food wise we have leftovers from dinner yesterday, we could also make a sandwich or have the snacks in the pantry.” none of those really suite logans interest which makes him ask, “you got any beer?” and you think, remembering your dad keeps beer at the lowest part of the fridge, you grab one for him and you, going back and sitting at the island. “thanks kid.” making you smile with a quiet “no problem.” you watch logan crack open the beer with his teeth looking like he did this a million times before and you twist open the bottle with your hand, opting out on breaking your teeth.

the silence between you was very awkward as you trail your eyes at everything around you except logan, suddenly hearing him speak. “you don’t drink?” you look at him confused, his eyes pointing to the beer bottle that only has a sip taken from it. “no not really, it’s more for my dad. the taste is kind bitter to me, but i couldn’t let you drink alone!” you say with a giggle making logan smile as he takes another long swig at his drink. “well thanks for sticking around anyway. i also gotta ask how is it living on a barn miles away from civilization?” logan says poking fun at you once again, “it’s not that far, and it’s nice. very peaceful..although it’s too peaceful sometimes, there’s not many people to talk too out here other than when we go to sell crops.” he thinks for a moment, looking lost in thought as he comes up with a question that almost make you cough out loud. “so I take it that you don’t talk to many boys then huh?”the snarky question making you stare at him in awe, stuttering out an answer. “I have before if you must know, it didn’t go anywhere because he moved away.. but you already know I don’t talk to a lot of people which is s’kind of embarrassing, not having a relationship or a first kiss.. you probably have experienced all that already.” you say the relationship and kiss part quietly, not knowing why you said that in the first place thinking that sip of beer earlier had you out of sorts already.

the news of you not having any relationship was quite surprising to logan, you are such a pretty girl he thought guys would be lining up to date you. “it’s not embarrassing so don’t worry your head about that and sure I’ve had my share of..relationships but it’s nothing special as people make it out to be. if you want I can even help you with your little problem.” he hears himself get carried away with that last sentence, the damage being undoable as you try to think of he really said that. the older man that works for your father, really just said that? “really? you would kiss me?” of course he would kiss you, it’s taking a lot from him to not pounce on you right then and there. and logan just nods, scooting his chair back so you have space to sit. “yeah, come sit. it’s just a kiss.” he says patting at his lap with the beer bottle still in his hand, you hesitate but climb onto the seat making yourself comfortable on his legs. placing one of your arms around his neck for balance, waiting for his next move. “calm down bub your hearts practically beating out your chest.” he says chuckling and you just softly smile, embarrassed he can hear how nervous you are. “ready? don’t be so nervous, y’re okay, doing just fine already baby.” he says that as if that could make you any calmer, sliding his hand on your waist to make you come closer. you’re breathing so hard you could hear the breaths, closing your eyes trying to copy what the girls do in the romance movies you used to watch, and you feel your lips touch his. soft with a faint smell of beer, a very gentle kiss with his rough hand holding the side of your jaw.

you think to yourself how much more you crave from him, not only wanting his lips but it’s too late. he pulls away from the kiss to see you, looking around in your eyes to see if he wasn’t the only one that enjoyed it a little more than he should have. “lemme have a look at ya, how was it bub? hmm, was it good?” you chew the inside of your mouth staring at him, your chest heaving up and down as you try to come up with a way to ask for more. “it was great..” you say dropping your head to his chest, “would you be mad if I wanted t’do it again?” you say quietly, waiting for a response only hoping he wants it as bad as you, and he does, he wants even more than what your thinking of. your jaw is picked up by his hands as logan rests it on your cheek, looking at you so softly. “kid i could would never be mad at you, especially about something like that c’mere.” he says smiling into the kiss, this time going in deeper, sucking on your lips as if he wanted to eat you. beneath you, you feel something hard rising against your heat, pushing through logans jeans and up into your dress. you rub your thighs together trying to relief yourself from the throbbing sensation in your cunt from all this kissing but it doesn’t work, all your commotion alerting logan. “what happened down here bub?” he says rubbing his hand up and down your thighs, getting needier by the minute ypu snap and take logans hand, spreading your legs open and holding it in between your legs. “I need you to touch me lo..” you whine, a newfound nickname you gave him, probably resulting from how needy you were. this was all you needed to say to set him off, the position you were sat in, the pleading eyes and that goddamn sentence just now. he lifts you up wrapping your legs around his waist as he basically ravishes at your lips, growling at you through the kiss walking out the kitchen. “where’s your room?” he says looking like he’s on a mission and your bust out in giggles pointing him up the stairs to your room. you get you your bedroom and logan places you on the bed, you watch him as he takes off his shirt, still kissing you and traveling down all over your body. sucking and biting at your lips he spreads your legs in front of him, grabbing your underwear from underneath your dress and sliding it down your legs making you shiver. “I have to stretch you out a bit alright bub? come sit here.” he says motioning to you for the spot in between his legs, doing as your told you make yourself comfortable, not ever having done this before you let logan guide the way. he rests his hand on your waist, sitting behind you kissing your neck as his other hand travels down your pussy, his rough fingers coated in your slick just from the slight touch. “you really needed my help huh needy girl..” he says whispering, taking two fingers and spreading apart your folds looking at how wet you were. he pushes two digits in and you wince, his thick fingers already feeling so good you can’t even imagine how it would feel when he actually fucks you.

logan keeps thrusts his fingers in and out your cunt as you squirm around in his lap, stimulation sending you over the edge especially with the sweet whispers logan says in your ear. “atta girl, your swallowing up my fingers good bub..” praising you as you whine in his lap grabbing at his neck behind you, “s’enough now logan.. gon-gonna cum!” you say with a sob, you could feel how deep his fingers were stretching you, you could feel his thumb circling around your clit and you could only take so much. “good girl cum on my fingers..” and you do just that, coating his two digits with your mess, leaving a white ring at the base of his fingers. he has you out of breath, your head resting on his chest as you come down from the intensity. logan keeps you close to him, swaying a little back and forth letting you collect yourself, planting kisses on your neck as he slowly removes your white dress. taking the straps off and unzipping it, “up.” he says, wanting you to lift your arms and you do tiredly, you get up from his lap and lay down on your bed staring at logan. you watch as he unbuckles his pants, a bulge prodding and stretching the fabric of his boxers. “we’re gonna take it slow alright, if we go too fast you’ll get hurt so let me take care of you baby..” he’s says to you but you can barely hear, focused on his dick that is now out of his boxers standing tall, wondering if you were too confident and if you can even take all of him. he moves both your legs to be spread out on sides of his body, positioning himself in front of your cunt. “you ready?” logan asks you and you nod, earning a disapproving head shake from logan. “words bub, c’mon.” he says again tapping at your cheek, “yes m’ready logan!” you say, a certain huffiness in your tone just waiting for him to put it in. he pushes the tip of his cock in, already feeling a huge difference from his just his fingers, grunting above you. “fuck baby..so fuckin tight for me..” you can only sob in response, scratching at his back trying to brace yourself for taking in all his length. “hngh it’s s’really big lo!” you say, your body rocking against the bed as he thrust into you, slow strokes into your wet cunt making you feel every inch. “taking me so good sweet girl, so fuckin good..” he says kissing at your neck, being ever so gentle with you as he plows himself into your pussy, your messy cunt being heard all over the room. you feel a tremble in your tummy, the same feeling you got when you were stuffed with logans fingers just a few moments before. grasping at his back you look up at him with needy eyes, the older man locks eyes with you and it’s like he can read your mind. reaching his hand down to your achey cunt and rubbing your clit, he has you quivering under him with your legs shaking. “yeah you gonna cum for me baby hm?”

nodding at him suddenly you let out a gasp, feeling logan press down on your stomach as he’s fully deep inside you, the print of his dick showing in the pudge of your tummy. it makes you whine even more from all the pressure, closing your quivering legs in on his waist from the stimulation and the intense pressure as he snickers above you, “feels good huh bubba..” you cry when he hits that deep spot in you, your hands rushing to his abdomen trying to make him slow down. “w-wait logan please! that’s too much!” and he just smiles down at you, “move your hands, look your already taking me so well..your okay baby c’mon.” he says as you take your arms away hesitantly, the tears in your eyes rolling off your cheek onto the bed. “good girl, see?” taking one of his hands and grabbing the both of yours placing it at the top of your head making it harder for you to squirm, pounding into you as you begin to climax. “m’cumming logan..!” you slur out, unconsciously squeezing around logans length, “fuck me too baby.. give it to me c’mon.” he says wincing, loud squelches echoing in the room as you both cum together, hearing him growl above you feel him filling your hole, grunting as he makes sure you take all of it. you lay there on the bed catching your breath as you come down from your high, logan comes into your view holding your cheek in his hand rubbing it, “did so for me good pretty girl, you wanna get cleaned up?” and you nod your head tiredly, “mm yes please but can you do it for me lo..” you say, eyes already shutting down on you making logan smile, “sure kid.” he says picking you up, walking to the bathroom with you in his arms wondering how the hell is he gonna show up for work with your dad next week.

#logan howlett x reader <3 #wolverine x reader <3 #wolverine #logan howlett #logan smut #wolverine smut #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #im sorry this took so long tinkas

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eupheme · 5 months

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— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope.

You hadn’t.

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure.

It doesn't fucking matter.

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you.

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy.

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic.

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat.

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals.

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in.

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you.

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together.

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound.

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you.

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough.

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead.

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber.

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones.

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into.

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them.

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm.

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs.

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free.

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest.

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again.

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way.

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye.

You both know how this will go, when you get back home.

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart.

Maybe he’d show.

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after.

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart.

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge.

No one was coming for you.

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin.

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him.

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls.

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below.

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience.

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret.

Comin' after a girl then, too.

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind.

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago.

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back.

But he's never much liked being underground.

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through.

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that.

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you.

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons.

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow.

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet.

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth.

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently.

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all.

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away.

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation.

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes.

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after.

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck.

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down.

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.

His whistle echoes in the chamber.

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him.

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery.

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death.

It rankles him, teeth set on edge.

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice.

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember.

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that.

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck.

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice.

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers.

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back.

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been.

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you.

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him.

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor.

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash.

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires.

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second.

Always too goddamn slow.

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado.

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired.

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door.

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him.

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back.

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast.

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought.

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long.

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices.

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat.

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched.

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments.

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal.

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting.

He had blown through them like it was nothing.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement.

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head.

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs.

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did.

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you.

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years.

You’re not able to resist.

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw.

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering.

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer.

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands.

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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bbyhellfire · 2 months

Text

playing the part

eddie munson x reefer rick's ex!fem!reader

[series masterlist] [e.m. masterlist]

➠ summary: eddie gets distracted during a prison call from rick

➠ word count: 1.6k

➠ warnings: 18+ only, smut, outdoor sex, p in v, oral (r receiving), misogynistic/sexist comment from rick, flashbacks in italics

“And those cock sucking COs took it! Y’know how long I spent makin’ that batch?”

Five days. It took Rick five days to ferment his most recent batch of hooch. Two weeks if you include the time spent waiting for the commissary to restock oranges.

“Five days! Not to mention waitin' for commissary to bring back oranges. Lazy fuckers. Two weeks for some goddamn fruit…”

Eddie mutters a lifeless “That’s fucked up, man”, but Rick is already lamenting about prison contraband. In about two minutes, he'll transition to complaints about his cellmate, a young kid who is horrible at prison poker.

He knows. This isn't the first, second, or even third time they've had this conversation. But once Rick starts, he doesn’t stop. No matter how little time is left, which inmate is yelling at him to stop hogging the phone, or what excuse Eddie has. Nothing works. All he can do is play along until Rick drops the charade.

“I tell ‘im, he’s gotta show me respect. He can't bet my toilet paper 'cos he lost his...”

Running a hand through his hair, Eddie flops back into his chair as his patience ticks away with each passing second.

It's not like they were close before Rick's sentencing. Sure, they were friendly, but they were never friends. They were as close as a drug supplier and their dealer could be, but even that isn’t enough to justify these biweekly calls. Rick claims it's so he remains connected to the outside world, which may be partially true but it's not the complete truth. He doesn't call to shoot the shit, and he doesn't act without an ulterior motive. Eddie has something he wants.

“You have one minute left.”

The automated message has Eddie bolting straight up as if there is a drill sergeant breathing down his neck. Thank fuck, he thinks as he taps his rings against the linoleum table top.

"Well, that’s my cue to go. Good luck with your celly, man.”

“Wait, wait! We got time. How’s my girl? She staying out of trouble?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, slumping back in his seat with an exasperated eye roll. She’s not your girl. That's what he wants to say.

“As far as I can tell.”

“She still working at Benny’s?”

“Yeah, saw her there last week," His eyes flicker towards the kitchen clock, the minute hand creeping past the number 4 as another minute is consumed by Rick's yapping. “Rick, I really–”

“Any customers making a move?”

Now that makes his mind white out, only the memory of his last visit to Benny's Burgers flashes behind his eyes.

“Eddie, I don’t have a lot of time.” Your warning was at odds with your actions. With your skirt shucked up to your waist, you pulled your underwear to the side to expose your puffy pussy.

“Relax, sweetheart,” His words dripped like honey as he tugged down his own pants just enough to get his cock out. “We’ve got ten minutes.”

Fucking in the woods behind Benny’s wasn't ideal, but with his band’s equipment taking up the back of his van, your options were limited. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. The woods offered enough coverage to keep your lewd actions hidden, but close enough to hear Benny calling for you if there was a rush of customers.

“I’ll need to fix my ha–” Your words were interrupted with a rush of breath as he fed you the first inch of his cock. “Hair! Oh, fuck, Eddie.”

“I know. Just let me take care of you, ‘kay?”

Every nerve in his body thrummed as he pulled back before pushing back into you. While you scrabbled for purchase into the tree in front you, Eddie clung to you like an anchor, both arms wrapped around you as he thrust into you.

It's when you choked on his name that he knew he was dragging against your sensitive spot. He pushed a hand down so his fingers could rub quick circles against your clit.

“There you go, baby.”

The lewd, sweet slaps of his hips against your ass echo through the trees. He’s almost hoping someone hears. It's a perverted show of pride, one that would make him cringe if not for the suffocating cloud of pleasure. But he wants people to know that it's him, the town freak, that is making the pretty waitress feel good.

Another automated warning comes to pull Eddie back to his uncle's trailer. The familiar feeling of lust creeps in his lower abdomen.

“Not that I've seen. She’s keeping to herself.”

“Well, what about at night?” Rick presses. They have less than 30 seconds left and he is intent on using every last one. “Maybe she's got some limp dick keeping 'er warm at night?"

Eddie can't help put raise his eyebrows at that. Well...

He wasn’t planning on spending the night, but the Indiana weather had other plans. A storm rolled in, thundering with such chaos that it knocked out the power and flooded most of the major roads.

Not that he was too upset.

All that was waiting for him back at the trailer was a can of soup and the ten o'clock news. But here, he got to revel in the sight of you laid out on Rick's your living room floor, your pretty legs spread open to invite him in. Tender and inviting, he pressed slow and respectful kisses down to your cunt, acting as if he wasn't the messiest pussy eater in Hawkins.

“That feels nice,” You breathed, watching him with blown out pupils. His stomach twists, and he hopes it's because of him and not the downed power lines.

“I want it to,” He murmured, his messy curls tickling your inner thighs. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

He closed his eyes to feast like you were a delicacy. He took his time, licking and prodding, until another wave of arousal coated his tongue. You mentioned Rick rarely went down on you, and if he did, it wasn't anything extraordinary. Eddie was determined to make up for that.

“Y–yeah?”

“Mhmm. Like candy. Messy too. Think I’m gonna have to stay here a while, make this little hole all drooly. Maybe get your clit to come out and play, too." He trailed the tip of his tongue through the mess you were making, warm and wet, moving up to flick against your clit.

"She loves it when I play with her, doesn't she?" – kiss – "Likes it when I kiss her" – kiss – "love her."

“Oh God,” Your hands covered your face, but your giggles still seeped through your fingers. “I can’t believe you refer to my pussy as its own person.”

“Gotta give her the respect she deserves, sweetheart.”

“Eddie? You there, man?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just a bit…distracted.” He stammers, palming himself through his boxers. No way is he chubbing up while on the phone Reefer fucking Rick. His heartbeat speeds up to a heavy thumping that he hopes can't be heard through the phone. "No, I drove by last night and didn’t see any cars.”

But Rick just can't take no for an answer. "You check inside?"

Now Eddie's patience is running on empty. "Jesus H. Christ, no man. Fuck no! The town already thinks I'm a satanist, don't need to add Peeping Tom to it."

"Yeah, yeah you're right," Rick concedes, although the disappointment is palpable. "I know she's not doin' anythin', she loyal. But you never know with females. It's their hormones, makes 'em stupid. But shit man, you gotta lay off the weed! You're spacin’ out like that, no wonder you’re still in school.”

Yeah, no. Eddie is done. His fingers tighten around the phone, squeezing tight until his knuckles turn white. He shouldn't. He really fucking shouldn't.

“...You know? Repeating senior year isn’t gonna attract the ladies. How you gonna find a good girl like mine if you’re still in school? Gotta be a man and finish. Don’t wanna turn out like your daddy or your uncle–”

“Fifteen second remaining. Please hang up now.”

He should bite his tongue, just grin and bear it, but Eddie isn't exactly known for keeping his head down. Just yesterday Uncle Wayne was joked how he needs a padlock installed on his mouth because right now, his mouth is moving too quickly for his common sense to catch up.

“You know what? You're right. I need to find a good girl. I actually have one in mind. You might know her, really pretty. She works at Ben–"

Click!

"The call has ended. Thank you for using Securus Calling Service."

"Jesus H. Christ," He mutters. It's a surprise the phone isn't ripped off the wall considering how hard he slammed down the receiver. He runs his hands over his face, rubbing hard as if he can scrub away his words.

It was a dumb move, childish impulsivity at its finest.

So why doesn't he care?

A few months ago, he'd be spiraling. Piercing stabs of anxiety poking him all over until his skin felt raw. Chain smoking until there was a mountain of cigarette butts he could bury his head in.

But now.

Now the needles of anxiety are more of an annoying pinch. It's been months since you and Eddie started...whatever this is between you. The strict rules you initially set have relaxed from a mixture of exhaustion and simply not giving a fuck.

Eddie parks his van right out front where anyone driving along Holland Road could see. You're no longer quiet when Eddie is on the phone with Rick. Hell, last time you stood in front of him dressed in only a Hellfire shirt, calling his name like a song and curling your finger towards his room. Rick still thought it was bad reception that abruptly ended the call.

It's stupid dumb how obvious you are. Something straight out of an afternoon sitcom, all that's missing is a laugh track. And, sure, the logical thing might be to re-evaluate the situation and remember that the both of you are playing with fire, but it's too much fun. You're too much fun. And beautiful and funny and clever and kind and —

And if it means Eddie's life is now a tv show, he just hopes it ends with a happily ever after and not tragedy.

banners by @/adornedwithlight

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@bl00d-puppy @demibats

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson series #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #bbyhellfire

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readychilledwine · 19 days

Text

Blooms and Blossoms

Summary - The building was perfect, bones ready for a new owner and beginning. Now Elain just had to convince Rhysand to let her have it.

Warnings - None, unless you want to count female independency

A/N - Happy @elainarcheronweek day 6! I think Elain is all of us flower girls who secretly wish we could be running a floral shop *dreamy sigh*. I just know her shop would be gorgeous.

🌸Elain Week Masterlist🌸Master Masterlist🌸

Velaris was never a sleepy town. Elain had realized that very quickly into her newest adventure as she had begun to call being made fae. The streets were always full of light and life. Footsteps and music following every twist and turn on the streets.

She noticed flowers everywhere. Every shop window, planters paid for by Feyre and Rhysand, large gardens, but there were no floral shops. No places for males and females to treat themselves to the beauty only petals could bring. She had been hunting for days to change that, and as she dragged a very confused Rhysand with her, she had a solution.

Elain stopped in front of an empty shop. No sign to detail what had once been, dust gathering on the windows, “Here.” The shop was located in the Rainbow. Near Feyre, yet far enough away the sisters would not be close enough to annoy each other.

“Here what?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother in law before dragging him inside the building. “Look at how perfect the bones of this place are.” Walls that needed fresh paint, floors in need of a good clean and stain. Counters he'd want to replace as soon as he saw her vision. “I want the till here,” she motioned to the empty counter space where she envisioned something ornate and gold to hold coins. “Coolings here?”

Rhysand was slowly catching on, a soft smile playing on his lips. “More windows,” he turned her to the main wall facing the street, for your floral displays and season decor. You will be required to change it for Starfall and Solstice.”

Elain nodded excitedly, “Maybe a new door? With a bell? You know that is one of my favorite sounds.”

“I'm picturing light blush walls,” he began. “To bring out the color in the petals. Neutral countertops, perhaps a white marble?” He began to walk around the large building. “Darker Stained floors.”

“Darker. Definitely a deep rich color,” she agreed before moving with him. It was working. Her goal was slowly coming into fruition. “Blooms and Blossoms,” she said the cheesy name, biting her inner lip and waiting for him to reject it.

Rhysand only glanced back at her, “Very catchy. Nothing around here or in the shopping quarters has a similar name, My dear.” He watched her lip trembled, watching as the happiest of tears began to pool. “An interesting fact. Feyre and I own this building. The former owner could not find a buyer before her marriage to a Day Court noble came. Feyre bought it from her out of kindness.” He motioned for her to follow, knowing she probably had not seen the back.

Her hand found his as they walked through the dark, trusting her brother to get her to whatever he was showing her safely. He opened the door to the back of the shop.

A greenhouse. The shop already had a beautiful greenhouse, archway massive and ready in place. “The artist who owned this building specialized in making paints and art supplies from flowers, berries, and foliage. She grew it all to capitalize on profit.”

Elain walked around the huge greenhouse, now bare bones, but ready and aching to grow life again. “Rhys, please.”

He nodded before motioning for her to come back to him. “It is yours. Work will begin tomorrow.”

Board by board, day in and day out, Elain watched as her dreams were built. Seeds and bulbs planted, suppliers contacted. Each moment was reality growing near. Dusty aged wood was made new again, a deep mahogany stain freshly laid with a satin finish. Walls primed and changed to a soft blush pink. The old worn countertops were removed and replaced with a white and gray marble. A gold register with flowers and fauna carved into it is placed. Every change had Elain in Rhysand's office, the most alive he had ever seen her.

She was electric like this. Her joy became contagious as the Inner Circle learned of her shop, and as opening day approached rumors were spreading through Velaris.

Elain had started spending more and more time at the shop, preparing bouquets of roses, wild flowers mixes, daisies, whatever she could in pretty glass and clay vases. She hummed to herself as she worked on her current project, 24 long stem red roses mixed with fresh baby's breath and soft feather-like foliage. She had not noticed Rhysand enter from the back shop door. She had not noticed his smile as he watched her. She only noticed when he came to the register, placing gold in the till before kissing her cheek.

“I'd like that one,” he hugged her. “It exactly what I was wanting.”

“Take your money back, you aren’t-”

He shook his head, picking a clear glass vase with an iridescent glazing, “I am your first customer, little sister.”

Those words made her heart ache, from joy, from gratitude, from the love pouring from her very chest. “Rhysand-”

“I am so proud of you,” he stopped her sentence, knowing she was going to argue. “So very proud. You've come to life, Elain.” He pulled her to him, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Have you gotten to see the sign we had done?”

She shook her head, letting him pull her to the beautiful new stained glass door and wall of curtained off windows before pulling her outside.

“Blooms and Blossoms” was painted in a soft scroll on the largest window. It would be surrounded by her hanging pots and the flowers she had potted that could withstand the brightness of the window. Feyre had planned and centered it perfectly. Each season, it would shine, obvious to all who passed that this was the floral shop she hoped people would come to be regulars at.

“I saw all the beautiful exotics and staple plants you enchanted and are growing,” Rhysand wrapped an arm around Elain's shoulder. “Your suppliers are also doing wonderfully so far. The trade it's created has helped with a few other niche things we have here.” Rhysand's voice was soft as the two of them stared at the shop window.

“Thank you,” she finally gave him her gratitude after moments of just taking this in. “For funding this, for believing in me and my dreams.”

“That's what Velaris is for,” he whispered into her hair, “Dreamers.”

The next day was loud. It was crazy. Elain had not sat since the opening day party began. She had been blind to Rhysand and Feyre's influence before, but the fae of Velaris rushed to the shop she owned, purchasing single stems, mixed bundles, and house plants. Her smile stayed wide and ready all day, constantly holding in tears of joy as she did.

She was a business owner.

Her passion now a livelihood.

Cassian locked the door as the shopping day came to a close, and the last customer left. Elain slowly closed the curtains as her sisters and the Inner Circle stood in the flower shop. “That was insane,” Mor huffed as she fell to one of the client chairs Elain would use for custom orders. “How much did she make, Rhysie?”

The High Lord was deep into counting for Elain, shaking his head with a smirk, “More than enough to buy us all a round or two at Rita's.”

Elain squealed before bouncing slightly, “I have money to pay?!”

Everyone stared towards her before Feyre spoke, “You won't be paying, but yes?”

Elain screamed with joy, the fulfillment of having her own income almost too much for her. “I have my own money!”

They all glanced at each other as the middle sister began to skip and clean, singing softly to herself about being independent and having money.

“It seems this was about more than flowers,” Azriel muttered to Nesta.

The eldest sister just smiled at him, “It was about passion,” she said slowly. “And about gaining independence through doing something by her own choice.”

Azriel hummed, “Then it would seem she should be allowed to make whatever choices make her happy if this is the result.”

Nesta nodded in agreement as Elain skipped to Lucien, showing him the till, “It would seem she should.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

#elizabeths.updates #send asks #send anons #acotar #elain archeron week #elain acotar #elain acosf #elain archeron acotar #elain archeron #pro elain #elain archeron week day 6

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twistedroseytoesy · 2 years

Note

Heyy! i can't seem to find a rules page and I don't know if your requests are open or not but if they are I would like to request a megalodon!reader x octavinells

If your reqs are closed please ignore this

Have a good day (^°^)/

Thank you for inspiring me to make a rules page! Also ask box is always open, Might take me a while to post the story to asks. But it’s always open annd they will get done unless I say otherwise! Thank you for the request!

Description

the most deadly and historically known terror of the sea other than the Kraken. Thought to be extinct. Until you came along. From another world where merfolk exist along with more ancient forms of sea life. Your mer form is a startling 47 feet long, rendering you the size of a whale. Many who saw your mer form believed you to be a whale, until they saw your many rows of gigantic sharp teeth. Your jaws are a bit larger than normal and you have a scary bite force, able to bite through steel if you really tried.

Your human form is an intimidating 8 ft tall. With a shark toosh smile similar to the tweel's smiles, you just have multiple rows of teeth. a rather prominent jaw to house your impressive bite and larger strong limbs to show that you are an apex predator. Anyone who tried to mess with you would come beaten and bruised, maybe a broken bone and a bite mark if they truly pissed you off.

Octavinelle

Azul: Honestly thought you weren't that smart due to how you acted more like a cliche jock. Tried to trick you into working for him as a bouncer and waiter due to your impressive size and strength keeping many in line. Unfortunately for him, you knew of his shady dealings and gave him a piece of your mind. Over time he started to work his way into being a friend of yours. He was also the only one more than happy to serve you so much food, you ate a horrifying amount that would make most buffets struggle after you left. asks to have some of your teeth if you shed/lose any so he can sell them, gives you 40% of the profit. Congratulates you on being a part of Mostro lounge's first official merch, the megalodon tooth necklace!

When he first encountered your mer form he nearly inked himself at your huge size! You're the size of a whale with the abilities and cunningness of a great white shark! you teased him a bit at how bite-sized he and the twins are compared to you, but you've grown soft for them so they can stay around.

Overall he's fairly scared of you for good reason. Eventually gets you to work for mostro lounge as a bouncer and a merch supplier in return for you getting large meals that would make any competitive eater gawk in awe.

Jade: Finds you so fascinating and asks many questions of what other animals are common in your world but extinct in this one. At first, he is rather annoying to you, like a dolphin that wouldn't leave you alone. Of course over time he is able to find and connect with you over interests in the world above the sea. Despite your large size, you enjoy the hikes through the mountains with him and the trivia he shares. You enjoy the texture of wood and like biting large branches in half for the fun of it.

When he first encountered your mer form he was in awe. Carefully circling you and feeling every part you allowed him to. the way he liked to cling to the underside of your right fin reminded you of the large remoras that liked to accompany you back home. you humar his questions and if he tried to vagly threaten you or annoys you enough with questions you easily fling him out of the water.

Overall, he is interested in you and your powerful jaws' abilities. Collects your teeth after experiments for the lounge and tries to find something for you to safely chew on other than old tree branches. asks too many questions for your liking but oh well.

Floyd: Called you "Sharkie" at first because you acted like a big tough shark he knew once. Likes to climb you due to your large stature. laughs when you throw him off. Also likes it when you chase him because he tried to bite you. You're so much fun to play and mess around with! once he is told what you are he calls you either "megalodon" or "mega shark".

When he first saw your merform was one of the few times he was entirely still around you. There are very few things that are larger than him and jade other than some whales and they are harmless compared to you now. When you smirk at him he zooms around you. Asking excitedly if you were a megalodon. you say yes with pride and he immediately tries to steal a tooth. able to get one just before you try to bite him in half. initiates lots of chasing games, usually, you chasing after him. Over time you find it rather fun, sometimes catching him gently in your jaws. Azul fainted one time when he witness you doing this. Jade looked about ready to murder before floyd happily wiggled out from between your jaws.

Overall, you're super fun to play with and he loves the danger adrenaline high you give him when you chase him in either form. also tried to do a biting competition but stoped when he chipped a tooth.

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captain-mj · 2 years

Text

London Fog Latte

Y'all remember the Selkie coffeeshop au I promised??? First installment. I decided I'd rather get a short chapter out now than keep you guys waiting so here y'all go

Ghost let himself be dragged around by Jason into the coffee shop. It was named The Sealie Cafe.

What a weird fucking pun.

Ghost was an easy person. If it was up to him, he would’ve went to the same coffee shop he’s always went to and would continue going to that one until the day he died. However, it had changed… something. All of the tea and coffee, no matter what he got, tasted off. Not bad, off. Like they had changed suppliers or something.

For some reason, changing cafes entirely was much easier for him than having to adjust to the horrible change.

His friend, Jason, was talking to him, though it was a bit hard to make out his words. He spoke too fast and Ghost still felt really jet lagged. He had just come home for leave and this bastard had picked him up from the airport literally the night before. Before coming home, he had been in fucking Mexico and spent forever in a plane and he had woke him up at too fucking early o’clock to go to a coffee shop that would be open all day.

The inside of the coffee shop looked cozy. Rustic wood furniture, lots of windows to let in light, a menu that looked simplified but Ghost couldn’t put his thoughts together to read it. There was also a small display with little deserts and pastries and he considered eating for just a moment but nothing caught his fancy.

“They have earl gray tea.” Jason decided to help him out, noticing the way Ghost’s eyes unfocused every time he looked at the board with everything on it.

“Thanks.” He mumbled to Jason, not bothering to look at the menu any further. Ghost went to let Jason order for both of them before seeing the barista.

His nametag read Soap. Funny name. But that wasn’t where his focus was.

Soap looked gorgeous. He had a mohawk and gold earrings, studs with a matching hoop. No rings, probably due to his job, but he had black painted nails.

The gold was what got Ghost’s attention initially. They glittered gently as he moved, holding the light and almost glowing.

But then he focused on him a little more. Soap had the most striking blue eyes.

Ghost shoved Jason to the side. “One London Fog Latte and a White Mocha, please.” He caught Jason’s confusion before he put on a stupid smile.

“Of course, what’s the name?” Soap had a scottish accent. It was thick and added some gravel to his voice. Standing this close, Ghost could also see their height difference a little better. Soap wasn’t a small man, but when put next to Ghost, he didn’t look very tall at all. He had to lean back and look up so they could make eye contact.

“Ghost.”

“Just Ghost? That’s a funny name.” Soap teased him but wrote it on the cup. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was working food service, Ghost couldn’t blame him. “I’ll have that right out to you.”

He felt his face heat up at the teasing but luckily he was wearing his ski mask. Blushing like an idiot in front of the hot barista would be embarrassing.

Jason tugged his sleeve and Ghost realized he needed to get out of line.

Soap had a smile on his face, this one seeming just a tad bit more genuine like he knew Ghost had gotten distracted by him.

Nevermind, this was already embarrassing.

He let Jason tug him away to a table.

“Knew you’d think he was hot.”

“And you didn’t warn me?? I would’ve tried to look nicer.” Ghost groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Jason took a moment to look at what Ghost was wearing. Dark jeans, white shirt, leather jacket, tons of rings and bracelets that glittered. Only skin showing was his hands and wrists.

“Dude, you literally don’t have nicer clothes than this.”

“Get fucked.” Ghost scoffed at him.

Jason laughed. “I mean I guess you could’ve taken off your mask.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Exactly! Not like you have to worry about having a bad hair day… do you even have hair under there?” Jason smiled at him, clearly teasing.

“Yes. I have hair. I refuse to shave it.” Ghost glanced over to Soap again. Soap swayed just a little as he made the drinks. He was captivating.

“Dude, you’re staring again.”

Ghost quickly looked back at Jason who was smiling.

“Is he single?”

“I don’t know man. Ask him.” Jason patted him encouragingly. Ghost stared at him, thinking of nothing he wanted less than to do that. If Soap wasn’t single, he’d have to kill himself expeditiously. He didn’t want anyone to have that guilt on their hands.

Soap actually brought their cups to the table, something that caught Ghost off guard since that wasn’t usually what baristas did. He smiled at Ghost immediately and set the cup in front of him. Jason’s drink just got set to the side.

Ghost grabbed the cup, not wanting to take his mask off to drink it in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem Ghost! Come back some time.” Soap winked and walked away.

Jason stared at Soap’s back as he walked away before glancing at Ghost. “I’ve never seen such blatant flirting before. How does it feel to be God’s favorite?”

Ghost blushed more. “I don’t know if that was flirting.”

“He winked.”

“Well, yeah, but maybe that’s just his personality.”

Jason stared at him before reaching for his drink.

Ghost went to take a sip of the latte before noticing the foam. It had been shaped like a heart with lavender buds on it. Lavender wasn’t unusual for Earl Grey drinks. Not unusual at all. But the piece of honey comb was, along with the way it had clearly been made to look cute. He felt himself blush more.

Before he had an opportunity to point it out, Jason had tilted his drink to him to show that he had, in fact, not gotten the special treatment.

“Dude is flirting with you so fucking hard man.”

“Okay, maybe he is.”

#johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #Selkie coffeeshop au

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thesprouts02 · 2 months

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fazalkhan2914 · 1 month

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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By: Keith Woods

Published: Jul 2, 2023

A look at slavery outside of the West

It has become popular to blame White people for slavery, to the point that many actually believe slavery was invented by or exclusively practiced by Europeans.

But the history of slavery outside the West is far more brutal.

The Arab slave trade emerged in the 7th century, 10 centuries before the Atlantic slave trade

Arabs sold Africans to the Middle East for a variety of jobs such as domestic work or harem guards - castrating male slaves was common, causing over half of males to bleed to death

The Arab slave trade was particularly brutal: it's estimated that 3/4 captured slaves died before they reached the market for sale

Historians estimate that between 10 and 18 million people were enslaved by Arab slave traders, including women and children taken as concubines.

Arabs did not create the slave trade out of nothing, in fact, enslaving conquered tribes was already common practice in Central Africa when they arrived.

The West African Songhai Empire relied heavily on captured slaves in all levels of society, even as soldiers.

Africans themselves also played a large role in facilitating the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

African tribes conducted raids on rival groups to provide slaves for sale. African middlemen facilitated trade between European traders and African suppliers.

The Arabs also had a slave trade in Europe. Estimates are that up to 1.25 million Europeans were enslaved by Barbary pirates, who would raid villages in coastal countries like Italy, France, England and Ireland, bringing them to North Africa for sale.

In some cases entire villages would be captured, such as the Irish coastal village of Baltimore, entirely raided in 1631.

These slaves faced a brutal future, engaging in hard labour or sexual servitude, and spending nights hot and overcrowded prisons called bagnios.

Many slaves captured by Barbary pirates were sold eastwards into the Ottoman Empire. Slavery was central to the Ottoman Empire, most towns had dedicated slavery markets called Yesirs.

Slaves came from Africa, the Caucasus, the Balkans and Eastern & Southern Europe.

Sexual slavery was a big part of Ottoman society. Slavic women were popular slaves, and Köçeks became a popular source of entertainment in the 19th century:

These were young boys, usually from European backgrounds, who were circumcised, cross-dressed and trained as dancers.

Hereditrary slavery is recorded in China dating back to the Xia Dynasty in 2100 BC. Africans purchased on the Silk Road were used as a sign of wealth.

After Chinese law began to treat women as property around 1000AD it was common to sell daughters and sisters into slavery.

The Mongols enslaves tens of thousands of Chinese as punishment for resistance.

In the post-Mongol Ming Dynasty, thousands of slaves were employed to do bureaucratic jobs for the government, and rich families also employed thousands of slaves to perform menial labour.

Slavery was common in American civilizations like the Aztec and Maya

Among the Aztecs, slavery was a punishment for a variety of crimes or even failure to pay taxes. Husbands and wives sold each other in times of economic hardship. Slaves were identified by wooden collars.

Slavery was also common practice in the civilizations of South-East Asia.

The Khmer Empire had a massive slave class that did much of the work building monuments like Angkor Wat. Historians estimate 25-35% of the population of Thailand/Burma were slaves in the 17th century.

Slavery also existed among Native American tribes. Slavery was common practice among Northwest tribes like the Tlingit, for whom one third of their population during the mid-1800s were slaves.

Various tribes practiced debt-slavery and enslaved captives of other tribes.

The only difference between these cases of slavery and that practiced by Europeans is that Europeans abolished slavery on humanitarian grounds, and spread this across the globe.

The intense focus on the White role in slavery is a product of widespread Anti-White animus.

American exceptionalism comes in two varieties: "we're exceptionally virtuous," and "we're exceptionally evil."

Both rely on lying about or being ignorant of history.

https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/dashboards/schools_dashboard.aspx

And that's just American history. Can you imagine world history?

#Keith Woods #slavery #history #history of slavery #exceptionalism #American exceptionalism #inverted exceptionalism #religion is a mental illness

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sailtomarina · 1 year

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How to (Not) Properly Prepare Mandrakes

cw: mandrakes were definitely harmed in the writing of this story.

Neville led her into the greenhouse, his back broad and almost too wide for the tiny door creaking open at his touch.

“You’d think after all these years Sprout would have enlarged these doors,” Pansy mused. Of course, she had no problem walking through, despite her platform shoes. Heels might not be practical as a Healer, but she refused to give up any advantage she could take for a little more height.

Still, standing next to Neville and looking up at his amused smile, Pansy still felt she could use several more inches. Letting her eyes drag down unabashedly down his chest, muscled even beneath his gardening apron, and trim waist, she ended her inspection at his crotch.

She could do with several more inches, indeed.

“Pansy.” His tone caught her attention, and she looked up to see his smile had widened, the flash of his teeth white against his tan skin. “I didn’t say it earlier, but you’re looking good.”

Well, well, well.

“You’ve certainly grown up decently well yourself, Longbottom,” she teased. Who knew that underneath that bumbling, shy exterior existed this delicious man?

He blushed, grasping the back of his neck in a nervous gesture that gave her the distinct desire of teasing him some more. That wasn’t why she was here though. With a short shake of her head, she brought her attention back to the task at hand and the reason why she’d approached Neville Longbottom in the first place.

“So these are them, then?” she asked, indicating the potted plants on the table in front of them.

His hand dropped and he turned to face the mandrakes, his chest lifting and hands spanning to rest against the wood as confidence filled his voice. “Yes, I pulled these particular pots after our letters.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes as she inspected the plants. “These are fully mature mandrakes?” They looked smaller than she’d expected, not that she had handled the plants in any recent memory. The last time had been during their Hogwarts days, more than a decade past now.

“Only just. They’ll be moving in with one another any day now,” he affirmed.

Pansy hoped that her theories would prove correct. If the efficacy of their potions were indeed greatly improved upon the freshness of the mandrakes, then she planned to make an offer Neville and the Hogwarts board couldn’t refuse. St. Mungo’s current suppliers weren’t as particular on quality as they liked to claim, and no amount of cajoling on her end seemed to change the outcome.

“Well, then, shall we?” She held her hand out, waiting for the signature earmuffs she remembered from her childhood.

Neville looked at her askance. “What, you want to harvest them now?”

“Whyever not? I want to see the mandrakes for myself and see how you handle them. Isn’t that why you asked me to come up here?” This time it was Pansy’s turn to be confused. His last missive had invited her out to her alma mater at her soonest convenience.

“Well, I just thought you’d like to see the plants, then have a spot of tea and catch up.” He flushed a rich pink the moment the words left his lips. Pansy thought he never looked more adorable.

“I see. Owls not quite immediate enough for a conversation, Longbottom?” Salazar, he was fun to tease.

Pansy risked a glance at the hand propped on the desk. No ring. She hadn’t heard much about Longbottom before her current project and had assumed he’d gone off and married one of his Hufflepuff friends–Abbott, or maybe Bones. She might have even considered Granger given the way he’d panted after her when they were students. Too bad that particular Gryffindor was too busy dancing around Draco, neither of them fooling anybody with their attempt at secrecy.

“I didn’t think getting your hands dirty was an option.”

Merlin.

He said that sentence without any attempt at hiding his interest, his voice dropping at the idea of prim and proper Pansy Parkinson getting soiled. At least, that’s how she interpreted his change in tone.

“That’s what gloves are for,” she quipped. Once again, she looked around expectantly at the well-organized greenhouse. She didn’t see any gloves, or earmuffs.

“Well, that’s unfortunate because I prefer to go without. We also did away with earmuffs years ago,” he explained. Pansy opened her mouth to reply, but he beat her to it. “Let me demonstrate.”

Taking his cherry wand in hand, he intoned, “Sonus exsurdo.”

Her eyes widened at the immediate loss of sound. Delighting in her response, he raised both hands to clap straight into her face. Nothing. With another wave of his wand, sound was restored.

“That’s so much better than those cursed earmuffs!” Pansy had always hated wearing them. They only came in two garish colors and left indents in her hair.

“I do have some on hand just in case,” he admitted, “but I’ve never had need of them after learning that little charm. If you really want, I can also get you some gloves.”

Pansy considered his offer. She really did want to see the process first hand since she barely remembered her own experience. She also had a feeling Neville had his own techniques. “I do want to help you harvest them, but I’ll try it your way.”

He quirked a brow at her, and she elaborated, “No gloves.” She could just schedule a manicure for later that evening. His delighted laugh had her stomach flipping over, and she decided she was glad of her decision.

A short few minutes later, both of them deafened and a second apron procured for Pansy, they stood ready to get to work. Grasping the base of the plant firmly, Neville tugged upward in one smooth motion. As he did so, Pansy couldn’t help but admire the biceps that swelled with his effort. Her admiration halted at the first fling of dirt into her face.

The mandrake let out a wail that would have no doubt killed them on the spot without their charms. The monstrous little thing still had acne scars from its juvenile stage. Squealing and wiggling its arms, it seemed to beg for a return to its dark haven. Instead, Neville pinned the mandrake to the table top, raised a slender knife, and sliced straight through where the stem met the root. The mandrake went still. Blood pooled around the wound.

The suddenness of the act shocked Pansy to the core. She knew mandrakes were sliced and boiled in a variety of ways for use, but she hadn’t ever witnessed the actual moment of one’s death.

He proceeded to clean up the ends of the leaves, setting them aside to use elsewhere. He repeated the entire process with the remainder of the mandrakes. Thankfully, he tasked Pansy with uprooting the mandrakes while he handled the knife, and they set a steady rhythm. They were done with the table of pots after only an hour of little interruption.

The moment they stopped moving and Pansy set aside the last container, she flattened her palms on the table and willed them to stop trembling. No wonder the school never allowed students to harvest the mandrakes. They were just plants, but they were also far too humanoid for the act to feel as emotionless as she’d assumed.

So absorbed was she in her attempt to bring herself under control, that she startled at the return of her hearing.

“Everything alright, Pansy?” He sounded concerned, and Pansy looked up to meet his wide eyes with her own. They were hazel, little flecks of moss green in the light brown. His eyes were pretty. He looked worried.

“Yes, I’m sorry…that was just more than I expected.” She breathed in deep to steady herself.

He nodded sympathetically and, to her surprise once more, settled both hands on her shoulders and squeezed in reassurance.

His hands.

She dropped her gaze to look, fully expecting them to be covered with dirt and, in turn, staining her blouse.

His hands were spotless.

“How?”

Neville laughed, and she realized her mouth had dropped open. She shut it with an audible click and scowled.

“I have a little charm for the dirt, too,” he said, dimples deep in his cheeks.

He beckoned her hands forward. Once she raised them, he muttered and the dirt fell away as if it had never been there. Wandless. Impressive.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” They shared a grin at her question.

“You’ve barely seen anything,” he replied with a wink.

“Longbottom…”

His moment of confidence faltered at her drawl of his name, replaced with a blush so deep it made his earlier one look pale in comparison.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

She cut him off before he could misunderstand. “If you don’t show me more of these surprises, I just might cancel our plans right now.”

Pansy looked up at him coquettishly, biting her lip and hoping he was just as easily turned on as she already was. His gulp was apparent, and she held back her grin of triumph.

“How long has it been?” she asked. Pansy knew it was nosy, but she was genuinely curious.

“How long has what been?” he responded, confused.

Tilting her head and continuing to look up through her curtain of her bangs, she placed a hand on his belt and tugged in a manner that left absolutely no room for doubt.

“Oh!” Lips in an innocent little ‘o’, Neville tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling as he thought. If he wasn’t so tall, Pansy would place her teeth around the apple of his throat and swipe it with her tongue. “With someone, or…?”

Pansy smirked at the vision of Neville Longbottom wanking amidst the greenery of his greenhouses.

“It’s been a bit,” he admitted. “I’ve been so busy with students and keep such early hours that I end up going to bed before most bars even open.”

“But alone…” Pansy’s curiosity would kill her one day, but she needed to know.

Neville glanced over at the prepared mandrakes before answering her. “This morning, actually.”

“Wait, why did you look at the plants?” she demanded. Pansy had always known of his uncanny skills in Herbology, but she had never dared consider a more carnal application.

He stared at her as she fidgeted, blinking a few times in the silence. “Are you asking because you’re just curious?”

“I’d like to fuck, and if plants are involved, I want to know first,” Pansy said bluntly.

His cough didn’t cover up his laugh at all. “In that case, you ought to know that I frequently use plants to heighten certain sensations and induce hallucinations.”

Pansy looked between him and the mandrakes, brow furrowed. “Oh. That’s more elaborate than what I imagined.”

He looked like he was struggling to keep a straight face. “Which was?”

“I was thinking of something more along the lines of a cumsock.”

He really did have a lovely laugh. He threw his head back with the force of it, wiping away the tears from his eyes once he regained control of himself. “There are varieties that lend themselves well to that purpose, but I like to have more fun than that. I’ve cultivated specimens to do…more.”

“I have nothing else scheduled for today since I thought harvesting would take most of the evening,” Pansy announced.

She wasn’t usually so forward without a few drinks in the half light of whatever date location she usually required beforehand. Neville had her nearly stamping her feet in impatience–she wanted his pants off yesterday. She nearly swooned when he cast locking and silencing charms.

“Luckily, I can say the same today.” He turned to pick up one of the freshly plucked mandrake leaves. “I know you’re aware of the medicinal uses, but have you ever tried smoking it?”

Pansy had not, but she was not at all against trying as long as it was with Neville. She snapped her fingers and conjured a small flame, a trick that had his eyebrows jumping up into his hairline in appreciation. Shaking the same hand extinguished the fire.

“Fancy.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, swallowing heavily at the way his long fingers curled around hers. Strong. Deft. She imagined them inside of her, plunging deep and pressing just there.

She was keen to see what all he had hidden in his seemingly innocent garden beds, with or without his handy little cleaning charm. As long as Pansy experienced those hands for herself, she’d willingly butcher a hundred mandrakes. She’d even wear those fluffy monstrosities.

“Lead on, Longbottom.”

WC 2126

10/10 "Mandrakes" prompt from @hpkinktober

Cross posted on Tumblr and AO3

SO, mandrakes. Another plant. I guess I'm just into flora at the moment? Mandrakes can be kind of yikes depending on how I handle it, so I hope I made their use more exciting than frightening.

#panville #harry potter flashfic #harry potter fanfiction #pansy x neville #pansy parkinson #neville longbottom #hp kinktober 2023

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password-door-lock · 2 years

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From the pale pink wallpaper to the rose gold chandelier, everything looks deliberate, as if the room were decorated just for you… or, at least, as if it were cleaned very thoroughly immediately prior to your arrival. Before you can stop yourself, you run a tentative hand over the shining accents on the walls, lips parting in silent wonder as you attempt to determine whether the panel molding is plated with real metal leaf or just shiny paper. Either way, someone has clearly gone through a great deal of trouble to coordinate the metallic trim with the freshly-polished light fixture in the center of the room. A row of black and white photos hang in dark wood frames above the bed; upon inspection, you recognize only the Eiffel Tower, but imagine that the rest depict famous landmarks as well.

And the bed itself… you know you would stick out like a sore thumb if anyone could see you testing it out. You’ve never laid on anything so luxurious before, and your oversized hoodie and jeans feel out-of-place and scratchy against the impressive linens. The mattress makes you very aware of just how old the one you have at home is— if you had the budget to splurge on something new, this is what you would get. You make a mental note to ask Ray to refer you to his mattress supplier after you finish testing the game. The pillows are beyond plush; they seem to rise and meet your head as you sink back into them. The misty rose bedspread must be made of silk or some equally exquisite material, you decide as you raise yourself off of it. You can only imagine that the sheets will be just as comfortable, but you know that if you tuck yourself into bed now, you may forsake any further exploration in favor of sleeping.

The runner at the foot of the bed features bubblegum flowers against a blush background, a perfect complement to the delicate floral upholstery on the chairs at the center of the room. These, with their golden frames, sit on opposite sides of a small round table with a vase full of flowers positioned atop it. Your limited knowledge of flora in general and your inability to identify the blooms on the table (or the ones by your bed, for that matter) do nothing to stop you from admiring the purple flowers, and then the white ones in turn. They all look so beautiful that, were it not for the Eastertide scent that they project throughout the room, you would be inclined to believe that they were made of plastic.

You push aside the gossamer curtains for a moment and find, to your delight, that your room overlooks a sprawling garden, complete with hedges and floral awnings, which blooms with a vengeance across a series of plots and planters. It is wild and tame at once, nature bent to the will of some very talented gardener and their precise aesthetic vision. No wonder the flowers in the vases are so well-formed… they must have come from outside. You wonder, momentarily, what a game development company could possibly be doing with such an extravagant garden: but the answer occurs to you as quickly as the question did. It must be to boost the morale of the workers, since just looking out the window is having such a positive effect on your mood. You make a mental note to ask Ray about it, anyway— maybe if you bring it up, he might invite you out to get a closer look, and a little extra information wouldn’t hurt. Clearly you have a lot to learn about the world of game design: before this morning, you had no idea that companies hired random strangers to live onsite and test their games!

You imagine that Ray must have come across your resume online and decided that you fit the bill, though you have no idea where to even begin with what the bill might be for a mobile game app tester. Or maybe you’ve played one of his games before without even knowing it, and he figured that his new project would be something you’d like. Shaking your head, you allow the curtains to close, willing yourself away from the window and over to the closet at the opposite end of the room. Before leaving home, you shoved a few spare outfits into your bag, but you’d admittedly been more focused on rounding up such necessities as your toothbrush, wallet, and phone. In the closet, however, you find a seemingly endless supply of clothing; each extravagant garment seems well-made and impressive in its own right. Everything bears a strong floral scent, as if it had just been washed, though you figure that a good deal of the shirts hanging in front of you must be dry-clean only. They are organized by color, and although many of the pieces are a bit extreme for your tastes, accented with outrageous ruffles or perplexing combinations of ribbons, puffs, and lace, nothing looks as if it would be particularly unflattering on you. You can’t say that this wardrobe was curated with your personal style in mind, but you understand immediately that it was brought here for you. Does this game development company employ a team of stylists, too?

You pull a few shirts out of the closet, careful not to damage their elaborate accent pieces, and determine that each of them is roughly your size, with a negligible amount of variation between them. You would expect such fancy clothes to be stiff, but like the bed linens and the curtains, everything in the closet is pleasant to the touch, soft but sturdy. You replace the shirts and redirect your attention to the impressive dresser, which is of antiquated style and features not only drawers but a hat box. One of the drawers is empty— Ray and his contemporaries must have expected you to bring a few things of your own— but the other three are filled with pieces as exquisite as the ones in the closet and a few slightly less-decorated nightclothes, all of which still feature at least a subtle hint of lace. They remind you of the costumes from a period drama, or what a character in a fairy tale might wear— whoever left these things here for you evidently had a certain aesthetic in mind. You blush at the thought that Ray, with his tailored jacket and antiquated waistcoat, might have had something to do with this. Surely he would be too busy to go to so much trouble just for you.

You really do feel like royalty when you open the hat box and discover that it contains not hats but spools of ribbon, along with an ornate jewelry box in the same shade of pink as the wallpaper. You fiddle with the golden latch for a moment before the box springs open; you slam it shut and force the closure nearly as quickly. Surely that pearl necklace, those silver earrings, and that bejeweled bracelet must not be for you? You’re willing to believe that the game developers have supplied you with clothes, but fine jewelry… that seems a little much. You realize with a start that you’re still wearing your shoes and quickly toe them off, carrying them back over to the closet and setting them on beside the others on the shoe rack. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now the five odd pairs of shoes are obvious to you… they’re all very nice, ranging from silk slippers to leather loafers, but none are very practical. Your own sneakers are probably some of the only ones on the rack that would be able to handle getting wet, though it does not escape your notice that everything appears to be your size. How on Earth did anyone get ahold of that kind of information? Maybe you should start actually reading the terms of service agreements associated with the games you download.

After inspecting the fine white carpet for anything you might have tracked in (thankfully, despite their years of wear, your sneakers were relatively clean when you arrived), you make your way to the ensuite, which is just as magnificent as the bedroom is. The cool porcelain tub could be a work of art, with its elaborate clawed gold feet and spacious off-white body. Not for the first time, you wonder whether the gold is real or just for show. The vanity, in white marble with gold accents, looks equally as impressive, and out of the same curiosity that has gotten you this far, you cannot help but open the drawers. The first contains basic products— cotton swabs, toothpaste (in the brand you normally buy, no less!), a hairbrush, and deodorant (also in your typical brand). Your tastes must be so basic, if your hosts just happened to buy everything you normally use. But maybe that’s a good thing— after all, you wouldn’t get it if you didn’t like it, and you’ll admit that you were worried about not having your normal toiletries during your extended stay away from home.

The second drawer is stocked with skincare: the cleanser, toner, moisturizer, and scrub are all the same as the ones you use at home, but there are also several other products you don’t recognize, each with a function more mysterious than the last. You’ve never gotten into skincare enough to understand gels or serums, but the masks look like they would be fun to try if you have any downtime in between playing the game and chatting with Ray. The last drawer contains even more products, including but not limited to a package of very fancy-looking French soap and a few bottles of salon-quality shampoo and conditioner. The razor, securely placed in a travel-safe container, is the same as the one you have at home, but the shaving cream beside it looks a little bit out of your price range. Even the cleaners under the sink look high-quality, with labels professing their all-natural gentleness. Not that you need them right now, anyway— the place is spotless, from the shining mirror to the marble countertops to the pale pink bath mat.

Once you run out of places to explore, you return to the main room and take a seat on the bed, mind racing even more than it was when Ray left. By now, you’re certain that the company you’re testing for must be responsible for some very popular games, if they can afford all this. Do all the employees here live in such luxury? You decide that they must— after all, you’re nothing special. But even so, now that you’ve seen where you’ll be staying, you’re excited to get to work testing the game… and to spend more time with the game developer who invited you to do so.

#mystic messenger #another story #mint eye #is this a drabble or a oneshot I genuinely do not know #there's no plot it's just room #everyone's favorite part of mystic messenger #a location #but this concept has also been living rent free in my head for days

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